Page 58 of Manhattan Heart

The man can’t even have her out of his sight if they are in the same place.

“What’s the proof?” I question.

“He goes out suddenly with no notice and doesn’t tell me where. Then he takes these calls that he leaves the room for. What’s that all about? It has to be another woman.”

“Inconclusive.”

“We’ll murder him.” Gabby snaps.

“Calm down, assassin.” I tell her. “Have you asked if he’s fucking someone else?”

Her face, if possible, turns even chalkier and she takes a hand around her throat. “Oh, my god, I can’t. What if he says he is?”

“Then you’ll know and we’ll kill him.”

Gabby really is blood thirsty.

“Girl, are you having sex? Cause you’re turning into a vicious bitch.” I say with a smile.

“No, I’m not. But whatever. We’re dealing with Catie right now.”

I’m the voice of reason. “Look, I don’t think he’s screwing around on you, just ask him what the fuck is going on.”

“I mean, why is he being so secretive? We tell each other everything.”

“Is your birthday coming up? It might be a party.”

“No, my birthday is months away.” Catie frowns and whittles her lip.

I still don’t believe it, but as part of a girl squad now, we have to be supportive and possibly plan where we put his dead corpse. I certainly did not wear the right shoes for grave digging.

Or in Gabby’s case, she lists all the ways she’ll detach Ronan MacNamara from his balls.

“Seriously, girl, will you get yourself some dick already. You’re starting to resemble one of those psychotic dogs that humps cushions.”

Maybe because I experience a pang of sympathy and gratitude for my own hubby, it has me reaching for my phone to text Gray while the other girls set Catie’s marriage to rights.

India:Does my sugar D want to go out on a date with me tonight?

Gray:Absolutely. Where are you taking me?

I grin. He’s so slick. I love the face off of him.

Truth be told, I needed the break today.

Though I’m back at work, and thankfully I have flexi hours so it’s not a 60 hour week of mentally draining misery, like my last job used to be.

Being around Gray—although lovely, I adore the man and every second we have together. But no sex means I’m itchy in every way possible, just from looking at him.

According to the doctor’s advice weeks ago, as soon as he is feeling his old self with hardly any discomfort, he can safely resume sex, but nothing vigorous.

I assume she means no hanging from the chandelier or a sex swing.

But my reservations for his heart being weak now is what holds me back.

And has me waking at night to check he’s still breathing.

The way Gray kisses me tells me enough that he’s raring to go at any point.

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