Page 38 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Drew um…” he glances at Drew briefly. “Mentioned it on his Instagram.”

Drew sighs. “Fuck me,” he mutters. “Look, it wasn’t an open invitation.”

Ben nods. “I realize that. I saw an opportunity and… Can we talk?” he asks me.

I don’t know what to say. He was brutal when he dumped me. Throwing the escort job in my face, acting like he was so much fucking better than me for having a career—saying shit like this was never going to work anyway—we’re too different. He told me he wasn’t in love with me anymore. He told me he wasn’t sure he ever had been.

We were together for almostthree years. I had no secrets from him. If looking at him hurts, I can’t imagine the kind of damage talking to him might do.

Drew angles a shoulder between us. “Maybe tonight’s not the right time. We’re trying to celebrate something here.”

Ben ignores him, his eyes like small fires, burning into mine. “Sy? Please?”

I don’t see a way out of this without making a scene, and Christian is currently in a booth, surrounded by people who are making him laugh. It’s rare enough to get a smile out of him—there’s no way I’m going to be the one to fuck up his night because I have ex drama.

“Outside.”

Drew lets out a low growl. I smirk.Down boy.“It’s fine. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I tell him. “Dance with your girlfriend. Do that growl. I hear chicks dig that.”

He gives the back of my neck a squeeze, and I nod at Ben.

“You’re gonna try to make me leave, aren’t you?” he asks.

“We’re not doing this in here. It’s my best friend’s birthday.”

“Oh…shit,” he says like he’s genuinely not trying to intrude. Like he actually feels bad about something.

I narrow my eyes. The differences between us remain stark. He’s wearing a crisp button down tucked into wool slacks with a black coat that makes him look expensive. I’m in a hooded sweater and jeans. I shove my hands into the front pocket and lead the way outside, steeling myself and checking for chinks in my guard.

It’s fucking freezing, but I try not to telegraph how cold I am, stiffening my muscles and getting us out of the way of the door.

“Well,” he begins. “I’m back.”

“For Thanksgiving?”

“No, I’m just back. I got offered a position at a firm here—the pay is good, and it’s home, so…”

“Oh, well, good for you.” Ben is an architect like his father, and I hate knowing this about him. I hate how sweet I once found that—how charming and stable it made him seem.

During our second year together, we were serious. We talked about marriage and kids. Hypothetically, but still. Those were the kinds of conversations we’d have after making out on his couch at night or after a slow morning fuck.

“I owe you an apology,” he says.

I shake my head, looking down at the dirty sidewalk. I don’t want one. He’s a scab I’ve managed not to pick, and I refuse to start now. There’s no chance he won’t leave a scar, but I get to decide how ugly it is.

“We don’t have to do this now,” he tries. “I just wanted you to know I’m back. I’m here. And I miss you.”

I shut my eyes. I was hoping he wouldn’t say that. I knew it would get to me, and it does. A hammer blow to my guard that reverberates everywhere.

“Can I call you?” he asks.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I say so quietly I can barely hear myself.

“Sy—”

“Why now?”

“What?”

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