The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

"but whatever you're going to do, can you decide? You're making poor—" she looked to Travis' male friend, the one who was in love with the girl who was in love with Travis, and who was presently penned in by Ronson and looking as though his bladder might be about to let go. "Sorry, what's your name?"

He said something. No one heard.

Rolling his eyes, Travis said, "Michael. His name's Michael."

"Michael then. You're making poor Michael uncomfortable."

Ronson cast a glance at Michael and for a second, Abbie thought he might punch the boy, just to relieve some tension. On Ron's part, this would be a terrible move because Abbie would be forced to react. Of course, Ronson had no way of knowing that.

Luckily, he didn't hit Michael. Crisis averted. His gaze returned to Abbie. He opened his mouth then pulled it closed. Abbie got the feeling he had been about to mention once again how she didn't know what she was getting in the middle of.

"I know," she said. "Call me piggy."

Admirably ignoring this jibe, Ronson turned to Travis.

"You call the boss by 10am.”

An awkward pause hung in the air. For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Then Abbie said to Ronson, "I think you're supposed to say, Or else."

Ronson turned to Abbie. "God, I hope I see you again."

"Me too. Bring flowers. Not roses, though. Use your imagination."

He growled. Like a big dumb animal. Which was apt.

After pointing at Travis, a final non-verbal warning, Ronson spun, grabbed the shoulder of his useless partner, and dragged the lump away from the girls in the other corner. Fifteen seconds later, they had squeezed their broad shoulders and inflated testosterone glands out of the door and disappeared into the night.

It was coming up on 02.30. Already, things were starting to happen.

When the cafe door closed, Abbie looked at the three across the table, wondering if they might thank her or reveal something interesting.

Michael and the girl looked terrified.

Travis smiled.

"That was hot. Now let's get you back to my place and celebrate."

There was a long pause.

For the avoidance of doubt, Travis said, "Naked."

And beamed like an idiot.

Two

Charitably, Abbie decided to pretend Travis hadn’t made the naked comment, nor tried to entice a woman at least ten years his senior back to his place for fun and games that presumably did not include Scrabble and Twister. Well, maybe a kind of Twister.

“What did dumb and dumber want with you anyway?” she said.

“Forget them,” said Travis.

“Who’s their boss?” Abbie pressed. “What’s he want with you?”

“He’s nobody. Forget him. Let’s talk about us.”

Travis was doing an admirable job of hiding his nerves. The teens on either side of him were lapping it up. They truly believed their leader fearless, even in the face of a situation they clearly found terrifying.

Years of experience allowed Abbie to see through the facade. Travis was afraid alright. Pride and libido would prevent him revealing the truth of his situation to Abbie. At least tonight.

“You should get home. Surely mummy and daddy will be worried.”

“You think I can walk away from such a beautiful woman?”

The girl made a small noise. Michael looked her way. Travis kept his eyes on Abbie.

“Name?” Abbie asked of the girl.

She hesitated. Though Abbie had done nothing to encourage the situation (except existing and being in his presence), she had captured Travis’ attention, so the girl disliked her. Perhaps you could go as far as to use the word hate.

Once again, it was Travis who divulged the information.

“Clarissa. But we call her—”

“Shut up.” Abbie switched focus to Clarissa. “You tell yourself he doesn’t know. He’s hitting on and flirting with other women while you’re at his side only because he doesn’t know how you feel. That’s naive. He’s pretending not to know in the same way you’re pretending not to know how Michael feels about you. He’s an arsehole—Travis, I mean. He keeps you around because he likes people being devoted to him, but he’s not interested. He will never be interested.” She glanced at Michael, then back to Clarissa. “Give Mickey here a chance. He’d treat you right. You’d be surprised how important that is.”

She looked from one to the other, across the three faces. Michael and Clarissa looked mortified. If Travis was annoyed that Abbie had called him out, he didn’t show it. Abbie wasn’t surprised. He had one thing on his mind. Whether he hated or loved Abbie didn’t come into it.

Abbie wouldn’t be getting anything useful out of these three tonight.

Still smiling, Travis leaned forward, preparing his next move. Abbie swigged from her drink for the first time. Gagged. Slamming on the cap, she chucked the drink towards Travis before he could speak.

“Have this. It’s disgusting.”

As Travis raised a hand to prevent the bottle smashing his face, Abbie removed a folded slip of paper from her jacket and pressed it into Michael’s hand.

“I’d still like to know what happened here,” she said as she slid along the booth seat and climbed to a standing position.

Michael only stared. Travis had seen the exchange.

“What was that? Hey, you can’t be going already?”

“Go home,” she said to Travis. To all three of them. “Must be well past all your bedtimes.”

She didn’t look back. She went to the counter where Bobby had been watching her.

He said, “Making friends?”

In the last ten minutes, Abbie had seen no one approach the counter. During that time, Bobby had remained standing, exactly where he was. Somehow, his smile never faltered, and he didn’t look as though he were about to collapse from boredom. Abbie wanted to ask how he did it, but starting a friendly conversation was dangerous.

“You see the thugs who came to the table?” she asked.

“I did.”

“You know who they were?”

“Not specifically.”

“But you think you know? You have an idea who pays their wages?”

Bobby considered this. Behind him, the kitchen was empty. His colleagues had snuck out for a fag or a spliff and would be back only when he called them. Bobby didn’t seem to mind.

“You still haven’t