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"Always an optimist, aren't you?" she teases.
I down another large mouthful of scotch, but rage burns hotter than any alcohol ever could.
He asks, "What are you betting? Say it on the record this time. And when I win, you'll have to pay up, so don't spend all your money this weekend."
I groan, rising. I'm unable to tear my gaze off the T.V. I clench my fist, to the point it hurts.
She asks, "Well, should we up the ante?"
He grins. "Sure. Let's say a thousand instead of five hundred this time."
She turns back to the cameras. "You're all my witnesses. A thousand dollars and these two are too hot to not go up in flames! No way it'll be a month. I give it two weeks before this new love match sizzles so bright that Sarah and Riggs are out of the picture."
"I'd hate to be them," Chuck states.
"Motherfuckers," I bark out, then turn off the T.V. and toss the remote at it. It hits the glass, and a spiderweb appears on the screen. I plop back into the chair.
"You know Colton and I are only friends, right?" Blakely's soft voice hits my ears, and her hands slide over my shoulders to my chest.
Relief and anger swirl inside me. Her sea salt and driftwood scent flares in my nostrils. It hits me how it's ironic that we're in Detroit in the middle of a blizzard and she still smells like all my favorite things, even though there's no ocean here.
I tilt my head up at her, intoxicated with her calm chaos, remembering the first time I told her what it meant. Her long, soft blonde hair falls over my shoulders.
She giggles. "You're always so serious." She kisses the top of my head. "You should try to relax more often."
I turn in my chair, slide my hand through her locks, and palm the side of her head. I curl my fingers, gripping her strands so they're taut. The flush in her cheeks that always appears whenever I fist her hair blooms across her skin. Her plump lips part and her breath quickens.
It all makes my blue balls hurt more. Ever since I played with her this afternoon, it's been driving me nuts. And I'm fully aware that my wife isn't close to being mine like she used to be.
I remind myself,I have no control over anything anymore.
The knowledge that I've lost all control whips through me like a tornado. This isn't who I am. I'm the one who calls the shots, but she's calling all of them, and it's like I'm her fricking puppet.
She licks her lips, and the neediness in her eyes erupts like a volcano overflowing with lava. I debate whether I should bend her over and fuck her or punish her for doing this to me.
She declares, "Colton's gay, in case you didn't get the memo."
I stay quiet, unsure of what move to make and hating how I suddenly don't know how to make my wife happy or take control of all the things that are falling apart between us.
Why did I do what I did?
How could I be so careless and stupid to think that she wouldn't find out?
Maybe I just shouldn't have done it.
Did I really need to do it? I could have destroyed her father without it. Sure, it was more fun. But, God, it's like I'm the one who lost everything now.
"Riggs, say something," she says.
I snap, "Yeah, I got the memo, but that doesn't make it right. You think it's okay for the world to think you're with him?"
She tilts her head. "Do you really care what other people think?"
"It's not about that, Blakely. You're my wife," I seethe.
"So you constantly remind me."
"Don't do that," I say.
