Page 15 of The Girlfriend Game
“Mmm, nope. I didn’t ask for an excuse. You need to apologize. She isn’t to blame for your lateness, but you’re at fault for your carelessness. Now, apologize.”
By now, Zeke and the man’s encounter has garnered the attention of everyone in the shop, including the baristas behind the counter, where coffee-making has come to a complete stop in favor of watching what’s going down. Several tables of students have their phones pointed in their direction, capturing the action on video and their live social feeds.
I slowly move toward them, taking slow, cautious steps to avoid getting involved in the fray.
I reach an arm out and place my palm over Zeke’s forearm, his eyes snapping to mine as if he’s seeing me for the first time. I give a reassuring smile.
“Thank you for stepping in, Zeke. Let’s let the guy move along with his day. He’s obviously under a lot of stress and I’m sure this isn’t his typical behavior.” My eyes level the guy with a clear warning. “Because men who treat others, especially women, like that are clearly sociopaths. I’m sure that isn’t the case with you, is it?”
Coffee Dumper stammers, volleying his gaze between me and Zeke, shaking his head. “No, not at all. I’m terribly sorry for spilling on you, ma’am.” He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a twenty, hastily offering it to me like I’m about to bite. “Here. Take it.”
Before I can refuse the offer, Zeke yanks the bill from his grasp and flaps it in the air, roaring out a noise of discontentment.
“Is this a joke?” Zeke scoffs, turning his palm over and wiggling his fingers in the universal sign for more. “You just fucking ruined her shirt, which I’m sure cost more than a measly twenty bucks.”
Zeke’s voice has risen as the entire room watches this incident unfold. With all the phones pointed in our direction, my guess is so is the entire world through social media.
“Zeke, please. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle it. Please, just go. I’ll see you in a bit.”
His gaze moves up my torso, holding for a moment at my breasts where the stain spreads and clings to my chest, until his eyes reach my face. With a frown of acquiescence, he grumbles in dissatisfaction.
“Fine, I’ll go.” He whips his head toward douchebag coffee-dumper and pokes him in the chest one last time. “If I ever, and I meanever,see you in here again, we’re going to have more than words. You feel me, bro?”
The man’s lips quiver but then turn up into a snarl and he hisses, “Sure, whatever, Forester. We all know you’re a hothead and total head case. If you ever so much as try to touch a single hair on my head, I’ll sue you faster than you can say the word Pilots.”
Zeke puffs up his chest and jerks forward suddenly, spooking the man so he wobbles backwards. Zeke snickers unmercifully, looking behind him at the group with their cameras out.
“I hope you guys caught that. I didn’t touch him. What a coward.” He spits at the guy’s feet and turns swiftly toward the door. His gaze latches onto mine one last time before he heads out into the light drizzle of rain.
The entire incident leaves me with a pit of dread in my stomach. It also gives me new insight on Zeke Forester.
What I just witnessed from Zeke here today is a good indicator and significant detail of what might be contributing to some of his mental health issues. Now I have an opportunity to peel back some layers and figure out why he responded the way he did and what’s going on inside his mind.
