“Are you done?”
“Will you make Eloise happy and come to dinner next week?”
“It’s beenoneweek, Rome.”
“Yeah, but two Sundays.” He shrugs. “When my wife worries, I’m sent out to make sure the people she loves are okay. And you’re not okay.”
“I will be.”
Another lie.
“Yeah, you will be. Come to dinner next week. In the meantime, come to the club. Get laid. If nothing else, let Mariah give you a blow job.”
“Get the fuck out,” I growl, and Rome shakes his head, a smile spreading over his face as he glances down at my hand, the one still wearing a wedding band.
Yeah, I need to take that off, but every time I do, I put it right back on again.
“It was just a suggestion.”
When I’m alone, I sit on the couch and lean my head back with a sigh.
I could go to the club. Rome was right, Mariah was always my partner of choice. She gives one hell of a fucking blow job, and she doesn’t look anything like Natasha.
But the mere thought of another woman anywhere near me makes me sick to my stomach.
I’d rather kill people.
I’m a sick fuck.
And I miss my wife.
Twenty-Nine
NATASHA
“Shit, that hurts,”I mutter, trying to wrap tissue around my hand. I started a job, cleaning rooms in the motel I’m currently living in, actually. Does it suck? So, so much.
But I get to live here rent-free in exchange for the work, along with a small salary, and it’s the best thing I could come up with right away. My phone died on day two, so it’s not like I can send out résumés.
I don’t evenhavea résumé.
Of course, my left hand or wrist ...something... is still horribly injured, and I can hardly use it. It’s probably broken, but I can’t afford to go to the hospital.
It’ll heal with time.
I hope, someday, I’ll be able the play the piano again, but just the thought of it makes me cry, so I blink fast and focus on trying to cover up this wound.
“What happened,” Sue, my boss, asks.
Shit.
“I slipped and cut my hand,” I reply. “I just need to cover it up, and then I can get back to work.”
“Listen, Natasha, I like you. I think you’re a nice girl who’s going through a shitty time in your life, but I have to let you go.”
I feel all of the blood drain out of my face.
“I’ve only had this job for a week,” I protest. It’s been two weeks since Julian kicked me out, and every single day has been a nightmare. Getting this job was the only thing keeping my emotions under control. “Please don’t fire me.”
