Page 16 of Speak of the Devil

I need to stop worrying about what happens next with this man on a personal level. There’s time for that if he’s still speaking to me once we’re divorced. “I’m not sure if you’ve had time to think about what we should do, but I have some ideas.”

His brow rises, breaking the evenness of his expression prior to a wry grin sliding right into home base. “I’m hoping Nurse Cate makes an appearance.”

“It’s such a relief to hear you say that. I’ve been worried you wouldn’t include me, do it without me, or want to get others involved.” I breathe easier, the burden lifted from my shoulders, knowing I’m not alone in this mess. “I’m glad it will be just the two of us. Well, us and Roberta.”

His brows are squeezed so tightly together he could juice lemons between them. “Who’s Roberta?”

“She’s the one who can help us.”

Chuckling, he says, “We won’t need help, baby.”

“Baby?” I giggle as if the word commanded it. I hate that I kind of like the nickname. “Do you say that to all the girls?”

“Just the ones I’m going to fuck.” He starts walking, the distance growing when my entire being refuses to take another step.

I’m still choking on his words when he finally discovers I’m not there. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” I take a few steps closer, not wanting a scene in front of my biggest job assignment, so I keep a couple of feet between us.For his safety. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to restrain my anger. “Everything about what you just said to me is wrong.”

“Which part?”

“The fucking part, Shane. That’s what part.” I march past him to the corner and nod so hard for him to follow that I might have pulled a muscle.

Shane catches me in only a few strides, but he then lets me stomp my way into the lead. I stop in front of my vehicle, my anger still burning in my gut. I poke him in the chest. “You may be big stuff—” He catches my finger before I land another, taking me by surprise.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says as if sex is so casual that we’ll be discussing the finer points before hopping into bed. “We can just get to know each other again.”

“We didn’t know each other the first time around. We talked, what? A handful of times and?—”

“Kissed.” I hate that his eyes seemed to have softened, reminding me not to jump to conclusions. Although his voice comforts like hot chocolate on a winter’s night, he doesn’t hide what’s on his mind. “I might not remember seeing you at a party, but I remember that kiss.” Releasing me, he runs his hand over his head, then wraps his palm around the back of his neck. “My apologies, Cat. I misread the situation. I assumed you called me to hook up, but there’s no rush to do anything.”

Taking my bag from him, I set it down beside me. I’d rather have it on the sidewalk than in this man’s possession. “There actually is.”

He shifts, confusion narrowing his eyes. “Help me out here,” he says, “I’m getting whiplash.” Keeping his eyes on me, he drops his chin. “You do want to fuck?”

“Stop saying that. Good God, you’re worse than Maggie. There’s no fucking involved.” I wish I hadn’t swung my hands low in front of me to highlight that region of my body. The point could have been made without me redirecting his eyes below my waist. My face flares, and the burn in my cheeks causes me to sweat under the collar. I tug the bow loose and undo the top button of my blouse to cool down, but my mind travels at warp speed, causing chaos to my typically responsible self. “Like,none, it’s been so long that we don’t need to keep going on about the sex I’m not having.”

Please Lord, take me now.I’m done here on earth. Toast.

“I don’t know what you want, Cat.”

“Cate.”

“Cate,” he says so quickly that it’s hard to determine whether it’s a jab or an innocent correction.Hmm.“What do you want? Just say it.”

“I want a divorce.” Throwing my arms wide, I say, “I figured you didn’t want to stay in this marriage either.”

So many emotions roll through his features that I’m unsure which will win out. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Annoyance takes the gold. Though anger might be trying to squeak in for a second-place finish.

“You know what?” I plant my hands on my hips, my good mood now soured by him. “I didn’t cause this mess, so I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“My tone?” He laughs, but it’s filled with a lack of patience instead of humor. Looking around, he asks, “Is this a prank?”

“A prank?” Now, he has me paranoid. “Isthis a prank?” I poke him hard in the chest again, accomplishing two things.

He’s real. And he’s hard. So hard my finger hurts.

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