Page 167 of The Last Good Man

I furtively study her demeanor while people chat about the place we’re going to.

She doesn’t seem to have a thing for him.

Yeah, and I don’t look like I’ve spent some time with another man.

Appearances are deceptive.

Maybe she’s passing judgment on me and thinks it’s not nice to do naughty things as long as I’m here with someone else.

What makes her think it wasn’t Emile?

I move my gaze to the man in question.

He seemscompletelyremoved from the idea of him and me. I doubt it would ever cross his mind to meet me in a back alley.

He’s the type who likes to undress you with his teeth, telling you sweet nothings while holding his cards close to his vest.

As harmless as he looks, Emile––like every other man I’ve met––can inflict pain.

So, I don’t know about that woman and him. Maybe she’s interested, and he is not.Maybehe had fooled her into believing he might spend some time with her.

Oh… There.

I catch her looking in his direction, and it’s more than a casual stare. There is some intensity to her gaze, reserved for him only.

He doesn’t seem to be aware, although considering Emile is playing the field a little, I wouldn’t be so sure.

If that’s the case, and I am her competition, the fact that she knows why I spent some time in the bathroom must not sit well with her.

If she likes Emile and wants him for herself, that little piece of knowledge might not make me her friend.

I’m not concerned with her telling him. I’m more concerned with her making a scene.

Sadly, this is not the time or place to sort these things out. I can’t just walk toherand tellhershecan havehim.

He also has a say in that, although he seems fixated on me right now.

His arm is draped over my shoulders, a gesture meant to signal how close we are when, in fact, we aren’t.

Eventually, Imanagetomove away and walk in front of him while the rest of the groupfollowsus.

30

MELODY

We are in a nice bar with beautiful vintage decor, notthe placethey had initially picked.

After going back and forth, they opted against French food and went for a venue witha large variety ofdrinks and grilled food.

The place is noisy––that’s never been my thing––but the food is good.

The staff put two tables together so we could all sit together, and now I’m stuck between Emile and the woman I met in the restroom.

Joanna.

She doesn’t interact with me, focusing only on the mannext toher while Emile chats with everybody.

That’s not all.

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