“Oh no,” says Suzanne, examining my expression. “You’re not going anywhere, girlfriend. Sit your ass down in that chair and pretend to enjoy yourself. I’m gonna get a drink—what do you want?”
“Ginger ale.”
She pushes me into a chair and heads off to the Joker, trailing wisps of gauze like snow. The instant she leaves, a man lowers himself into the chair opposite mine.
It’s Craig.
He’s the only other person in the place in normal clothes, in his case, tan slacks and a black cashmere sweater. His hair is perfect. His smile is perfect. His eyes are as hungry as a crocodile’s.
I grit my teeth in disbelief at how much the universe loves to f**k with me. “What’re you doing here?”
“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
“So true. Funny how I wouldn’t want to talk to a lying, philandering dick.”
