Page 69 of F*ck Marriage

“Why are you up? What’s wrong?”

Jules leans against the doorframe. Her hair is tousled from her sleep. I watch as she props one foot on the shin of her other leg. I try to summon all the things I used to feel for her. The emotions had come so easily before ... before what?Billie.Billie had leaned against that same doorframe months ago, and when I’d lied to her she’d seen right through me.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just had some things to finish up.”

Jules nods. We’re both the type who think about work during all the times we shouldn’t be thinking about work. She smiles faintly before going back to the bedroom. Billie would have barked at me. Sent me back to bed. A small smile touches my lips at the thought. When she first found out she’d been surprised ... understanding, but then she’d chide me for not waking her up so she could “help me sleep.” I hate being powerless, especially over myself. I shake my head, trying to clear it. Regardless of what I feel, Billie made her decision. We sparked for a moment, even started to burn a little before that flame was doused out. It was a nice try, but it wasn’t enough. Her feelings for me weren’t enough.

I’m a businessman: I knew my odds going into it.

“Satcher ... earth to Satcher.” I jar awake.

I must have fallen asleep at my desk. Billie is standing in the doorway, her arms crossed like she’s not sure if she’s welcome to cross the threshold. She’s not dressed in one of her usual getups; instead, she’s wearing jeans with rips above the knees and an old sweater that hangs off her shoulder like it’s tired of hanging on. She looks exhausted and sexy, and if we were together I’d rub her shoulders and kiss my way down her alpine neck. I have a flash of memory: biting that shoulder while she writhed beneath me.

“What are you doing here?” I frown, more at the memory than her. “It’s the Christmas holidays. You should be holidaying.”

“Hello, pot, it’s nice to meet you. I’m kettle.”

She strolls in and glances at the green chair that used to be hers. Then she drags it right up to my desk and folds herself into it. I watch curiously as she leans her elbows on the desk and props her head in her hands, looking at me.

“Get real, Satch. Neither of us has anywhere to be.” Her fingers drum her cheeks and I am reminded of a night in college when we went to a diner together after a night of clubbing. The others had wanted to go home, but Billie and I were hungry so we visited an all-night chain. She’d propped her elbows on the table and ordered two breakfasts just for herself.

“You could go home,” I suggest.

I don’t want her to go home; I like the city better with her in it.

“I’ve beenhomefor two years and change. I’ve had enough rain and weird parental looks to last me a lifetime.”

I laugh. “Well, it looks like we’ll be working through the holidays then.”

She wants to say something. I watch the struggle, her face creasing. Her fingers are splayed across her cheeks and her mouth is quirked up on one side. Her brown eyes meet mine, peat lashes blinking slowly.

“Spit it out, Billie.”

The corners of her mouth tuck in and she rolls her eyes. Her next words slice through me.

“I slept with Woods last night.”

I try to keep my face neutral, but she catches what’s in my eyes and she visibly deflates.

“I know…” she says softly. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that her words have nudged my heart into a painful whine that is reverberating through my chest. Or that I want to stand up and shake her. Or that I’ve started pitying myself for pining. The big, bad bachelor with the broken heart.

I stay silent because I have nothing nice to say. Billie takes my quiet as a go to spew everything she’s thinking and feeling.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. Or maybe I did. I don’t even know. One thing just led to another, you know—”

I know about one thing leading to another: I am a thirty-three-year-old male with a big dick and great face.

“So you did to Pearl what she did to you. Does this mean the end of your vendetta, or do you plan on stealing her fiancé entirely?”

She straightens up, her back touching the back of the chair.

“She stole my husband,” she says.

“So you’re going to steal her fiancé. Is that why you came back?”

She doesn’t confirm or deny.

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