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I shook my head. “That wasn’t—he didn’t even try that.”
“I thought he would. And he’s not Aaron, Elle.” He looked over at me. “That guy… that guy makes me look like a chump. And of course he has a big dick. I’m fucked sideways if he knows how to use it.”
Which it certainly seemed he had. “No one has ever made you look like a chump.”
He shook his head with a hard laugh. “Elle. Come on. Brad’s watch is worth more than what we have in the bank, my 401k included. That’s the kind of guy you should be with. That’s what you deserve.”
“Fuck that,” I said fiercely. “You’re my husband. I chose you.”
“You chose me when you thought I was something that I ended up not being.”
“I chose you because I love you. Not the uniform, not the signing bonus, not the big dick.”
He said nothing, and the Range Rover bounced over the dip in our driveway before coming to a stop in front of our garage. Unclipping my belt, I waited for him to get out, but he didn’t move.
“E.” I touched his arm.
“Let’s go inside.” He pulled at the door handle. “Wayland’s got to be dying to piss.”
I watched as he stepped out of the SUV and opened the back door to grab his bag.
“You coming?” he asked tersely, and I nodded, my still-drunk brain struggling to process where all of this had gone wrong.
He had certainly seemed into it, and we’d been all smiles and stolen touches as we’d gathered our clothes and giggled goodbye to Brad and Julia, who had still been mid-sex on the dark end of the couch. But somewhere between their street and Flagler, his mood had flipped. Maybe in the morning, with my buzz worn off and my hangover kicking, I’d change too. Maybe I’d freak out over him getting head from her. Maybe I’d panic over the listing, and at the incomplete seller’s disclosure, and at the sexual actions that could lose me the listing, and my license.
Not that I could lose my real estate license. My mouth grew dry at that thought, one my logic tried to quickly dismiss. It wasn’t like I was their doctor, or their boss. I was in that idiotic profession that counted bedrooms and tied balloons to mailboxes and preached on decluttering and locking up pets during a showing.
I managed to make it over the driveway’s crack and through the front door. Kicking off my shoes, I left them beside the mat and flipped the deadbolt. Moving through the house, I watched as Easton followed Wayland into the backyard, pausing beside him as the dog lifted one leg.
By the time they made it back inside, I was in bed, my makeup still on, teeth unbrushed, in socks and a baggy T-shirt, a pillow in between my legs. I heard him walk into the master suite and closed my eyes, deepening my breathing and feigning sleep. He paused beside our bed, and then there was the click of the bathroom door and the sound of the shower.
I should have stayed up. I should have discussed it with him and figured out the root of the problem, and fought through the issue and faced up to whatever I did wrong, though I didn’t feel as if I did anything at all. If either of us was going to be freaking out right now, it should be me. He was the one who had been with another woman, and I was supposed to be the insecure party who was being held and petted and told that I was sexier and more amazing, in every single way.
But I hadn’t flipped out, and I wasn’t feeling insecure about what had happened. And I didn’t feel like apologizing when he had asked for it and wanted it as much as I did.
I closed my eyes, and when he got into bed, I didn’t say a word.
21
“Okay, what is wrong with your phone?” Chelsea barged into the kitchen, a donut box in hand. “I tried to call you like ten times yesterday.”
I tilted back my mug of coffee slowly, taking a deep sip of the rich blend. I’d splurged this week, getting the local roaster’s beans, my credit card more easily swiped after E’s commission check. Setting down my cup, I met Chelsea’s expectant stare. “I had a photoshoot at the Olive Line Trail listing. I left my phone in the car.”
“For seven hours?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I even came by here last night. Took Wayland out, by the way. You’re welcome. Where was E?”
“Los Angeles. His flight got in late.”
“Well, so did you. I came by around nine. What were you doing?”
I paused, annoyed that she suddenly seemed to have so much time for me. Where had she been for the last month? What had been the emergency that had required ten calls but not a single voicemail or text? “I stayed for dinner with the clients. We had some paperwork to fill out.”
