Not What I Expected

“Thank you. She’s not usually one to drink. Must have been some party.”

“She seemed to be having a good time.”

“Was she with anyone …” I hugged my arms to my waist. “A guy?”

“I wasn’t there to chaperone or take notes for anyone’s parents. You’ll have to ask her about that.” He turned and headed toward his truck.

“Did you provide the alcohol?”

He didn’t answer.

I shoved my feet into someone’s snow boots, probably one of the boys’ from the extra four inches in the toe, and clomped after Kael. “Did you hear me?”

He whipped around just as he opened his door. “No, Mrs. Smith. I did not provide the alcohol. Why? Were you going to report me to the police if I had been the one to provide it?”

He made me feel old. And used. And … just awful. And yet, I deserved all of it and then some.

Still … it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“No.” I couldn’t force my gaze up to meet his dull eyes. It stuck to his chest, suppressed by so much shame. “I …”

The truth.

I started to tell him the truth. I was a breath away from letting him be number seven. But he didn’t want to help carry my baggage. And that was a shitload of baggage.

“You what?”

“I really appreciate you bringing her home. And Amie is going to make sure everyone in Epperly knows that she didn’t get sick from anything at your store.”

“And you’re going to let everyone in Epperly know that you put her up to it?”

I tried so hard to force my gaze up a few more inches, but I couldn’t. “Yes,” I whispered.

“If you wanted me out of Epperly, why didn’t you just ask me to leave?”

There it was. That was all it took for me to meet his gaze. “If I asked you to leave, you would leave?”

“Yes.” His affirmative answer held a lot more confidence than mine.

He was the better human … times a million.

Atheist. Gigolo. Best human.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t ever want to be a burden on anyone.”

Internally, I grinned. Had he decided to have a family, he would have insisted his children put him in a home to not be a burden on them.

Not me. Nope.

I liked to guilt my children way in advance.

“Did you and Amb—” I shifted my gaze to the side.

“Finish.”

I shook my head.

“Did Amber and I … what? Have sex? Kiss? What are you digging around for?”

“Nothing.”

“Does that bother you? The idea of me with her? Or does the idea of me with anyone else bother you?”

“I have to check on Bella.” I started to turn, but he grabbed my waist.

“I don’t expect a forty-two-year-old woman who was married for twenty-two years and who has four children to be good at casual sex. But I do expect someone with your level of maturity to know how to use your words. Say what you mean. And don’t be so fucking ashamed of it. Just say it. You can’t lose what you don’t have.”

Him.

I didn’t have him.

Nobody had him.

“It’s her. Her age and my daughter’s age.” That was half true. But half-truths were all I had to offer at the moment. The full truth had too much baggage. “I don’t care whose bed you crawl into. And for the record, I don’t want you. I’ve raised enough men in my life, and I’m fucking exhausted.” My words seemed to bring that sparkle back into his eyes.

“I’m not screwing your daughter’s friend. Are we good?”

“Well … I don’t know. After today’s unfortunate events … are we good?”

He had every right to hate me.

“My dad is heading home at eight tomorrow morning. Be at my place by nine. I like my coffee black.” He grabbed the tie to my robe with one hand while his other hand snaked between my legs, shoving my panties aside, and ripped a gasp from my chest as he filled me with his fingers.

“Y-you can’t…” I gulped as my body stiffened “… just do this.”

He forced every hair on my body to stand erect, and with the slightest movement of his fingers, he made it impossible to tell him no. “And yet … here I am doing it. My hands are a little cold from giving you so much of my time tonight. I needed to warm up.” His thumb applied a little pressure in a circular motion. “And you are so fucking warm, Mrs. Smith. See you at nine.”

Just as quickly as he violated me, he hopped into his truck and backed out of my driveway, leaving me a mess in oversized boots with a vomit-covered teenager waiting inside for me.

I was living the dream …Chapter EighteenMy husband scratches his junk then sniffs his fingers. I don’t think he knows I see him, but I do, and it’s a total turnoff.* * *