Rolling her eyes, she indicates over by the bouncer. “He and Gio are having a word with the bouncer about letting whores in when they’re here with the wives.” Her lips curve up with a cynical little smile. “He should know better, right?”
Don’t really know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I’m careful not to be more than a distant acquaintance to the wives of the men I work for; makes it easier to mind my own business when it comes to their messy personal lives. Rafe’s should have been the ultimate relationship to keep my nose out of, but I can already see that’s not going to work. What am I supposed to do if he does try some shady shit like Gio? It’s hardly a secret that while Lydia is the one here tonight, this weekend it’ll be his girlfriend, Carla. Even Lydia probably knows, but as long as she holds her tongue, she can pretend it’s not true.
Rafe is far less used to monogamy than Gio, and especially if Laurel resists him too long now that he has her, what if she does lose his interest? It’s hard for me to imagine anyone ever losing interest in Laurel—I sure as hell can’t stop thinking about her—but then I’ve always been a one-woman man. Some of the other guys are known for keeping their wives and families in one corner, then having a little something extra on the side. They seem to think it’s their right, and sure, I think they’re assholes, but I don’t care when it’s them.
There’s not a chance in hell I would let Rafe stray on Laurel, and it’s not my business. As long as he covers all his bases and takes care of shit, his relationship is his own deal—or it should be.
My gaze drifts to Laurel’s empty seat, and I’m hit with fierce dread that I’ve irrevocably fucked things up here. Even once she gets over me and moves on with him, even if she’s never mine again, I’m too invested in her. Instead of keeping my distance and keeping my nose in my own business, I buried it in her pussy.
This can’t end well.
For the briefest of moments, I do think about Chicago. I’m not much for snow or working for assholes who abuse their power, but am I even going to be able to work for Rafe? I told myself our relationship would recover, but shit has already popped up. More shit will inevitably pop up. Even if he never cheats on Laurel, Rafe is a flirt. It’s in his nature, who he is. The first time he turns a charming smile on anyone who isn’t her, I’ll want to smash his face in.
Especially because it upsets her. Watching anything but me upset Laurel makes my insides burn with palpable fury.
While I consider just how fucked I am, I reach for my bottle of water, twisting the cap until I hear the seal break. As I take the cap off, my gaze catches on Laurel’s glass. Her new bottle of water is open, half of it already poured. I ordered her an untouched bottle, just like mine, and she hasn’t been back to the table.
“What’s that?” I ask Lydia, pointing at the glass full of ice water.
She frowns at me, glancing at the glass like she doesn’t know what she’s looking for. “Huh?”
“Who poured her water?”
“I did,” she says, watching me like she doesn’t understand what the big deal is.
“Why?” I ask.
“Everyone left me here at the table and I was bored. The waitress brought room temperature bottles of water. I figured since she ordered all that ice, she probably wanted it cold. By the time she got back from the bathroom, it would at least be chilled. Especially since you two lingered so long back there,” she adds, lifting her eyebrows and picking up her own drink to take a sip.
That’s not fucking amusing. I level her a cold look to let her know it, then I pick up Laurel’s glass and inspect it.
“Are you fucking serious?” Lydia demands. “What are you doing?”
There’s residue at the bottom of this glass, something white and chalky. Now, I’m not saying I’ve never seen this happen before—a dirty glass, maybe some food left stuck to the bottom, a lazy dishwasher who didn’t notice or didn’t care. Hopefully that’s the situation. I had no reason to inspect Laurel’s glass before she poured the water herself, so I can’t say for sure this glass was clean when she poured the first bottle of water. I know for damn sure it isn’t right now, and I hope that’s by accident.
Questions pile up in my head. Is Lydia the only one who has been sitting at this table? The chick in the dress Rafe bought her was standing right next to Laurel’s glass when she caused a commotion. When Laurel stormed off, Rafe followed right behind her, but that woman lingered. Gio and Lydia were at the table, but I told Gio to escort her out.
Black dress girl said she worked for Cassandra’s father. What if Cassandra caught wind of Laurel’s pregnancy and sent some floozy to drug her? Since she found out Rafe’s in power now, she has been trying to lure him back into her trap. If news has gotten out that Rafe knocked someone up, every skank he’s ever fucked is probably realizing she lost her chance to snag him.
Cassandra is vicious. She’ll play dirty if it benefits her. If she had her heart set on winning him back and becoming his queen, she wouldn’t hesitate to shove Laurel out of her way by any means necessary.
There’s no way to tell if this is dirt or crushed up drugs, but it’s chalky enough I think it could be the latter. Flicking a glance at Lydia, I ask, “Did you get the name of the woman in the black dress?”
Lydia smirks, clearly not realizing how fucking serious this is. “In my mind, I labeled her Whore Number Two. If her real name was mentioned, I missed it.”
My mind drifts to the waitress with the southern drawl. Brandi, I think. I can’t remember if he’s fucked her—it’s too hard to keep track of all of them. Even if he hasn’t, it’s not impossible someone with more investment could have told her to put something in Laurel’s drink.
Fuck, what if the glass had this chalky shit in it when the glass was first brought out?
I’m just about to put the glass down and haul ass back to the bathroom when Laurel walks past me and slides into her seat across the table. Her cheeks are rosy and I remember telling her to get herself off, but it feels to me like a lifetime has passed since then. Now all I can think about is what’s in the bottom of this glass, and who might want to hurt her.
My plate is suddenly full. I’m too close to this, and I can’t think straight. There are so many fucking potential threats; all I want to do is haul her ass back to my house where none of them can reach her.
Laurel is just now glancing at the empty spot beside her. “Where’s Rafe?” Glancing across the table at me, she asks, “Why do you have my water?”
I keep her glass and hand her the bottle I just opened. I know mine wasn’t tampered with. “Drink this instead.”
Frowning, she says, “It’s not cold.”