40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Willow

Dexter.

Is standing at our table.

I thought my brain was playing tricks, or I had too much wine, because there's no way he could be here, right?

Tripp looks from me to him and back to me.

"Hate to barge in like this, but can we talk?" Dexter asks, more confident than he should be allowed.

My jaw drops.

"Absolutely not. What are you even doing here?" I shake my head from side to side and cross my arms. I don't even want to turn to face him.

"Will. Come on."

"Don't. Call. Me. That."

"I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Tripp. Guessing you're Dexter?" Tripp stands up from the booth and puts his hand out for a handshake—one this man doesn't deserve.

Dexter doesn't even pay attention to Tripp. He just stares at me. My skin crawls.

"How did you even know I was here?" I say through gritted teeth. Tripp is beside himself that Dexter wouldn't shake his hand.

"I, ugh, saw it. Online. Thought I'd take a chance and see if it was true." He rubs his hands on his pants .

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I say, and Tripp's face says it all.

"It's time for you to go," Tripp says, stepping closer to Dexter. His voice is still quiet. I know he's trying to not cause a scene.

"I can't believe you. What do you want from me? Haven't you taken enough?"

"You won't answer my phone calls. I don't think you're staying at the apartment. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Not this. You're certainly not supposed to do this." I wish he'd leave. The balls on this man to come in here and do this, not shake Tripp's hand, and continue to ask me questions. I don't owe him anything.

"I told you, I thought we'd end up together. Ever since we talked a few weeks back, I just want to clear some things up." Dexter's voice sounds whiny and annoying to my ears.

Tripp doesn't know that I'd talked to Dexter. I didn't think it was even worth bringing up. I can see a flash of confusion on Tripp's face.

This is unreal. Tripp puts his hand on Dexter's shoulder, trying to turn him.

"Don't touch me," Dexter says, putting his finger in Tripp's face.

"Then get the fuck out of here. You weren't invited and she wants you to leave," Tripp says.

"Dexter. I can't believe you think this is okay. It's not. You followed a sleazy internet tip to ambush me. I'll tell you again, just like I told you during our very brief phone call, leave me alone. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't come by my apartment or anywhere else you'll think I'll be."

He runs his hands through his hair. It seems like he thought this would go a different way.

"I can't believe this is it. It's just… I…" he tries to keep going. His eyes are glassy. I know he's about to cry .

For a moment, the anger subsides and all I feel is pity. Dexter isn't dangerous and he's not a stalker. He seems lost.

The manager approaches the table, knowing something isn't quite right.

"Is everything okay here?" he asks.

"Yup. Dexter was just leaving." Tripp claps a heavy hand on Dexter's shoulder.

"Willow. I still love you," he says in the tiniest voice.

"No, you don't. You think you love me, but you don't." A flash of understanding shows on his face. What I'm saying is resonating. "And Dexter, even if you did? You don't do this to people you love."

Dexter nods and slowly turns. When he's about to walk out of the building, Seth is there to greet him. I'm sure they'll have a nice chat.

"So, that's Dexter," Tripp says as he sits back down.

I wipe a tear from each of my eyes. My brain tries to process what just happened while every inch of my skin is flushed. I shiver with rage and embarrassment. I can't believe he showed up here like that. For someone who did everything he could not to be seen in public with me, he sure knows how to flip the script and make a scene.

"I feel like I know the answer but are you okay?" he asks.

"I just don't get it. He's harmless but this wasn't okay. Who does something like this?"

"Someone who is only worried about themselves."

"And I didn't tell you that he called me because there was nothing to say. I told him I was happy with you and that he should leave me alone—"

"Willow. Take a breath. I'm not mad at you because some dickbag ex has no boundaries."

I take his advice, breathing slowly in and out, and look across the table at Tripp .

"Okay. Thank you for being... you."

"Let's get out of here. We'll take the dessert to go and chill out at home."

I like the way he says home.

We gather our things, pretend people aren't staring at us as we do so and go to the exit, which is just as chaotic as when we arrived. Seth waits for us at the door.

"We're right there." He points to the car that's maybe a fifteen second walk away. Members of Tripp's security are strategically placed along the path.

Getting past the press isn't bad. They seem to be your standard, trying to get a thousand pictures, but not really going the extra mile to yell anything or cause a reaction. After we get through the mass of cameras and bodies, I relax. I just want to get back to the apartment and hide under a mound of blankets.

But there's another group of people coming our way.

"Tripp! Tripp Owens! Nice game today." Their words slur and they're wearing the opposing team jerseys.

"Today is awesome," Seth says. There's a little security glimmer in his eye because this man lives for the job. He's had more than enough run-ins today.

"Hey! ASSHOLE. Great catch today! Gonna start calling you butterfingers," one of them yells to us still kind of making their way towards us. They're right by our car.

Great .

"I aim to please," Tripp says and waves at them.

Seth puts his hand out for us to stop. The guys are still in front of the car.

"You got your digs in, very funny, now we need you to move along," Seth says, trying to get them to go anywhere else .

"Free country. Free street." These guys are hammered.

Tripp's security starts coming our way and the press follows. They may not have anything to do with this reaction, but they will capitalize on this situation.

The mass of people we just got through are behind me, starting to crowd on the sides. I'm not scared but it's more annoying than anything. Exhaustion falls on me like a too-heavy blanket. I just want to be home.

One of Tripp's guys comes and puts his hand on my back, letting me know he's nearby. Tripp is still holding my hand but putting his neck out, trying to see what's going on with Seth and the rowdy group of fans.

"I'm going to go help out."

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say.

"They're a bunch of drunk football fans. Maybe if I give them some attention they'll get their fill and get the fuck out of here."

"I don't know, Tripp."

"Stay here, Lo. I'll be right back."

Tripp picks my hand up and kisses it, before making eye contact with his security detail, who nods in understanding. He walks up to the guys; Seth puts his arm out stopping Tripp before he gets too close.

I can't hear what they're saying but that means no one is screaming which is a great sign at this point. Until one of them yells, "Tripp Owens is a little bitch!" And the rest of the group cackles. The press is trying to inch closer and closer.

Seth has gotten one of the Suburban doors open and the group has shifted enough for us to get in. Tripp turns to come back to get me.

And that's when one of the guys sucker punches Tripp, hitting him in the back of the head.