“Shit,” I whispered. Were two guys fighting over me?
Awestruck and horrified and scared I said it again, louder, “Shit!”
Jack was doing pretty good for being so drunk, but unfortunately, Tom’s rage was winning him the battle. Only Jack, in his foggy stupor, heard me swear. He stopped to look at me and Tom took the moment to kick him right in the crotch. Jack bent over screaming/slurring, “Shit, shit, shit, yu lil’ thit!!”
Tom was breathing heavily. He took a step back, and then a step towards me.
I noticed the secretary looking through the smudge proof sliding doors. We had to leave, now.
“Goodbye, Tom,” I recited sweetly, practiced over and over in my head for so many months, “Stay out of my life.”
I had told him Jack was my best friend. I answered his calls. I came to meet him. And if all he’s gonna do is swear like a sailor and get kicked out of a hotel and beat up my best friend then screw Tom. I picked up Jack, pecked his cheek and helped him into my car.
The secretary watched my departure.