My Best Friend’s Boyfriend Hit On Me — So I Gave Him Her Number.
Part 1
The bass from the club’s speakers rattled the ice in my drink.
The air smelled heavily of cheap cologne and terrible decisions.
My fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the sticky surface of the bar.
Brenda had begged me to come out tonight, convinced I needed more socialization.
A tall shadow eclipsed the harsh strobe lights flashing across my face.
I glanced up slowly from my half-empty glass.
He possessed the kind of effortless symmetry that made people immediately stupid.
Dark hair fell perfectly across his forehead in a studied mess.
I knew that face instantly.
I had seen it in dozens of framed photographs on Brenda’s crowded nightstand.
This was Craig.
He was the boyfriend whose infidelity she had discovered by finding another woman’s necklace on his bathroom sink six months ago.
She had forgiven him despite my relentless protests.
I had never actually met him in person until this exact second.
My stomach twisted into a tight, freezing knot.
He leaned casually against the bar next to me.
He signaled the busy bartender without ever looking away from my eyes.
He clearly had absolutely no idea who I was.
Brenda kept our friend groups strictly separate precisely to avoid this kind of drama.
He leaned in close enough for me to feel his body heat.
His breath smelled strongly of expensive vodka and fresh mint.
“A beautiful woman shouldn’t be drinking alone,” he murmured smoothly.
I gripped my glass tighter until my knuckles turned stark white.
I forced the corners of my mouth upward into a slow, measured smile.
“Maybe I prefer my own company,” I countered quietly.
He chuckled, a low, incredibly confident sound.
He fully believed this was a flirtatious game.
The bartender slid a fresh, sweating drink toward him.
He nudged it gently across the wood toward me.
“Let me change your mind.”
I let my eyes trail slowly over his expensive, pressed shirt.
Brenda deserved so much better than this walking cliche.
She was at home right now in her pajamas.
She truly thought her loving boyfriend was out having a harmless guys’ night.
The sheer audacity of his lie settled over my shoulders like a heavy blanket.
I kept my gaze locked intensely on his dark eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asked softly.
His shoulder brushed heavily against mine, making my skin crawl with revulsion.
“Jill,” I lied without missing a single beat.
“I’m Craig,” he offered warmly, flashing a brilliant, highly practiced smile.
This exact routine had clearly been run a hundred times before.
For the next twenty minutes, excessive compliments rained down on me.
Praising the color of my eyes and the cut of my dress was apparently his specialty.
Playing the part of the completely captivated audience perfectly required all my focus.
Fluttering my eyelashes just enough fed his massive, expanding ego.
Inside my chest, a cold, calculated plan was rapidly forming.
Walking away now meant leaving him free to find another easy target.
Another woman’s perfume would inevitably end up on his collar before the night was over.
Going home to Brenda’s apartment with a clean conscience would just be another practiced routine.
Next summer would undoubtedly bring a wedding, locking my best friend to a pathological fraud.
I couldn’t let that tragic future happen to my best friend.
I needed concrete, undeniable proof.
I needed to detonate an explosion he couldn’t possibly talk his way out of.
“I should probably get going,” I finally said quietly.
Genuine panic flashed quickly across his handsome features.
“Already?” he asked, reaching out quickly to touch my bare arm.
I smoothly pulled away before his fingers could make contact.
“Early morning tomorrow,” I offered with a small, apologetic shrug.
He scrambled frantically for a pen hidden in his expensive jacket pocket.
“At least let me get your number,” he insisted eagerly.
He signaled the distracted bartender once again for a napkin.
Craig handed me the silver pen, his eyes incredibly hungry.
I took the pen slowly and smoothed the flimsy napkin flat against the bar top.
I thought intensely about the bitter tears Brenda had cried six months ago.
Pressing the silver tip against the cheap paper, my hand moved with lethal precision.
Instead of offering a fake sequence, a very specific set of numbers appeared.
Seven highly significant digits slowly materialized beneath my fingertips.
Brenda’s home landline stared back at me in thick black ink.
I even added a small, mocking heart right next to the final digit.
I slid the napkin slowly back toward him.
He grabbed it hungrily like a drowning man finding a lifeline.
He didn’t even look closely at the numbers written there.
“I’ll call you,” he promised sincerely, folding the paper carefully.
“I look forward to it,” I replied softly, grabbing my purse from the stool.
I walked steadily toward the club exit without ever looking back.
The freezing night air hit my flushed face as I pushed through the heavy doors.
I quickly hailed a passing yellow cab and climbed into the back seat.
I pictured Brenda sitting alone in her quiet living room.
She was completely oblivious to the ticking time bomb I had just personally armed.
I watched him tuck the napkin into his pocket with a smug grin, completely unaware that he had just taken a one-way ticket to his own destruction.
