A red flush ate its way up his face. “That’s private.”

“Is it?” She laughed even as on the inside she was praying that she hadn’t taken the shitshow too far. “Is no one else allowed to have an opinion except for you? I’ve had more than enough of that. First with my dad, and then with this fake cowboy uncle of mine, and I have had it. I’m done with you. I’m done with all of you.”

“You know, there really are better ways to express your frustrations,” Nash said, talking to her as if she was a small child who, of course, was simply confused by the big, bad world. “For example, you could—”

“I can’t take any of you and your mansplaining bullshit anymore.” She let her head fall back and let out a loud, dramatic groan before straightening up and taking her dogs back from Nash. “I’m so glad we’re getting a divorce.”

There was a collective gasp in the room, but Chelle didn’t stick around to watch the fallout from her little performance. All she could do was head back up to her apartment and hope like hell that Nash followed and she hadn’t just ruined everything.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

Nash

“I can give you the name of a great divorce attorney,” Chelle’s cowboy-cosplaying uncle said. “Just remember you dodged a bullet with that one. Guess I’ll be calling the lawyers to stop the appeal. No one yells quite like a harpy except for a real wife. Trust me. I’ve had four.”

It took everything Nash had not to squash the man like a cockroach. His hands were already fists at his side and he’d loosened his stance. What saved the dipshit, though, was the fact that Nash wanted to get back to Chelle more than he wanted to knock the other man into next week. It wasn’t even close. He wanted to be with Chelle more than he wanted to breathe.

So instead of sending Buckley Finch sprawling with a right hook, Nash snarled at the older man, “Fuck straight off and stay the hell away from Chelle.”

Then he headed toward the door, the crowd splitting in half as he strode to the stairs. He took them two at a time, his heart hammering against his chest, and sprinted down the hallway to Chelle’s obnoxious and so very much her yellow front door. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. Did he walk right in? Did he knock? Had he fucked up what she was signaling?

He had no fucking clue what to do.