Page 60 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
Chapter 23
ARLA
The man is a psycho. After what I’ve just seen and heard, I’m starting to feel worried about Megan.
He’s obsessed with Megan, but then, Mr. Turner always has been.
“We need more drinks,” drawls one of the guys. “What do you think?” He directs his question to Megan.
They kept looking our way and in the end I asked them to join us, against Megan's wishes, even though she's the one they're interested in. Megan hated that I did that. I didn't do it because I needed them to fawn all over her and to forget I was even there. I did it because Lance sounds like a psycho and his actions now prove it. I was hoping these guys would be a distraction for her and help her to get Lance Turner out of her head, but now I’m worried that they’ll mistakenly think we’re spending the evening with them.
“I think you're right,” I say, but he ignores me. I would have fallen off my stool if he’d noticed me, but he doesn’t. Most guys don’t. It’s always been like this for me. I’m used to living in Megan's shadow. She always gets the attention. I never do because I'm short, and plump, full-figured, though cruel people would say I’m overweight. Women like me don’t get noticed, that's why Scott is such a diamond. He’s such a rarity that I keep trying to look for what could be wrong with him.
Because there must be something wrong with him, to want to be with someone like me, right?
I didn’t expect Mr. Turner to show up here the way he did. The fact that he followed Megan here tells me he’s a creep. I wish I hadn’t encouraged her so much when he first came on the scene. I wasn’t to know he was married.
Now that he’s been told to leave, Megan has gone quiet.
“Another round?” Triple-Chin asks, winking at his tattooed friend. The man is built like an army tank and when he lifts his arm to get a server's attention, I get a chance to read and admire the ink on his bulging biceps.
“Let's go to the bar and order,” his friend suggests. I sigh with relief as both men walk off. I consider leaving the bar with Megan, making an escape while we can, but I wonder if Lance might still be loitering around outside. It might be better to wait a while. Megan sits quietly, a dangerous sign given the circumstances. “What are you thinking about?” I ask, even though I can guess.
“What Lance said.”
“You shouldn't believe anything he says.”
Megan is reckless when it comes to guys and relationships. She's not had much luck and I blame a lot of it on her parents.
“I’m not sure,” she replies, but her voice is so quiet, I strain my ears to hear.
“You need to wise up and stop falling for everything that man says to you.”
“I didn’t give him a chance to explain.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “After you've met his wife and daughter, you still think he needs to explain?”
She chews her lower lip. “Why did his wife knock on the door?”
“What?” I’m starting to worry even more about her.
“If it’s her place, she would have had a key. Why didn’t she just walk in?”
“Who cares. She came, didn’t she? Hiswife?Whom you saw in the flesh. She’s not a figment of your imagination. Why are you wasting your time analyzing the situation? You saw the evidence with your own eyes.” If Megan isn't careful, she's going to fall for Mr. Turner’s words all over again.
“I’m trying to make sense of it,” she argues.
I huff out a loud breath. “Let me make sense of it for you. He’s cheating, and he’s lying, and you’re a fool.”
She sits with her shoulders hunched over, a perfect picture of misery and before either of us say anything, the guys return with a new round of drinks.
“How do you guys know that jerk?” The tattooed guy asks.
“Long story,” I reply, not wanting to steer the conversation into those murky waters again. “Thanks.” I raise my glass. “Drink up,” I tell Megan.
We haven’t made introductions yet, and I’m hoping it stays that way. These two will get annoyed if me and Megan leave now. At the very least we'll have to buy them a round of drinks to even the score, but Megan seems lost in her own little world. She's not engaging in conversation, and I'm not that much of a sucker for punishment that I’ll keep talking to guys who clearly don't care if I'm alive or dead.
She turns to me. “His place was more like a bachelor pad. There were no pictures up, no homely touch, no woman’s touch. No photos of his wife and child. Maybe she was lying.”
