It had been three weeks since I'd seen Richard, since that kiss I was sure I would forever associate with the taste of cilantro. He'd been texting and calling, asking when he would see me again, and I kept replying that I was very busy with school, so not this week but maybe the next. It seemed to be working for the moment.
In the meantime, I'd begun texting Shane, and with each text, I fell further into friendship with him. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a friend like him, a friend who I wanted to text about the little things, a friend who actually texted me back because he actually cared. I think he might have cared more than my past best friends. He would ask me about things like my classes and juicing recipes. I found it surprising that these little things we had in common—a genuine care for our GPAs and our health—brought us together so much. I'd bought a juicer upon his recommendation (and I tried to forget the money I'd used for the purchase had been put into my bank account by Richard).
Thursday night, he invited me to Hazed and Dazed. "Loren and I are going out."
"You two are hanging out?" I knew things had been tense between them, from brief and abruptly-ended conversations I'd had with Shane.
"A little. Want to join?"
I did, and since Skylar was hanging out with Phil, I didn't invite her.
When I got there, everything seemed like it was fine. The three of us found a booth, and they sat across from me, and we ordered drinks. I had sparkling water, and Shane and Loren were drinking beer. Shane offered to put some vodka from a flask in my sparkling water, and against my better judgment, I accepted.
Even though I didn't like Loren, the two of us were getting along. I think he was glad I hadn't told Skylar about him and Shane, and I felt pretty proud of myself for the same thing. Many times, I had wanted to tell her, but I must have been maturing, because my promise helped me overcome my urges to see whatever her reaction to their secret might be.
It did seem like a secret. The two of them didn't act affectionately towards each other at all in public. No, they just acted like college boys, taking up more of the table than they needed to, drinking beer, and eating half their weight in chips.
Our conversation right then turned to ASU's funderwear run for colon cancer, a half marathon that was traditionally done in one's underwear, which Shane planned to run.
"Do people really wear underwear?" I asked.
Shane replied, "Well, a few years ago, a ton of students wore scandalous lingerie, so now underwear is now only allowed over your regular running attire."
Loren rolled his eyes. "Ridiculous."
"Agreed," Shane said.
"Who's to say that your regular running attire isn't your underwear?" asked Loren, and I actually found myself laughing at him.
"Are you talking about yourself?" Shane said to him. "Because I've never seen you run so much as a few feet."
Loren flipped him off. So much like Skylar.
"If you run with me, I'll stay with you," Shane told him. "We can take it as slow and steady as you need."
"Yeah right," said Loren. "I'd rather sit in a lawn chair and watch. Except with that new dress code, I don't even know if it'll be worth it to watch. Underwear over shorts? Kind of impedes the imagination."
"I don't know," Shane said. "A bunch of guys wearing thongs over their running shorts sounds like it will enhance the imagination to me."
Loren smiled for a second, then glanced at me uncomfortably. He probably thought I judged him for liking other men, but right then, I wasn't judging, not at all, despite my upbringing.
Shane turned to me. "What about you, Meg?"
"Don't fall into his trap," said Loren, before I could answer. "He says he'll wait for you, but this guy is one of those aliens who can run a mile a minute. If you go with him, he's gonna make you work. He'll use his soothing tone to make you think that going a little bit harder is your idea, but really, it's all him."
"I run on the treadmill and elliptical at our apartment gym three times a week," I said, much more confident than I felt. "A half marathon can't be that bad." Really, a half marathon sounded horrible, but I knew it would be good for me, and Shane would make it better. Plus, it could distract me from Richard and provide me more excuses for not seeing him. Sorry, Richard, I'm training for a half marathon.
"Your funeral," said Loren.
"I'll go easy on you," said Shane, smiling, happy I'd consented.
That's when I felt a shift in the room's atmosphere, a knife-like discomfort slicing through the good feelings created by the music and the drinks. I turned and I saw the reason: two people I didn't want to see.
Bret and Scott. Richard's sons.
I tried to put my head down before they could see me, but then I heard, "Meghranush?"
Hesitantly, I turned and smiled at Bret. He wasn't smiling back at me.
He seemed drunk as he walked up to our table and said, loudly, "It's funny; Dad says you've been blowing him off because you have so much homework. But how much homework can an interior design student really have? Some crossword puzzles for Patterns: 101?"
I stared at him with my mouth open, unable to respond.
Continuing louder, he said. "Now I see you here, and you're not doing homework." Right then, he looked at Shane and Loren. "And not only are you here with one guy; you're here with two."
I knew what he was implying, and I didn't know what to say. My heart seemed to go into my throat as I managed to croak out, "These are just friends."
Both Bret and Scott studied Loren and Shane, with Bret looking like a warrior readying himself for combat against the two of them, while Scott's gaze seemed to latch onto Loren's face.
"Who's this?" Shane said, and I think he knew exactly who we were dealing with: a relation of Richard.
