“Zay, what the fuck?” I ask.
Ez’s brows are furrowed “You’ve never had a problem with it before.”
He takes a couple of steps closer to Ezra. Ezra stands up, squares his shoulders, a confused look on his face.
“So, how long has this been going on?”
I reach out and grab Zay’s hand. He flinches and flings it out of my grip.
Ezra shakes his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“How long have you been sleeping with my wife?” he yells.
The silence of the coffee shop dies down even more. I look around our surroundings, and everyone is now staring at us. I stand up, grabbing Zay’s hand once more. “Let’s go,” I say sternly. This is so fucking embarrassing. I try to drag Zay out, but he won’t budge. “Let’s go, Zay,” I say again in a lower tone, so this doesn’t make a bigger scene than it already has.
Ez puts his hands on the top of Zay’s shoulders. “What is wrong with you? We’re not sleeping together. I asked her if she could meet me to talk about Rya.”
Zay’s hardened face drops. “What about her?” he asks, softer.
“Let’s go outside. Everyone is staring at us,” I repeat, again.
Zay looks around, throws Ez’s hands off his shoulders, huffs, and walks out.
Ez and I both stare at the back of Zay. He storms out and chucks a coffee in the garbage outside. My head spins at everything that just happened in the matter of minutes. As Zay walks away, I search for some hint that this was a joke. But he doesn’t turn and look back at us. He gets in his car and drives away.
The accusation feels like a slap in the face. I can’t believe Zay would even think that about me and Ezra. There have been many times when Ez and I have hung out, just the two of us. Maybe not so much now that we’re actually married but still, Zay is still way out of line with this.
I’ve been stirring all night, sitting at home waiting for Zay to come home. He hasn’t answered my calls or my text messages. I expected Rya to text or call me after Ezra got home because I’msure he told her what happened, but still no word from her. Or Ezra.
What the fuck is going on?
The mudroom door squeaks, telling me Zayn has come home. The house is dark. I’ve been sitting here all night, questioning everything, waiting for him to walk through the door. I should be asleep, given that it’s almost midnight. But that’s probably why Zay is coming home so late, so he doesn’t have to deal with me questioning him. He probably thinks I’m asleep.
He walks into the living room quietly, no doubt trying to not wake me up. He turns on the light and right away is startled by me sitting here. I glare at him, waiting for him to say something—anything. His eyes flicker away from my glare, cheeks flushed, giving away his guilt.
“What the fuck was that?” I yell. I’m done trying to be all nice and understanding of his… whatever the hell is going on with him.
He stands there at a loss for words. He should be, because he knows what he did was wrong.
“Are you going to say anything?”
“There is nothing to say,” he says, walking past me and up the stairs.
My mouth is agape as I watch him turn his back on me. I jump off the couch and follow behind him. “Zay!”
“What?” he huffs.
He walks into our room, then into the bathroom, and turns on the shower, avoiding eye contact with me.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, my voice trembling from all the anger and nerves riled up in me.
He turns and faces me. His nostrils flare, and his jaw clench. “How long has this been going on?”
My eyes widen and my mouth parts in disbelief. “Oh, my hell. You actually think me and Ezra are sleeping together?”
He crosses his arms. “What were you two doing all alone in an intimate place?”
I freeze for a moment, heart racing. “How the hell is a coffee shop intimate?”
