"I know that mouth of yours is the reason you're in this scandal," I said, trying to sound casual.
The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
I paused, fork halfway to my mouth, looking at him. I wasn't supposed to say that. It wasn't a joke. Not really. It was too close to the truth.
"You know about the scandal?" he asked. His voice was careful. Controlled. The playfulness from a moment ago had disappeared.
"Yeah," I said quietly.
Everyone knew. Even the people in our small hometown had heard about Patrick. The photos. The "evidence." The way the internet had exploded with opinions and accusations and death threats.
It had mixed opinions online — some people believed Patrick, some didn't, some didn't care — but right now, it was starting to become convincing. The petition to have Rhett removed from the team had gained another ten thousand signatures this week.
"God, that bitch." Rhett's voice was sharp, annoyed. He stared at the sauce for a moment, then looked at me. "I don't know him."
"What?" I asked. Was he trying to explain to me? He didn't owe me an explanation. We hadn't spoken in years. I had no right to ask for anything from him.
"I am not with him. I don't know him." He paused, setting down his fork with a soft clink. "I don't understand why he is doing this and why everyone thinks it's true. I have never met him, and I have nothing to do with him."
"Uhm," I said, eating another bite of pasta. I chewed slowly, buying myself time. "I believe you."
"You do?" He looked surprised. Almost hopeful. Like he'd been expecting me to accuse him.
"Yeah." I shrugged. "He's not your type."
I said the last part in a small voice and went back to eating, not looking at him.
Contrary to public opinion, Rhett didn't like blondes. I had known him for years — most of my life, actually — and he seemed to actively hate them. He said they weren't pretty. He gagged at the sight of blonde hair. I'd seen him do it — an exaggerated, joking gag, but still.
If he didn't hate blondes, maybe something would have happened between us years ago. I was blonde. And he'd never looked at me that way.
Not until that summer night, anyway. But that had been different. That had been a moment. A mistake. Something that happened because the stars aligned wrong and we were too close and the wine was too strong and we were both lonely.
I didn't think Rhett would ever actually touch a blonde person. And Patrick was blonde.
There was no way Rhett was interested in him. I knew it the moment I saw Patrick's hair in those photos.
"What did you say?" Rhett asked.
"Nothing," I said with a shrug and a little smile.
He watched me for a moment, his eyes searching my face. Then he went back to eating.