“Kevin?” I said, working hard to keep my voice light. “What are you doing here?”
He set the paper aside, then slowly turned his attention to me. His expression resembled a disapproving parent, and I had to force myself not to fidget in my seat as I thought of my detour last night. “I came by a few hours ago. I wanted to see how you were.”
“Oh.” I took a sip of Diet Coke. “You could have just called.”
“I did. Twice, actually. Considering your state of mind last night, I was concerned when you didn’t answer.”
“Twice?” For the first time it occurred to me to look at my phone, and I fished it out of my purse. The Do Not Disturb feature I’d turned on last night only allows calls from my parents and work to ring through, and I’d forgotten to turn off the app.
I checked the screen and saw three missed calls. Two from Kevin and one from Kat.
There was nothing from Evan.
“I was at the Art Institute this morning,” I told Kevin. “With Flynn. Then I met my parents at The Drake for tea.” I shrugged as if this were no big deal. Then again, it was no big deal. We weren’t married. We weren’t engaged. We weren’t even dating exclusively. And I’d made him no promises when I’d left last night.
Not that those justifications quelled the guilty discomfort that was twisting like a serpent in my gut.
Kevin regarded me silently for a moment. “I see,” he finally said, and despite that ridiculous roiling guilt, my temper flared.
“What exactly do you see? Did I commit some horrible transgression at the Art Institute? Or maybe by dining at The Drake?”
“Is there something I should know about?” he asked, his tone of complete calm grating on my nerves like sandpaper. “Something between you and Flynn, maybe?”
“Of course not,” I said automatically, and it was only when the words were out of my mouth that it occurred to me that I should have lied. If I wanted to break up with Kevin, faking a relationship between Flynn and me would be the perfect way to do it.
Mentally, I rolled my eyes, disgusted with myself. What was I, in junior high?
“Then maybe it’s something between you and Evan Black,” he continued. The transition was smooth, but I heard the sharpness in his voice. And when I looked at his face, I saw both anger and hurt.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, but the righteous indignation I’d wanted to infuse into my voice didn’t quite make it past the guilt.
“Dammit, Angie. If you’d really wanted to go out, I would have taken you. But the Poodle Dog Lounge?”
“Wait. You followed me?” Anger had me leaping to my feet.
“If you want someone to lie to a federal agent, you need to pay them more than forty bucks.”
“You son of a bitch.” I started pacing, a blur of fury and motion. “You goddamned son of a bitch!”
My rage didn’t even faze him. “I was worried about you. Apparently I had reason to be.” He picked up his wineglass and swallowed what was left, the only sign that he wasn’t as icy calm as he looked. “Evan Black is not someone you can trust, Angie. I thought I made that clear last night. A guy like that is interested only in himself.”
I’d been pacing the small area between the tiny kitchenette and the coffee table. Now I came to a halt in front of him. “Really?” I said, lacing my voice with as much sarcasm as I could manage. “Because last night I needed to cut loose a little, and Evan was there for me. Funny that I didn’t see you there at all.”