Page 45 of Snap Shot

Indi

Landon had me fooled last night, thinking I'd misunderstood him. He's been messing with me from the beginning.

“Move forward? And how am I supposed to do that? When you're here, in my house, wearing my clothes, looking like you're exactly where you belong? How do you expect me to forget what you sound like when you come?” A hell of a smooth talker. I almost fall for it. “I want to make you cry out for me again. Just like that.”

His boozy breath streams by my mouth, shocking me into reality. It's a fucking joke, some sort of cruel game, a competition to see who can humiliate me the most. I did a pretty bang-up job—pun intended—doingthat on my own last week. But now, not only does Landon know my weakness for him, he's exploiting it. It's a repeat of grade seven.

Was it worth it? So he'd tell me the 'truth' about Annalise? I can't trust him. I don't even trust myself. If I stand here one more second, I'll either have a mental breakdown or tear him apart with my bare hands. Neither can happen. And I won't let him see me cry, either.

“I should've never stayed here.”

His eyes twinge with what looks like pain. My heart seizes, but I break free from the cage of his arms, the defined veins snaking under my grip only adding to my ridiculous sexual frustration. Men like Landon smell desperation a mile away.

The mixed bag of thoughts dissipates as I pull on yesterday's work clothes and toss the borrowed jersey onto his bed. I'm tempted to set it on fire. Landon clutches his head, stumbling over his feet when I sprint towards the enormous doors. How much did he drink? I thought he had less than me. Stop it, Indi. You don't care about him. He can rot in hell for all you care.

I give myself an affirming nod in the elevators, adjusting the shoulder strap of my work bag as I step out into the main lobby. Timur isn't there and neither are the vultures outside. The security guard in his place waves two fingers at me in greeting.

Two blocks of stormy heel-walking later, I hop into a cab. My phone vibrates from inside the front pocket of the briefcase.

Bea:Hey, where are you? If you're not here in seven minutes, we're gonna lose our spot in line. Gabe's head is about to explode.

Oh, shit. Saturday brunch.I look out the window, trying to figure out where we are.

“Excuse me? Could you take me to Wilf & Ada's instead? It's on Bank Street and Arlington Ave.”

The driver makes a sharp left, sliding me to the opposite end of the back seat as I attempt to tie my hair. There's no salvaging it though. The ponytail is messy and smells like Landon and his stupid sheets. The citrus and laundry detergent scent combo sets my hormones on fire.

We stop with a jolt, and I almost hit my head on the plexiglass panel separating the cabby from me. I tap my card and nearly fall onto the curb, in view of the queue of people circling the corner.Bea beckons with large swoops of her arm from the foyer window. I rush inside.

“Thank God, you made it!” She gives me a tight hug.

“Yep, I'm here. You're feeling better?”

Bea takes a large intake of air and releases it, showing off her ability to breathe. “Turns out it's allergies.”

Gabe checks out my haggard appearance as I smooth my shirt down. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Not now,” I whisper through my teeth, throwing polite smiles at the staff and other waiting guests.

For a tiny cafe, Wilf & Ada's does well for itself. It teems with life, especially on temperate summer weekend mornings like this one. We've learned to show up early and wear comfy shoes. I've done neither today.

A young, blonde hostess guides us to a corner table and Sammie, one of the regular servers, distributes menus and water. “Any interest in hearing the specials or should I guess what you're ordering?”

“Oooh,” Gabe coos, clasping her hands. “I like this game. Let's hear what you think we're ordering.”

Sammie taps the end of her pen to her chin and hums. She points it at Bea. “You'll have a Poutine Galvaude with a Mimosa.”

Bea gasps and does a golf clap, handing back her menu without a glance.

“And I think you'll go for the Veggie Bennie and a Bloody Mary today,” she says to Gabe.

“Spot on, Sam.”

“Now, don't get mad,” Sammie adds with a grimace, scanning over my wrinkled shirt and skirt. “You look like you had a rough night. Maybe Eggs in Purgatory and a Coffee Avec Bailey’s.”

I slide the menu off the edge of the butcher block to her. “Close. Iced coffee. Hold the booze.”

She returns an assumptive smirk but doesn't know the half of it. Gabe and Bea turn their attention back to me when she leaves to put in the order.

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