“I totally don’t blame you,” Dar said. “This fucking sucks. If it’s any consolation, I think he’s an idiot to lose you over her.”
“Thanks,” I said. It wasn’t much of a compliment, considering Dar had known Josh was cheating on me for God knew how long, but hadn’t seen fit to tell me. Still, I’d called her for a reason. “Can you just tell me one thing? Then I won’t suck you into my drama anymore.”
“Sure,” she said, though she didn’t sound sure at all.
“Just tell me how they met.”
She sighed. “I think it was around Valentine’s Day. You remember when we had those paper hearts up everywhere, and a cake for all the customers?”
“Yeah,” I said as the air slowly closed off in my throat. “I remember.”
“Well, all I know is that Gail sent Alison to pick up the cake, and Josh went with her. And they were gone for two hours. It was so strange, everyone had started talking about it, but when they came back they acted all casual, even though everyone knew. And after that, it got out through the grapevine that they were seeing each other, so I knew I guessed right.”
Alison. She was talking about Alison Shepard, another teller. She thought Josh was cheating with Alison, not Gina.
Or he was cheating with Alison and Gina.
There were two of them.
Where the hell had I been on Valentine’s Day? I remembered. Sitting in my cubicle, doing my job as always. Oblivious to what was going on around me because I thought it completely innocent that my boyfriend had gone to pick up the cake.
“Okay,” I said. I had that crazy, curiously numb feeling I’d had when I’d walked into Josh’s apartment and seen him with Gina. Like this was happening to someone else. “I guess I just wanted to know how it happened. Thanks for letting me know.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
I hung up. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t even hyperventilating. I felt like someone had shot me in the arm with Novocaine. Through the blankness, a thought bubbled up. Something I realized I wanted.
I called Nick Mason.
“Yeah?” he said. He sounded like maybe he’d been sleeping. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Then again, he usually sounded like that. And I was in bed in my underwear, so I couldn’t throw stones.
“It’s me,” I said.
“I know, redhead. You at work?”
Why did I like it when he called me that? When he didn’t use my name? He knew my name—he’d said it plenty of times. But when he called me redhead, I got chills up my spine. “I’m not at work,” I told him. “They sent me home.”
There was a pause, because even Nick knew that was bad. “What happened?”
“Josh saw your text. He started an argument. I threw a mug of tea at him. So here I am.”
“Fuck,” he said softly. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Jesus, Evie, I’m sorry.”
He was. That was the thing about Nick—deep down, buried below the asshole surface, was an almost-nice guy who took the time to teach me to box and who didn’t want me to get fired.
But I didn’t want that nice guy right now.
“It’s okay,” I said to him. “They gave me a few days off. I’m sort of maybe fired, but now I don’t have to work with Josh every day.”
“What the hell did he say to you?” Now the growly voice was back, and I got another shiver.
“He called me a slut,” I said.
“He fucking called you what?”
More shivers. “Yeah. I got slut-shamed, and I didn’t even get to have sex. Oh, and he’s cheating with a woman at work as well as Gina, so he completely fucked me over. I’m not having a really good day.”
He took a second to acknowledge this. “You want to hit something?” he asked.