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Crying over him? Pining after the prize prick who cheated on her? Who didn’t stop to think about how her life was so entwined with his she’d be out of work and even the country by him getting his dick wet?

God, I wish I was on the ice so I could take out my anger right now. My post-masturbation contentedness is gone in a flash.

I turn to leave her mourning a life she’s better without, but I stub my toe on the step I’ve walked a hundred times. Today, everything feels off.

“Fuck!” I take hold of my toe, hopping and sloshing hot coffee down my leg, which brings with it more expletives.

“Uncoordinated, messy and sleeps in the middle of the day,” Sienna gripes. My eyes are squeezed shut but I can tell she’s coming closer. “I’m on the fence between whether you’re a small child or a dog.”

Jaw locked, I open my eyes and come face to face with her.

“Say, did you know you were robbed last night, hubby? The intruders left the place in a real state.”

“Funny,” I bite, because it seems more polite than calling her unhinged for pining after her ex.

“I believe the words you’re looking for are thank you.”

“You didn’t have to clean, I have a housemaid.”

“Really? When did your maid last visit? The year 2000?”

“Yesterday, actually. She comes three times a week, so before you start bad-mouthing your new home, I can confirm it’s clean.”

“There’s a difference between clean and tidy, Jax. And, yes, I’m so grateful that you took the time to show me around your humble abode.”

I roll my eyes, rubbing drips of coffee from my bare chest. I’m satisfied as I do that Sienna blatantly gawps from behind her shades – pupils dilating the way they were in my dream. I want to make a quip about the way I satisfied her in Paradise but I’m still not sure what’s true and what’s my imagination. Instead, I say, “Those lenses aren’t opaque, FYI.”

She scowls. “Then you can see me looking to the heavens watching you make more mess all over the floor.”

“It’s my floor.”

“What happened to what’s yours is mine, honey?” she asks, hands on hips.

She’d be amusing if I wasn’t pissed at her and in pain.

“You drafted a clear contract that says what’s mine remains mine, darling.”

Got her there, and I know it from the huffy humph that leaves her.

“Well, we should discuss my contribution to the rent or utilities while I’m here.”

“I don’t want your money, Sienna.” I can tell she hates this and maybe I do, too – she’s invading my Sunday – but I’m also not a douche, so I add… “You’re doing me a favor by spinning this marriage in a good light. Consider that your contribution.”

“And the cleaning.”

I shake my head. The place looks great but I didn’t bring her here to clean. I brought her here to get her out of that pokey rental her ex forced her into.

“I’m going to order breakfast, what do you like?” I ask.

She makes a show of checking her watch. “It’s time for supper.”

“Ha fucking ha, Sienna, you’re splitting my sides.”

“Nothing, thank you. I’m going to go to the grocery store shortly, then I need to get on with work ahead of my first day tomorrow. Since I spent hours picking up your crap and…”

I stop listening, focusing instead on the food app on my phone, ignoring another missed call from Mom, and leaving what used to be my rooftop sanctuary.

This is why I don’t do relationships. Hockey gives me silverware and doesn’t talk back.