Before she could respond, I was already moving.
I walked straight to Roger's table, picked up the glass of orange juice in front of him, and threw it directly in his face.
His expression—pure, slack-jawed shock—was almost worth the five years.
I smiled.
"What a coincidence."
"Roger Simmons."
"Of all the restaurants in the city, you picked my team dinner spot to parade your affair. Should I compliment your taste in venues, or should I compliment—"
My gaze dropped to the mountain of shrimp shells on the table. The mockery rose like bile.
"—your miraculous recovery from that shrimp allergy?"
"Roger!"
I grabbed the second glass of orange juice, ready to drench him again—but his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.
"Lori!"
"Let me explain!"
I stared at the hand Roger had clamped around my wrist—his ring finger still bearing the wedding band that matched mine. Watching the panic flicker across his face, the fury I'd barely managed to suppress came roaring back.
Before he could get another word out, I wrenched my arm free and swung.
The slap cracked across his face.
"How dare you hit him!"