“Jake, what’s going on?” I said. Confusion and anger coiled in my chest.

“Yes, Jake, do tell us,” the stranger said. “What the fuck is going on?” From the sound of it, he was close to losing his temper. If someone didn’t explain things in the next thirty seconds, I wasn’t far behind.

Jake set the bottles on the table and laughed, smoothing the air with both hands. “Come on, now, you’re both blowing this out of-”

“I’m only asking what’s going on,” I said. “I’m not blowing a damned thing out of proportion, but I’d appreciate some sort of explanation.”

“You both have this playing-stupid thing down to an art form,” the stranger said, narrowing his eyes at me.

I glared at him, then at Jake. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Jake smiled at me. It was probably supposed to be his usual reassuring smile, but now it just came across as condescending. Sleazy. I wondered if it had always been that way.

Touching my arm, he said, “Why don’t we get out of here? I can explain on the way home.”

The stranger stiffened, taking and releasing a long breath through his nose. His hands tightened around each other, and his lips thinned, turning nearly as white as his knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I struggled to keep my own temper in check. “Not until someone tells me what the fuck is going on.”

“What’s going on,” the stranger snarled at me, “is that I’m not particularly fond of sharing my man with another man.”

“Neither am I,” I said through grinding teeth.

Jake again smoothed the air with his hands. “Guys, guys, honestly. This isn’t what it seems-”

“Then what is it?” the stranger and I said in unison.

He made a flippant gesture and shook his head. “This is-”

“Fuck it,” the stranger said, moving out of the booth and onto his feet in one smooth motion. “I’ve seen enough. I really don’t care to hear what bullshit explanation you’ve come up with.” Then to me, he growled, “Possession’s nine-tenths of the law, so it looks like you have him. Enjoy.” He started to go, then spat, “I’m sure the two of you deserve each other.”

And he was gone, but not before I saw the pain in his eyes. Guilt cut right through my anger. Sure, I was just as deceived as he was, but he was hurt because of something I had done, knowingly or otherwise.

I looked at Jake, then at the empty space the stranger had occupied across from me in the booth.

“Look, Zach, it’s not what it seems,” Jake said. I wondered if he’d taken that used-car salesman tone of voice with me before and I just hadn’t noticed. Either way, I noticed it now. Have I been missing this side of you all along?

“I’m sure.” I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t get the stranger’s pained expression out of my mind. Chewing my lip nervously, I got up.

“Where are you going?” Jake asked with a stunned expression.

“Doesn’t matter.” I grabbed my jacket, and he grabbed my arm.

“Zach, let’s talk about this.” The sleazy salesman voice was gone, replaced by a pleading tone that bordered on pitiful, though the grip on my arm was demanding.

I jerked my arm free and hurried out of the bar. Jake could be dealt with later. This stranger would be gone if I didn’t catch him now. Intentionally or not, I’d hurt him, and if I was going to sleep any time soon, I needed to settle this with him.

My heart was in my throat when I stepped out into the chilly evening air, standing in the same place where I’d waited for Jake just minutes before. I looked up the sidewalk, then down, then back up again, disappointment sinking deeper in my gut as I realized the stranger was long gone.

“Damn it,” I whispered. Somehow I doubted that Jake would give me a way to reach this guy, and I had no way to find him on my own. He was gone, as were my chances of getting a decent night’s sleep.

Turning to head back inside, I glanced up the street one last time, and my stomach flipped. There he was. His back was to me, each long stride taking him farther away, but it was him. I was sure of it. With blood pounding in my ears, I followed him.

“Hey!” I called after him.

He looked over his shoulder, but didn’t stop. In fact, he walked a little faster.

“Wait,” I said, resisting the urge to break into a run. He walked faster. I cursed under my breath, then said, “Fuck, would you just wait up a second?”

The irritation in my voice was probably what made him stop and turn. I didn’t blame him. After all, how dare I get annoyed with him for trying to get as far from me as possible?

He faced me, hands thrust into his jacket pockets, and I stopped a few feet short of him.

Before he could speak, I said, “I just want to talk to you.”

His lips once again thinned into that pale, almost snarling line. When he spoke, I wasn’t surprised at all when his lip curled into a sneer. “And if I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Then you don’t have to talk,” I said.

He blinked. Shifted his weight. Set his jaw. Waited.

I swallowed. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on between you two-” He started to speak, but I put up my hand and he stopped. Taking a breath, I continued. “I honestly had no idea. None. But,” I paused. “Obviously my being involved with him fucked up something you had. And for that, I’m sorry.”

His lips parted and his shoulders jumped slightly. He dropped his gaze. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he took a deep breath. “How long?”

“How long have I been seeing him?”

Nodding silently, he reached into his pocket. When he withdrew his hand, guilt sank even deeper in my gut.

Cigarettes.

“Fuck,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

He looked up. “What?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just-” I made a quick, dismissive gesture. “Nothing. Anyway, I’ve been seeing him for about six months. Give or take.”

He flinched, closing his eyes and shaking his head. I thought he cursed, but couldn’t be sure. He put the cigarette between his lips, stowed the rest of the pack, then pulled out a stainless Zippo lighter. With a quick flick of his thumb and the familiar metal clip-clap, the lighter was open and a flame illuminated his face in dancing orange light.

Then, just as quickly, the lighter snapped shut, severing the flame, and he looked at me as he took a drag.

I swallowed hard. “How long were-have you been with him?”

He lowered the cigarette and exhaled. The thin cloud of smoke obscured his features, but did nothing to dull the intensity in his gaze. “Four years.”

I sucked in a breath, and in so doing, tasted the smoke in the air. How many times had I smelled that on Jake? How many times had his kiss tasted faintly of smoke that I’d foolishly assumed was from being around his co-workers? Guilt rose like bile in my throat. You’re right. I did have something of yours.

“So is that everything you wanted to talk about?” he asked, lifting his cigarette again and taking a drag, as if the taste of the smoke would cover up the bitterness of speaking to me.

“Yeah.” I was suddenly breathless. Winded. What do you say to someone whose boyfriend you inadvertently stole? I had nothing left to say, but didn’t feel right walking away. Not yet. Something deep down told me there was more to say, whether I said it or he did.

“Well then,” he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it with the toe of his shoe. “Good night.” He turned to go, leaving me with the smoldering ashes.

“Wait,” I said.

He turned, exhaling sharply. His eyebrows rose in an annoyed expression of go on, out with it, I want to leave.

I hesitated. “Can I buy you a beer?”

A sudden laugh parted his lips, and the half-smile broke the angry rigidity of his features. The sound was one of amusement this time, not bitterness. The smile fell, then rose again. “Are you serious?”