Spite Club (Mason Brothers 1)

“No, wait.” I pulled back and looked at her expression again. Dar was thirty, with dark blond hair and great makeup. “You really don’t look surprised.”

“Well…” She squeezed my shoulder again, uncomfortable, and dropped her hand. “You two just didn’t seem compatible, I guess.”

“What does that mean?” I was feeling a dark, awful twinge of panic deep in my chest.

“Well, you know.” Now she looked really uncomfortable and couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “You’re looking for something serious, and Josh wasn’t quite ready to settle down.”

There was a long, painful silence, as drawn out as a scream.

And it hit me. “Oh, my god,” I said. “You knew.”

Now she looked panicked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“How could you possibly know?” I said. “I mean, how could everyone know except me? Did he wear a sign?”

“Honey, it isn’t like that,” Dar said. “It was just…” She trailed off.

“Just what?”

“They, um…” Dar looked like she wished she could sink into the floor. “They weren’t very discreet.”

Which meant everyone knew. Everyone.

I looked around. Margaret was packing up her purse. Adam was locking the front doors. Gail, my manager, was locking her office and leaving.

It was Gail who gave it away. She caught my eye quickly as she turned to go—the first time she’d looked at me all day. Then she gave me a little apologetic wave and hurried away.

Everyone knew.

“You should go out with Dave in Client Management,” Dar said. “He’s divorced, and a single dad. He’s super stable, dependable, and cute too. He was asking about you at the last Christmas party. I think he likes you.”

I jerked on my coat and picked up my purse. “I think I’ll just go home.”

I hurried through the parking lot—it was raining again—and got into my car, slamming the door. I was breathing hard. How was this happening? And how had everyone at the bank known about Gina? Had she come into the bank or something? Was she a customer? I had no idea how they’d even met. When they’d met.

So hey, your asshole of a boyfriend is cheating on you, Evie Bates.

All of those nice people at work, and not one of them had cared enough to tell me. Even though he was a jerk, Nick, at least, had had the guts to say the truth.

It was infuriating.

Maybe you should fuck someone, his low growl of a voice said.

“Be quiet,” I said out loud.

Get someone to fuck you until you can’t stand up.

“Shut up,” I said to the empty car. “I’m not fucking anyone. I’m going home to bed.”

Come meet me if you want to work up a sweat.

And then: You’re not the kind of woman I fuck.

Maybe he’d found someone else already. Some woman who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model, loved anal and one-night stands, and had no baggage. Dirty, he’d said. That seemed like Nick’s kind of woman, instead of neurotic bank tellers who had quit Weight Watchers twice and sat alone ranting and raving in their cars.

Have some orgasms. You’re missing out.

Those muscles. That ass. That mouth, that fuck-me voice. New Evie never got guys like that. God, I hated him.