Page 76 of Cursing My Cheating Husband

Ryder shifted closer to me, his hand sliding up my thigh in a way that should have been distracting. His body was warm and inviting, and I really should have been appreciating the lean muscles of his torso.

But to my complete and utter frustration, my mind was stuck on these Maddox reveals.

What the fuck?

Therapy. Charity work. Volunteer days. Apologies for years-old slights that no one else even remembered.

This couldn’t be real. Maddox was obviously running some devious scheme to appear reformed. He was playing the long game, trying to manipulate his way back into my good graces.

Except... he hadn’t told me about any of it. He hadn’t once mentioned the therapy or the charity. If this were a performance designed to impress me, why keep it secret?

“You okay?” Ryder asked. “You got this look on your face.”

“I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

About my ex-husband, apparently. While naked in bed with another man. Which was exactly the kind of moment I never wanted to have again! This was why I was moving on from Maddox! Even though he made an exceptional servant.

Fury surged through me. This weekend was supposed to be one last awesome sex marathon! Sending off the summer in a glorious blaze of freedom, before I buckled down with the serious work of building a new life for myself.

And despite his claims that he only cared about me having a great time, Maddox had somehow infiltrated my thoughts anyway, pulling me out of the moments I most wanted to savor.

Ryder would be leaving in an hour or two, and I could not wait to give Maddox a piece of my fucking mind.

CHAPTER 32

CALLIE

The taillights of Ryder’s truck disappeared down the drive, and I was already moving.

My sandals slapped against the hardwood as I cut through the living room, through the dining room, toward the warm light spilling from the kitchen. The conversation with Ryder was still ricocheting around my head and I needed answers.

I rounded the corner and stopped short.

Maddox stood at the island, surrounded by meticulously organized chaos: a million ingredients, mixing bowls, and baking dishes spread across the granite.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded.

“Overnight crème brûlée French toast.” He wiped his hands on a dish towel. “The bread has to soak in the custard overnight, and then you bake it with this caramelized brown sugar layer that⁠—”

“Enough,” I cut in. “When you pretend you’re going to therapy, where are you actually going?”

The shift in his body was immediate. He was trying to hide it, but I knew what it meant when his shoulders drew back slightly like that. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

“I am going to therapy,” he said cautiously.

“Bullshit.” I moved closer, putting the island between us like a barrier. “What are you up to, Maddox? What’s the angle?”

“There’s no angle. I’m seeing a therapist. Her name is Dr. DeMille, her office is on Baxter Street, and I go twice a week.”

I burst out laughing at that. “Oh my gods! Please, I know I don’t need to give advice to you on lying, but don’t overreach. Once a week is enough of a stretch. You honestly think I’m stupid enough to believe you go twice?”

Maddox’s eyes were pained, but he didn’t look away from me. “I’m not lying.”

“Of course you are! Lies are the only thing I’ve ever gotten from you!” The words roared out with a force that surprised me. “Tell me the truth. Now. And do not give me the same bullshit again.”

Maddox looked trapped for a moment, until he suddenly pulled out his phone.