The Life You Stole (Life Duet 2)

“Love. In all its good intentions and time-tested appeal, love is nothing more than deadweight on our hearts. It’s the strongest drug of all, yet no one shows up to these meetings to discuss the damage love did to their life. But the truth is, most addicts became addicts because they stopped feeling loved, or loved too much, or lost their focus—probably because they chose to love the wrong person or they felt they weren’t good enough or strong enough because no one had ever loved them enough to make them feel worthy … love. Stupid. Fucking. Love.”

Adrianne lost her flirtatious expression. Some sort of embarrassment or pain replaced it. Someone broke her heart. That was why she wanted to prove that no man was above the moral standard line. And what could I say? I hadn’t cheated on my wife, but to say I wasn’t secretly looking for an excuse to visit Lila would have been a lie.

“I’m sorry.”

Her gaze shot up to mine. “For what?”

“For your pain.”

After a brief pause, she nodded slowly. “Are you apologizing on behalf of all men?”

“Well,” I chuckled. “I’m not sure I’ve been granted that sort of authority, to speak on behalf of all men. But on behalf of good men—at least those who try to be good—I can say we’re sorry you’ve been treated badly, unfairly, or whatever that person or people did to cause you pain that might have contributed to why you have to attend these meetings.”

She grunted, narrowing her dark eyes a bit. “Good men are the worst. They’re blind to their infallibility. They think they’re good, which makes them incapable of seeing their faults. They unknowingly put themselves in harm’s way because they’re overconfident. They buy a co-worker a drink, claiming innocence and friendship, then they blame their spontaneous moment of infidelity on whiskey or tequila. They slither home and try to hide from the guilt, but eventually it pours out when their wife says something as simple as, ‘Thanks for taking out the trash, Bob. You’re the best.’ Then he falls to his knees, sobbing like a baby who lost his binky.”

I grinned, trying to dismiss her generalizations about good men. “You don’t think that’s a bit cynical? Are you saying bad men are better?”

“Bad men are my favorite. They unapologetically take what they want without excuses. They fuck you once in the bathroom of the bar, again in the car, and against the outside of your apartment door. They don’t think about getting caught because they made up their minds before ever sticking their dick in you that you were worth the risk. I’ve never had a bad man make me feel like I was a bad decision. And I’ve never had a bad man cheat on me and ask for a second chance or forgiveness.”

Again, she grunted a laugh. “Maybe bad people are perceived as being bad when in actuality they’re brutally honest. And good people are in fact the liars we can’t truly trust. They claim those lies are their attempt to save us from feeling too much pain. Nope. Give me the bad guy who doesn’t even take off his wedding band over the guy who nervously rubs his thumb over his naked ring finger while staring at my cleavage.”

I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “I’d love to hear more about your stereotypes for men, but today was Franz’s first day of school, and I want to be home in time to hear all about it over dinner.”

“Sorry. I’m sure you’re in a bit of a conundrum. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“What conundrum is that?” I turned and continued toward my car.

“You can’t win. If you stick with the good-guy stereotype, you know I think you’re a coward who doesn’t have the gumption to take what he wants whenever he wants it. On the other hand, if you go with the bad-guy image, it’s basically an invitation to pursue you.”

“What the hell?” I stuttered as her words become nothing but background chatter when my flat tires came into view.

“Oh … that’s not good.” Adrianne squatted, inspecting the tire, one of two flat tires.

One tire would have passed as a bad tire or a nail. Two tires raised suspicion. I lived in an uppity ski town. Vandalism was rare. Anyway, who slashed two random tires? No one. So that meant I had pissed someone off. But who? I had no known enemies.

“Not how I wanted this day to end.” I retrieved my phone again to call Evie.

Adrianne stood and rested her hand on my arm. “Don’t bother anyone, especially your wife since it’s your kid’s big day. I’ll give you a ride home.”

She was right. Evie planned on making lasagna, Franz’s favorite, and probably cookies—snickerdoodles. She was likely in the middle of meal prep. “I can call my friend Noah or a taxi.”