His expression drops. “Not yours?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Beau lifts his gaze until it meets mine.
I gulp, level a look at those deep brown eyes, and frame the forbidden sentence with my lips at last. “I think my husband is with your wife.”
CHAPTER8
Beau
Streetlights drag across the windshield as dawn peeks beyond the horizon. I adjust my cramped legs and roll my stiff neck as I steady the wheel.
“I feel dumb,” Kirsten groans from the passenger seat.
“It’s fine,” I grumble, even though it’snotfine. I just missed out on an entire night’s sleep and suspected my wife of cheating with some computer geek who—five years from now—will look exactly like Elmer Fudd.
“I don’t know why I was so positive that she would be there,” Kirsten continues.
“You hadmeconvinced.”
“I’m not the only one who thought they were cheating,” she says. “Our sons are the ones who said it first.”
“They’re kids.”
She huffs out an exasperated sigh that sounds a lot like Parker’s. Quiet fills the car as she stares out the window. We’re about forty minutes from the hotel, but I’ll probably have to stop for gas before we’re there. A fact that only pours gunpowder on my already explosive mood.
I replay the scene I stepped onto in the quiet house after disarming the alarm and entering through the downstairs patio door.
The flowers I’d delivered were sitting in a vase on the table, still in plastic but at least they’d found water. The food I’d sent was in the fridge. Barely touched, granted, but that was Trish. She ate like a bird most days. And Trish, my adorably pampered wife was lying primly in place, poised like a mummy on her back with her silky sleep mask covering half her face.
Guilt fans the irritation I feel toward Jack’s mom for putting me through this and getting into my head. Sure, Trish is spoiled, and yeah—she’s been taking a little moregirl timethan she probably really needs. But she is not cheating on me with Elmer Freaking Fudd.
“Not to be rude,” I start to say.
“Which means you’re about to say something rude—”she interrupts.
“But I don’t want you to bring this up to me again. I don’t care if you findshoesthat look like my wife’s,perfumethat smells like my wife’s, or hire a P.I. that finds Craig with a woman wholookslike my wife. Unless you catch the two of them naked together, I don’t want to hear it.”
Silence fills the cab of the Benz, so thick and potent, it seems to swallow my words with one, muted gulp.
In the moments that follow, the space seems to slowly regurgitate what I said, word for bitter word. I don’t let myself think of what I sound like. Trish isn’t cheating. Which is more than I can say for Jack’s dad. I don’t have proof of anything; once we found Trish at home, Kirsten decided not to check things at hers. What was the point, she’d said. But I think she was just chickening out. Running out of bravery, like she’d said she sometimes does.
That guy is probably a slimy cheat who doesn’t appreciate a good woman when he has one. Not that I’d be into Kirsten myself; she’s not my type, and she’s too tightly wound.
Still, she seems to have a level head where parenting is concerned. And look-wise, let’s face it, her husband married entire grade-levels up.
If I was a nicer person, I might tell her that, but I’m too ticked off and tired to say one more word.
Kirsten stays silent too. I’m not sure if she’s too angry or too exhausted, like me. Perhaps what I said has her pitying me, thinking I’m the one stuck in some world of denial, too blind to see the truth. I’m not, but if Kirsten is convinced her guy is walking the straight and monogamous line just because he’s not with Trish, she’s the one in denial.
CHAPTER9
March
Kirsten
Things are good. Better than good, they’re perfect.
