“Want to come home with me?”
“I thought you were married,” she whispers hesitantly.
“Do you want to come home with me?” I repeat and let my lips graze her neck, before moving up and nipping her earlobe lightly.
“Yes.”
Chapter 20
Callie
Imust have fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home and the sounds of the TV must have muffled his arrival. But nothing could muffle the high-pitched squeal coming from his bedroom. I sit bolt upright on the couch and stare into the hallway. I can see part of the stairs and the front hall. Devin’s shoes are there and there is a tacky fake Coach purse beside them.
He did it again.
I had been hoping that, even though he didn’t give in to his family’s attempts at getting him to open up, it had at least made some kind of deep impact. That Devin would start to do a little self-reflection and stop lashing out—with his words or his dick—but apparently I was wrong.
He hadn’t left the bar tonight to absorb everything that had happened and get a grip. He left so he could find himself a warm body to bury his feelings and his cock inside, once again. And stupid me had come home—and left that sexy, French, walking orgasm inducer Seb—to be with him. I’m suddenly consumed by anger. I jump off the couch and climb the stairs two at a time.
When I get to his bedroom door, I don’t even knock. I just fling it open so hard it hits the wall. Some completely skanked-up bottle blonde is on her back, lying sideways across Devin’s California king. Her leggings are halfway down her thighs. Devin is leaning over her, shirtless and wearing only his boxer briefs.
Her eyes get huge at the sight of me. Devin jumps up and spins around to face me. He looks embarrassed and furious. “Callie!”
I ignore him and point at her. “You. Get out.”
“What?!” she squeaks, horrified.
“Get out. Go home,” I command and point to the open door. “You’re not fucking him tonight. Or ever. Go home.”
“Callie, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he wants to know.
“Are you the wife?” the bottle blonde asks, terrified.
I glare at her and figure what the hell. “Yeah. I’m the wife. Now stop fucking my husband or I’ll kill you. Deal?”
I say it with absolutely no emotion—like I am reciting lunch specials at a diner. It sounds ridiculous, but it does the trick. She scampers off the bed and starts pulling up her leggings and charging down the stairs at the same time. I hang my head over the railing and watch her grab her bag and disappear out the front door.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he slurs furiously. He’s clearly had too much—way too much—to drink.
There is actually an open bottle of Crown Royal on the bedside table. I shake my head. Classy.
“I decided your rule is a good rule,” I tell him as I try to look intimidating, my hands on my hips as I stand in front of him in my hot pink pajama shorts and white tank top. “No random hookups in this house.”
“I told you you could bring Seb home,” he yells. “And who I bring home is none of your fucking business!”
I shake my head and step into him. We’re maybe a foot apart and I poke my finger into his chest. “Yeah, I’m pretty much done with letting you figure this shit out on your own. You’re making a bigger mess of your life than it already is.”
He pushes past me and storms into the master bath. I follow. I don’t even give a fuck if he’s going to take a piss, he is not getting out of this conversation.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he bellows and turns on me. His normally caramel-colored eyes are as dark as coal. I feel a little ripple of fear but I swallow it down. I know he would never physically hurt me.
“You’re done with the revenge fucking phase of this mess, do you hear me, Devin Garrison?” I shout and push past him and open the shower door. “Now it’s time to start acting like a grown-up and figuring your shit out.”
“So she’s allowed to fuck whoever she wants but I can’t?” Devin demands.
I turn on the cold water in the shower and flip the lever so it’s coming out the rain head. I hesitate and also turn on the warm water. Yes, I want to shock him, but I don’t want to kill him.
“This isn’t about what Ashleigh’s doing. It’s about what you’re doing to yourself,” I tell him, trying not to scream but, man, I want to. “These randoms are not helping anything. So next time you want to fuck something…”
