Page 69 of His Last Shot
I grin.Let him have it, my love.
“Drew, don’t talk to me.Everagain. The day you slept with someone else, inmyhome and inmybed, is the day you lost all rights to miss me. Because I’m pretty sure when I saw you with her, you weren’t missingme.Were you?” Drew’s lips form a fine line. He is not enjoying being put in his place.
She continues. “As you clearly saw just a second ago, I’m happy. The happiest I have ever been in my whole life.” She snickers. “Do you know how wonderfulit is to feel valued, heard, and loved? I mean,youwould, since that’s what I gave you. But for me, this is a first.”
My hand finds her knee. I will love and value her until the day I die.
But she isn’t finished. “Don’t speak to me, don’t even look at me. You are insignificant. Nothing. A nobody. I would say have a nice life, but I don’t even wish that for you.”
As Drew’s face continues to grow redder by the second, Dexter intervenes. “Rachel, you need to control—”
“Control what, Dexter?” Her glare is now directed at her uncle.
“It’s Uncle Dexter.”
“I preferDex,actually,” I argue with an amused smirk as I sling my arm around Rachel’s shoulder. She shimmies closer to me.
A voice comes from behind me. “Weird. I thought it was DJ?” Scott appears, done with his phone conversation. Dexter’s and Drew’s attention snaps from me to Scott. “Is there a problem here?” he asks, making his voice deeper. I love it when he does this. It has solved many confrontations on the job over the years.
Dexter raises his hands. “No problem at all. Drew and I here were just stopping over to say hi to my niece and her date.” He extends his hand. “Scott, nice to see you again.”
Scott takes it and does his famous squeeze. Dexter tries to pull away, but Scott’s grip only tightens. He’s letting this small man know, right here in this crowded restaurant, who has the upper hand and that he isn’t welcome. “You as well. I hope the remodel is still holding up.”
Scott releases his grip as Dexter flips his hand. Probably from the pain.
But he keeps his cool. “It is. The compliments we get on the daily are always glowing. I might call you to do an addition on my house. I was thinking—”
“We’re booked,” Scott deadpans as he relaxes back in his chair, sending a message.‘We will not be working with you again.’
Dexter clicks his tongue. “Fair enough. Glad to hear business is booming.” An awkwardness hangs over us, filled only with the buzz of a busy restaurant. You would think the two of them would take that as their cue to leave, yet here they stand. Looking over my shoulder, I glance at the restroom, hoping Lauradoesn’t emerge. Dexter’s lewd comment about her that day in my garage … well, let’s just say, I don’t want his eyes on her. At all. When I refocus, Drew Who’s stare is solely on Rachel.
However, only I have my girl’s attention. She lets out a low exhale of relief, and briefly, her lids flutter close. When those beautiful chestnut browns reopen, she sees only me. I’m sure this whole little exchange was hard on her, even though she did what I’m sure she needed to do. But now, with the unspoken emotion, you could almost taste the tension.
This little meet and greet needs to end. “Well, if you fellas don’t mind, we would like to continue our evening.” In other words, ‘Bye.’
“I guess that’s our cue to leave.” Dexter takes the hint while grabbing his keys from his pocket. “Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”
Dexter turns to leave, but Drew lingers. “Bye, Rachel,” he says with a flicker of hope in his voice and sadness in his eyes.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans toward me and kisses me on the cheek.
She wasn’t kidding.
Insignificant.
With her lips still on my skin, I glance at where he was standing, but all I see is him retreating. Hopefully, disappearing into the hole he crawled out of.
“Mind telling me what in the hell that was all about?” Scott commands once they are out of earshot. “Geez, Johnny, I leave you for a minute.”
Just then, Laura returns to the table. She pulls out her chair and sits, scooting herself back in. “So, what did I miss?”
“That’s it!” I snap my fingers. Everyone’s eyes dart to me, a sudden hush falling over our table. The image of who Dexter reminds me of pops into my head.
“What’s it?” Rachel asks in confusion as she takes a sip of her water.
“Dex reminds me of the dad from Family Guy! Peter Griffin, only meaner and gruffer.”
Water sprays from Rachel’s mouth, a sudden geyser that soaks the table as we all lurch backward, chairs scraping against the floor. Then, the joke hits. A burstof laughter from Rachel, Scott, and me fill our corner of the restaurant, drawing the attention—and stares—of nearby patrons.
