Page 41 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

“How dare I what?” I ask, taking a calm sip of my whiskey, refusing to even give her the attention of glancing in her direction. I know from experience there's no good way or right way to handle these situations with her, so instead I chose to go with a minimal response.

“You know what you did.” Her voice lowers to a hissing whisper. I can sense that she's leaning in, trying to intimidate me with her presence or anger, or both. But she never has and never will bully me into feeling any kind of way. Any power she had over me, she lost a long time ago... and I’m going to keep it that way.

I notice my friends beginning to shift and shuffle around the table, uncomfortable with the situation. I have no doubt that each and every one of them is wondering if they should step in, step up, say something, or keep to themselves.

Honestly, it doesn't matter what they decide to do. Things aren't going to get better or worse. Once Lyla is fired up like this, there's no stopping her until she says her part. At least some things never change.

“I don’t, actually.” I have no idea what might have her this worked up, but I imagine I won’t have to wait long to find out. She’s mad enough she’s going to make a public scene, something that I'm familiar with enough to know that I just need to wait it out. I've danced this waltz before, and while it's not one of my favorite situations to be in, I know to remind myself that it'll be over at some point.

“Lyla, whatever’s going on, do you need to make a public scene?” Arson’s controlled voice tells me he’s not about to listen to her. I can't imagine what she might have put him through, but he doesn't seem like the type to put up with much.

Lyla ignores him, instead focusing all of her fury and rage on me. Even though I'm not looking at her, I can feel the anger radiating off her body as she stands too close for comfort. I continue staring into my drink. Whatever she's upset about, I'm confident that I had no hand in it.

“Tell me where she is, you bastard.”

Her words make my blood run cold and I know exactly whothe she she's talking about is. I begin to ache internally and wonder what's going on. I don’t know why she thinks I’m in any way responsible for whatever has happened.

I also don't dare ask questions; that'll only make her more furious. I've made that mistake before and I won't make it again.

“He's been here all afternoon with us, so whatever you think he did, he didn't.” Blake sounds more annoyed than concerned by Lyla. Around the table, everyone seems stunned, confused, and unsure what to do. I don't blame them; I’m in the same state of confusion. I may have a little more knowledge and understanding of the situation than them, but I don't have enough to decode whatever is going on right now.

“Emma ran away! I know you had something to do with this.” Lyla’s sharp tone cuts me to the bone.

I squeeze my eyes closed as worry seeps into me. What’s happened to Emma?

“Who is Emma?” Thea sounds confused.

“My niece! And I know that Troy had something to do with this!” Lyla points a finger at me, and I take another drink of my whiskey, waiting for the tirade to end. One thing I know about Lyla’s blow ups is that you have to let her tire herself out before she'll quit.

Right now, the only thing that gives me any comfort is the fact that she absolutely looks unhinged, accusing me of causing her niece to run away in the middle of this restaurant.

“You think that Troy had something to do with your niece running away?” Rico says the words slowly, emphasizing how crazy he thinks her accusation is, and the way he says the words makes it clear that Lyla has lost her marbles.

The mutters and murmurs around the table tell me everyone else is in agreement with his assessment.

I focus on the small sounds, the hushed voices, the slight scrape of a chair moving across the floor, a soft cough as if someone doesn't want to interrupt the moment.

Even though I know she's as crazy as she sounds, I can't help but wonder if there's some truth to what she's saying. If she thinks there's a reason that I'm involved, there must be a reason. Something gave her the impression that I did this or had some part in it. But still, why would Emma run away because of me? What she’s saying doesn't make sense.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself or should I just call the cops?” I feel the air move as she shifts in place.

“Call the cops because I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” Whatever she thinks I did, I absolutely did not do and I'm not about to sit here and let her continue yelling at me as if I'm guilty of some crime I didn't commit. My gaze strays out the huge windows that take up nearly an entire wall and I try to relax as she seethes.

“Miss, I think you need to leave.” A new person enters the fray - the restaurant manager. His firm yet polite tone only seems to trigger Lyla more, and I wish I’d had the chance to warn him before he spoke.

“I think you need to fuck off!” After saying the words, she begins to screech at the top of her lungs and all noise in the restaurant halts. “I don't know what you did to make her run away, but I'm going to find out and I'm going to get you arrested.”

I take another drink of my whiskey. “Feel free, I had nothing to do with this.” Let her get the cops involved. They will very quickly discover that I didn't do anything.

“Miss, you need to go now.” All of the kindness is gone from the manager's tone. “Or I'm going to call the cops and have you removed.”

“Call the cops, then.” She sounds angry, frustrated, as she continues trying to get a rise out of me. “Tell me what you did.”

“I haven't done anything.”

“He's been with us since 8AM.” Rico double checks his watch, as if to make sure he’s being factual, then nods.

She gestures around the table. “None of you know what you're talking about. You don't know who this man is or what he's done.”

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