Page 14 of A Season Of Sin

“What made you go from confident and flirty with Wolf to self-deprecating?”

“You’re both talking about fitness and muscles, and you’re both so…” Curling her arms around her middle, Gracie trails off and looks at the ceiling.

“So… what?” I growl.

“Hot!” She throws her arms in the air.

I take a step closer, hating when she gets like this. “Gracie.” My tone is soft.

“What?” She pegs me with a glare. “It’s one thing having a husband who is a literal sexy firefighter. You’re in a calendar that women probably masturbate to, Jace, and I am totally fine with that. I’m happy to be married to such a fantastic partner. But now Wolf’s here, and he’s… well… he’s… you know what he is. I can’t help but think… Jace is hot, and Wolf is hot, and I know you love me, but…”

“But what?”

Shaking her head hard, Gracie’s hair flings over her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Gracie, what did you read?” Grinding my molars, I turn to Wolf. “Did she leave to go to the bathroom when I was downstairs?”

“Yes.”

I knew it.

“Did she come back acting all distant and… like this?” I glance at my wife.

Wolf nods once, looking between us to gauge what the hell is going on. Oh. I know what this is from. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, either.

“You read shit before Celeste got to the post, didn’t you?” I ask my wife.

We’ve talked about this ad nauseam. It took me a year to convince her to set up something so this would stop happening—hence Celeste, her social media assistant. Sharing your life with people online comes with mostly wonderful followers, but it also brings miserable assholes, too. My wife’s plus-sized, whatever the fuck that means. Listen, I could go on an entire tirade on how men are never considered plus-sized, and we have shirts my size in the regular men’s department. I’m an XXL. Yet, women like my wife can’t even buy bras and clothes from regular stores. Ugh. Sorry. I’m getting off-topic. That’s not the point. The point is, people judge her all the time. Sure, they judge me, too, as I’m in her videos sometimes. But that seems to make things worse because dick-for-brain douchebags don’t understand that any man can be down with the thickness, even fit ones like myself.

“Jace.” Gracie shifts from foot to foot, radiating guilt.

“Gracie. Is that a yes, or no?” I growl low, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. Okay? Yes.”

“And what are the fuckin’ rules in this house?”

“My mental health matters.”

Exactly.

“And what else?”

“That you love me, and you find me attractive.”

Damn fucking right I do.

“And?” I press.

“My mother doesn’t win. I win.”

Yep. Fuck that bitch.

“And?”

“Jace.” Gracie huffs. “Please, can we stop?”

“No. We can’t stop. We agreed, after your last encounter with whoever that fuckwad was, that you wouldn’t read anything until Celeste could clean the comments and your DMs. People are mean online, Gracie. They’re pieces of dog shit, living their dog shit lives, taking their miserable bullshit out on people like you because they wanna bring you, a beautiful, successful woman, down into the gutter with them. That’s not fuckin’ happening.”