"I'm sorry! I really messed up with what I said. That was out of line, Claire," one of Ethan's friends exclaimed, dramatically slapping his wrist as if to punish himself.
Ethan waved him off and pointed sharply at the college girl, who was still on stage.
“Get out of here!” he barked, his voice cutting through the awkward silence in the room.
“You all are unbelievable,” Ethan added, shaking his head at his buddies. “Bringing in trash like that? How could someone like her even deserve to be in the same room as my wife?”
The girl’s face turned crimson, her eyes welling up with tears. She quickly opened the door and bolted out without looking back.
Ethan turned to me, his chest puffed up like he expected a round of applause for his performance.
I grabbed my bag without a word. “I’m tired. You guys go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”
Without hesitation, Ethan sprang up and followed me out.
As we walked to the car, my phone buzzed with a message. I glanced at the screen.
It was the risk disclosure document for the cryogenic experiment.
While Ethan was driving, he shot me a curious look. “Who’s texting you this late?”
I stared at the message for a second longer before pressing delete. “Just spam.”