Almost Married

He still wouldn’t look at her. “You said you loved me,” he said quietly.

Her heart lurched painfully. “I do.”

“I was planning…I thought…” He met her eyes with a hard look. “I'm so stupid.” His face flushed red with anger. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“I don’t know.” Her hands fluttered helplessly in the air. “Now, I guess. When it seemed like we might actually have a future.”

“She’s married,” he muttered to himself. “Married.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stayed like that for a long time.

“Dave? I just wanted you to know. Honesty is important.”

He grunted.

“We can still be together.”

He finally slid his glasses back in place and met her eyes. “I don’t know about this.” He exhaled sharply. “I wish you’d just been honest with me from the beginning.”

“I know. I definitely should’ve been more upfront.”

It was just that she hated confrontations. It was something she knew she had to work on, but years of trying to be the easy, never-get-into-trouble kid for her single mom were ingrained into her. Her younger brother had been a lot of work for her mom. Even when Steph was at work, if a kid was acting up in her classroom, she’d just send them to the principal instead of confronting them on their behavior.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you really getting a divorce?”

“Yes. As soon as I can arrange it.”

He stared at the table. “I’m getting a really bad feeling about this. Your husband’s not going to show up here and kick my ass, is he?”

She laughed much too hard. “No way! I haven’t heard a peep from him in five years! No way he’d be any threat to you.”

His lips formed a flat line. “Okay. I don’t like it, but…” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a rumpled mess. “I need some time to think about this.”

“Okay. Take as much time as you need.”

He nodded. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Dave left some bills on the table and drove her home. He was quiet, which made her feel jumpy. Maybe he was in shock. Just like always, he parked and walked her to the front door. She gave him a quick kiss goodbye, wondering if it was their last.

“See you later,” she said.

“Yup,” he said tersely before turning to go.

She let herself into her apartment, mad at herself for waiting so long to tell Dave the truth, but also mad at Griffin for not signing those damn divorce papers. She punched the number for Griff’s manager, Bill, on her cell. She got his voicemail again and left a message, “This is Stephanie Moore-Huntley, Griffin's wife. Tell him if he doesn't sign those divorce papers right away, I will demand back alimony and take him for all he's worth!”

Chapter Three

Griffin yawned and stretched as he slowly woke to the sound of his cell ringing. He would’ve ignored it, except the ringtone, Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll,” meant it was his manager, Bill. He ignored those calls at his own peril. He sat up, disturbing the naked woman at his side, who pushed her long blond hair out of her face and gave him a sultry smile. He gave her a slow, sexy smile back. What was her name again? Jennifer. No, Jillian. Erica?

“I’ll meet you poolside, sweetheart,” he told her before taking the call. “What’s up?”

He watched as the woman walked nude from the room, hips swaying, that sweet ass. She looked over her shoulder, caught him looking, and blew him a kiss. Bill was jabbering on about ticket sales, but all Griff could think was why the hell was he kicking this beautiful woman out of bed. Tanya. That was it. Tanya.

She disappeared from view. He headed naked to the bathroom to take a piss, phone still to his ear, as Bill bitched about sales for the band’s latest album, Griff’s cash flow, and the European tour. Blah, blah, blah. Griff had a manager so he didn’t have to deal with all that business stuff. He was in it for the music. The lifestyle wasn’t too shabby either.

He left the cell on the counter, not bothering to put it on speaker or tell Bill to hold on. The man would just talk until he had nothing left to say. Then Griff would say okay, and they’d go about their respective jobs. He took care of business, washed his hands, and caught his reflection in the mirror. Bags under his eyes, dark rings indicating fatigue, and the wrinkle in his forehead was deeper. Damn, it sucked getting old. He was thirty-five, had hit the big time finally at thirty with his band Twisted Star, but the late nights and constant partying were catching up to him.