"This little bitch is taking our dad's money so she can get a free ride and ignore him while she diddles around with you two," Bret said, his voice even louder than before. People started staring.
Shane, in the back of the booth, stood up. "Dude, I think you need to back off."
Bret came closer, which caused Loren to stand up too; he looked back and forth between the two brothers, and I could sense his fear growing. "And what's gonna happen if I don't?" Bret asked.
The tension between Shane and Bret seemed to grow, along with my anxiety.
I wanted to cry. How could someone who had seemed so nice be so cruel? Did he really think those things about me? Did his brother?
Looking to Scott, I tried to search for compassion in his expression, because I felt like he was different than his father and his older brothers. But he was just staring at Loren.
Suddenly Loren asked him, "You. The brother." Scott pointed to himself in question. "Yeah, you. You know me, don't you."
"Logan," he whispered.
"That's right," Loren responded. "Can you please get a handle on your brother? I wouldn't want things to get worse for both of you."
"Who the fuck does this guy think he is?" Bret asked, reaching across his brother, who stood slightly closer to the table, to push Loren. Loren fell into Shane, who helped him back to a standing position, while Scott lifted up his arms to block his brother, saying, "Bret. We need to get out of here, man. You're making an ass of yourself. Dad wouldn't like it. Besides, if things get violent, the police will come. We don't need that right now."
"Fine," Bret said, shaking himself free of Scott's grasp. "But don't think our dad won't hear about this, you little two-timing gold-digger."
Then Bret stormed off, while Scott continued to gaze at Loren, who looked mildly stunned from just being pushed. "I can't believe you found me," Scott whispered, and then he took off after his brother.
Loren and Shane sat back down, Loren continuing to look stunned.
I put my head in my arms and started sobbing. I couldn't believe that what should have been a fun a night at Hazed and Dazed had led me to this embarrassing situation. But the embarrassment of being called a slut and a gold-digger and a two-timer loud enough for half the club to hear wasn't even as bad as the anxiety I felt for what was going to happen when Richard heard about this. What would he do when he heard I wasn't studying, like I'd said I was?
Shane took my hands from across the table, squeezing them, as Loren said, "Don't tell me those guys' dad is the guy you're dating off that site."
I looked up at him with my tear-stained face, not even caring about running to the bathroom to re-apply my foundation, like I would normally. "How did you do that? How did you make them leave? Why did he call you Logan?"
Loren gave Shane an uneasy look, and Shane told him, "Dude, I already told her about your very lucrative career. Just tell her."
Putting his face in his hands, Loren said, "What the fuck, man?"
I sat up straighter. "What are you guys talking about?"
Loren still had his face down, so Shane answered. "Loren can always spot one of his viewers. It was pretty evident even to me. That guy was straight-up starstruck. But what did he mean by you found me?"
It took me a moment to figure out what they were talking about Scott. Oh, I thought.
Loren, still staring into his lap, answered Shane, "I don't know what the fuck he was talking about. Unless..." he grew silent. But after a moment, he looked me straight in my eyes, and his tone got angrier as he said, "I fucking hated doing that! Threatening to out someone is never okay. Blackmail is never okay. Why would you get yourself mixed up with a family like that?"
Shane glared at him. "Don't talk to her like that. Your fucking girlfriend is doing the same thing."
They were making me want to cry more. Yes, Skylar was on the same dating site, but her situation was nothing like mine. Seeing Phil Lancaster's profile picture had made me stick out my tongue, but hearing about how he treated Skylar made me think of that idiom, never judge a book by its cover. Because no matter how handsome Richard was or how successful he seemed, he was a lecherous liar underneath, while ugly old Phil seemed like a dashing prince.
I felt embarrassed about the whole thing, about how I had allowed myself to get caught in Richard's circle. "I'll figure something out," I said.
"Yeah," Loren said, his tone still as harsh as before, like he was lecturing me. "Stop seeing him. It's pretty simple."
I smiled at him, hoping my acting was better than my judgment. "You're right. It's simple." There was a silence before I decided, "Well, I'm gonna go home now. I'll text you later, okay Shane?"
Shane looked like he was going to object, but then stopped. Part of me wanted him to object, to force me to stay and to force me to talk about my feelings: my fears, my regrets, my anger.
But another part of me just wanted to go home and curl up in my bed.
When I was finally in bed though, about an hour later, I felt a kind of horror, and the next morning, it was only worse.
That was when I heard my phone go off, alerting me to a new text.
I loved getting texts, especially since I didn't get enough of them, but right then, I was scared of my phone, wishing I could throw it away and forever ignore whatever message it bore. Because I knew it was from him.
But we lived in a technological society where we were always reachable. Some viewed it as a blessing, others viewed it as a curse. Right then, it was my curse.
"When can you come see me this week." Richard ended with a period, not a question mark. This was not a question. I had to go see him.
"Would Tuesday night at 6 work?"
"I'll be expecting you then."