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“Kris, baby. It’s not what you think.”
Krista looked flustered as if she had no idea what to say to that. But then she quickly found her voice. “Oh I saw it with my own two eyes, Kendall! You with a goddamn finger shoved up your ass, fucking yourself.”
“Let me explain, Kris.”
She shook her head, taking a deep breath to compose herself, to try to wrap her mind around what’d she’d just walked in on. “No. You can’t explain shit, Kendall. Are you gay?”
Kendall frowned. “Hell no.”
Krista sneered. “And yet I walk in on you with your fingers in your ass. That looks a whole lot gay to me.”
“Look, I’m not gay, all right? If you’d just let me explain.”
Krista blinked. There was nothing Kendall was going to say to make her see it any other way than what she’d seen. “I want you to pack your shit and get out!”
Kendall gave her an incredulous look. “Get out? Are you serious, Krista? And go where?”
“I don’t care, Kendall. I want you and your ass-fucking ways out of my face!”
Kendall’s jaw tightened. And when he didn’t move fast enough, Krista started grabbing things off the dresser and throwing them at him.
“Get out! You hear me, Kendall, get out!”
“Kris, baby. I’m telling you. It’s not what you think.”
“No. Kendall. I don’t want to hear shit about why you had your finger in your ass. So either you leave or I will.” She stepped back and folded her arms tightly over her breasts, trying not to look down at his dick or his damn hand—the hand with the finger he’d used, moments ago, to poke around in his ass with.
He shook his head. Yes, he was embarrassed that she’d walked in on him like that. But there was also a strange part of him that suddenly felt relieved. Still, he didn’t like the look of disgust in Krista’s eyes as she stared at him.
Kendall stalked over toward the dresser and then yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a pair of basketball shorts and pulled them on, then slipped on a Passion Island T-shirt.
He looked at Krista. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.
“Baby, I promise you, it’s not what you think. I’m not gay.”
She sneered. “Oh you’re not?”
“No, Kris. I’m not.”
Krista grunted. “So you just have gay tendencies then.”
Kendall scowled. “Hell no.”
“It wasn’t a question,” she said, her nose flaring as she watched him grab a few things from out of drawers and then stuff them into a bag. He had no idea where he would go for the night, but if Krista wanted space, he’d give it to her.
Krista met his eyes, held them as if she were seeing him through a different set of eyes. In her stare, he saw a set of eyes full of terror and disappointment and hurt.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Krista swallowed the thick knot in the back of her throat. Then she pushed out, “I will not share my bed—or my life—with some down-low homosexual,” she said, her voice low but trembling with anger. “Or some man who likes fingers in his ass.”
Her words stabbed at Kendall, but he didn’t feel like arguing with her. And he didn’t feel like trying to change her mind. Yet a
part of him knew he should say something, anything. He debated how to respond to her comments, then decided that now wasn’t the time. He knew better than anyone that once Krista had something in her head—it was fact. No matter how distorted it may be.
And being truthful, he really didn’t give a damn. He knew he should. But he didn’t. He was tired. And, surprisingly, relieved.
Krista stepped to the side and allowed Kendall to pass by. Then she followed behind him. The last thing he heard her say, before the door slammed shut in back of him was, “I want a fucking divorce!”
