“I don’t give a shit why you did it or what revelations you had when you had my goddamn client nailed to the wall of our foyer. Just leave me alone so I can pack my things in peace and go.”

A sigh, thick and deep, set his chest in a rise, then a fall. “I should have expected this,” he said, pushing himself upright. “But deep down, I thought you might actually show some emotion. Be vulnerable. Be honest. I always was a sucker.”

And he turned and walked away.

“That makes two of us,” I said quietly to his back, my tears caught in my chest, in my throat, in the tip of my nose and the corners of my eyes.

I turned back to my closet in a haze of thought, a fog of emotion, blindly gathering suits and my garment bag, then shoes and silken pajamas. Into the bathroom I went, grateful it was joined to the room so I wouldn’t have to venture out until I was ready. The light was too bright, overly harsh, and I avoided my reflection, afraid of what I’d see. And when the counter and medicine cabinet were half empty in ghostly equal, I walked out of the bathroom, then our room like a stranger.

He thought me invulnerable. Unfeeling. Dishonest with my emotions.

For all the years we’d spent together, it seemed he really didn’t know me after all.

Brock glanced up from an armchair when I entered, scotch in his hand and brow smooth.

“I’m keeping the key until I’ve gotten the rest of my things. I’ll be here Saturday from noon to three. Please, don’t be here.”

Another nod. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t give a damn.”

I turned before he could speak again, before my tears fell, racing down my cheeks the moment I was shielded. I didn’t move to wipe them away, not wanting him to know, content to leave him thinking me stony and cold. The truth—that I was molten pain, pooling lava, white-hot and searing—was none of his business.

Not anymore, whether I liked it or not.

8

The Curious Case of the Missing Orgasms

KASH

I should have known I was walking into trouble the second I saw Ivy and Tess eyeing each other across the work table the next morning.

“Kash,” Ivy started, arms folded, “settle something for us.”

I set down the buckets of zinnias on the table. “Lay it on me.”

“How many times would you let your girlfriend go without an orgasm before you upped your game?” Ivy said without batting a lash.

A surprised snort. “Zero.”

“See?” Ivy gestured to me. “Good guys don’t let their ladies go orgasmless.”

Tess laughed, rolling her eyes. “You don’t think Lila at least faked it? How do you know he knew she wasn’t orgasming?”