Page 42 of Sweet and Salty

I smile and shake my head, looking at my ex. “Whatarethe odds, Dr. Katz?” I ask, doing my best not to roll my eyes. This is my event, and I’d made sure he’d been placed at a table far away from mine. He must’ve seen that earlier and swapped seats with someone.

“I can't be mad about it,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he looks me over. “What's it been? Five years?”

“Seven,” I correct him.

We dated in college for a year, and we'd ended things amicably. It’d never been ultra serious between us, but I could never get past his brand of humor, which included passive aggressively berating me for his own enjoyment.

“That's right,” he says, tapping the table. “I forget that you're always right.”

I do my best to give a fake laugh and sip my water, suddenly questioning my choice to allow him an invite to this conference. He was a prestigious therapist though, and it never felt right denying anyone access to this conference when so many skills could be sharpened and new ones learned from it.

Owen shifts next to me, likely hearing the fake laugh as his attention falls on me.

“Dr. Carl Katz,” Carl says as he reaches across the table, extending a hand toward Owen with a smug smile on his face that I'm not even sure he realizes he constantly wears. “And who are you to our Zoe?”

I shift awkwardly in my seat. I haven't beenouranything to Carl in seven years. Where the hell does he get off?

Owen shakes his hand, glancing from me to Carl and back again before releasing his hand. “A friend,” he answers, shifting out of the way as the servers start to bring our dinner plates, setting them gently before us and thankfully breaking up some tension that has no business being here.

The rest of the table is still chatting around us, the entire event space filled with conversations and music that filters in through speakers positioned throughout the large space. There’s a makeshift dance floor, though all the previous dancers have returned to their tables now that food is being served. And I gratefully start taking bites of mine, anything to notacknowledge the sizing up that's happening between Carl and Owen. I roll my eyes, not understanding the competitiveness even a little bit.

“I was hoping I'd run into you,” Carl says after we've all eaten for a little while. He cuts into his steak again, taking a bite while eyeing me. “It's really been too long, Zoe. We should catch up.”

A laugh bursts from me, and I do my best to reel it in. “I'm sorry,” I say quickly, taking a drink of water. “I thought you were joking. We haven't spoken in seven years. I'm glad to see and hear you're doing well, but is there really more catching up we need to do?”

Owen is silent at my side, but shifts just slightly beneath the table, his thigh brushing mine. All my thoughts narrow to that touch, a heat pulsing through me that I hope no one else can see.

Carl smiles at me. “I'd say we have a lot to catch up on,” he says, reaching for his scotch, and from the way his eyes are glazed, I’m certain it's not his first. “We did have some marvelous times didn't we, Zoe?”

I furrow my brow. “College certainly was an interesting time,” I say, almost pitying him.

We were never that serious to each other, and never exchanged I love yous, but from the way he's acting you’d think we had. I suddenly wonder if the relationship he seemed so aloof about meant more to them him than he ever let on, but I'm equally grateful we parted on good terms.

There's no animosity here, just utter confusion. This man is a stranger to me now, but maybe his drinking combined with seeing a familiar face is making him nostalgic.

“More than interesting,” Carl says, finishing off his scotch and waving his empty drink to a passing server. “Some of the best times of my life really,” he says, and leans forward a little bit. “Time and distance can make you appreciate a thing. Like Isaid, I came here hoping to see you. Hoping to reconnect like we used to.”

I scoot back in my chair. The way he's leaning toward me is a little too close and the look in his eyes leaves nothing to the imagination about what kind ofreconnectinghe's referring to.

“Are you part of a practice now or do you run your own?” I ask, doing my best to steer the conversation to a strictly professional curiosity.

“Oh, don't be like that, Zoe,” Carl says, shaking his head and taking the refilled scotch from a server passing by. He takes another long drink. “There's no need to playacquaintancewith me.” He leans closer still, his breath reeking of alcohol. He places his free hand on the table, leaning against the edge as if he needs it to steady himself. “There were times I knew the most private pieces of you,” he says, his voice a little lowered. His eyes fall to my breasts, the look lingering and making me feel like the simple black dress I wear is more revealing than it is. “Those are parts I'd love to get reacquainted with.”

He shifts closer, leaning harder against the table, his arm slipping from it enough that he almost topples into me.

Before I can move or react or even blink, Owen is up and around me, lifting Carl to his feet, holding him by the lapels of his suit jacket. “That's enough,” Owen says, his tone low and sharp.

Carl shifts against Owen’s hold, unable to break it. “Back off, man, you said you were her friend.”

“I am,” Owen says. “Which means you don’t get to fall on top of her because you’re wasted. Drink some water and sleep it off.”

“Fuck you,” Carl says. The scene is now drawing eyes of not only our table but the ones neighboring us. “I’ll go sleep it off.” Carl's eyes fall behind Owen and back to me. “With an old friend.”

Owen jerks Carl up a little bit harder, making him shake?—

“And we're done here,” I say, quickly rising from my chair and reaching for Owen's forearm, gripping it slightly.

Owen immediately releases Carl, stepping back at my urging, allowing me to interlace my fingers through his as I tug him away from the prying eyes of the event hall, down the hallway and into the elevator that will take us to our room.

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