“Not at first. I—”
I hold up a hand. “Just stop talking.”
“The morning at the cabin. I thought it was you. River messaged me. I thought it was Connor.” She’s not making sense, and judging by the panic on her face, she knows it. “Once I knew it wasn’t you, I thought . . . I was sure . . . and I was going to quit, but you . . . the governor . . . You have to believe me.”
My jaw aches from clenching my teeth. “I can’t listen to this.”
“I love you. You. Love. Me.” Her eyes are pleading, desperate.
The hot iron in my stomach turns icy, and cold anger spreads through my gut that radiates out through my limbs. “That doesn’t matter anymore. How am I supposed to trust you now?”
“I swear this wasn’t my fault. Can we just . . . can we talk somewhere?”
“You knew you were talking to a married man, but you didn’t do anything about it. And last summer when you slept with Connor, you knew he was with Della.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’ve heard enough.” I turn toward my car and reach for the door handle. Liz grabs my arm, and I freeze. “Let go of me.” My voice sounds cold, even to my own ears.
“I need to explain.”
I shake off her hand and open the car door. “I can’t even look at you.”
Chapter 1
Sam
Five months later . . .
My first thought when the doorbell rings is maybe that’s Liz.
And that’s just how pathetic I am—hoping for the woman I love to come to my door and tell me she can’t live without me, even though I was a complete and total dick, and God knows there’s no future for us. But the thought’s there, and like it or not, it’s the driving force that has me putting down my scotch when I otherwise wouldn’t bother to answer.
I’m not exactly sober, but I’m definitely not drunk enough, because when I pull open my door, who’s standing there but my motherfucking asshole brother-in-law?
“Fuck off,” I mutter, swinging the door closed.
He catches it with his foot. “We have a problem.”
I glare at Connor, daring him to . . . what? I don’t know. I wish he’d throw a punch or something so I’d have an excuse to start swinging. While I’m not typically an angry drunk, tonight I’d take any opportunity to go a few rounds.
There better be a goddamn fantastic reason he’s here. I have very important plans for my Thursday night, and they involve drinking scotch until I can’t feel my face. Because it’s been five months since I found out the woman I loved was having an illicit online affair with my father. Five months since I punched my own father in the face and stopped speaking to him altogether.
Five months since she left.
“Sam.” Connor says my name like an apology. As if he feels sorry for me, just for the fact that I have to be me.
Join the fucking club, buddy.
I don’t bother answering or trying to kick him out of my house. I turn around and head back to my couch. And my scotch.
The glass is halfway to my lips when he sits next to me and takes it from my hand. “It’s important.”
“If this is about my father’s campaign, you’re wasting your time. You know how many shits I give about his chances of moving into the governor’s mansion? Zero shits, Connor. I give zero shits about the mansion or the office or, let’s be clear, about my father.”
Sighing, he lifts the tumbler to his lips and shoots it back, grimacing as it goes down. Pussy.
He exhales slowly. “This isn’t about your father. It’s about you.” He taps the screen on his phone a few times then hands it over to me. “You and these pictures, which are going to air on the national evening news tonight, if you even care.”
* * *
Liz
“Let me help you with those.”
I loop the sixth and final grocery bag over my arm and turn to see my neighbor standing beside my car.
“Hi.” I realize I don’t know his name, even though we’ve seen each other nearly every morning for the past five months.
He grins. “Hi.” Today, he’s in a fitted black T-shirt, his hands tucked into his pockets, his dark, wild hair slipping to cover his left eye. Before I can say anything, he’s taking the bags from my hands. My biceps and forearms sing with relief.
He sweeps his gaze down my body in a way that leaves me flushed, but the warmth has barely had a chance to settle in before I go cold with guilt. Sam and I may not be together anymore, we may not have a fighting chance to ever be together again, but even the thought of letting another man look at me like that feels like a betrayal.
“Is this all of it?” he asks. His biceps bulge as he lifts the bags.
I’m capable of carrying in my own groceries, but I’m just lonely enough that I can’t resist his offer, misplaced guilt be damned. “You don’t have to do that.” The words ring empty.
“Oh, but I do,” he says. “I’m shamelessly using your groceries as an excuse to get your name. Mine’s George.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. George is cute. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered, and with a smile that makes me blush. He has a great smile. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed. I should be so hot for this guy, but I’m not exactly in a place for dating, emotionally speaking.
“Liz,” I answer. “Thanks for helping.”
He leads the way, and I unlock the door when we reach the top of the stairs. Letting him carry in my groceries feels like a treat and a sin, and I hate that I feel guilty for accepting a simple kindness.
I hold up a hand. “Just stop talking.”
“The morning at the cabin. I thought it was you. River messaged me. I thought it was Connor.” She’s not making sense, and judging by the panic on her face, she knows it. “Once I knew it wasn’t you, I thought . . . I was sure . . . and I was going to quit, but you . . . the governor . . . You have to believe me.”
My jaw aches from clenching my teeth. “I can’t listen to this.”
“I love you. You. Love. Me.” Her eyes are pleading, desperate.
The hot iron in my stomach turns icy, and cold anger spreads through my gut that radiates out through my limbs. “That doesn’t matter anymore. How am I supposed to trust you now?”
“I swear this wasn’t my fault. Can we just . . . can we talk somewhere?”
“You knew you were talking to a married man, but you didn’t do anything about it. And last summer when you slept with Connor, you knew he was with Della.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’ve heard enough.” I turn toward my car and reach for the door handle. Liz grabs my arm, and I freeze. “Let go of me.” My voice sounds cold, even to my own ears.
“I need to explain.”
I shake off her hand and open the car door. “I can’t even look at you.”
Chapter 1
Sam
Five months later . . .
My first thought when the doorbell rings is maybe that’s Liz.
And that’s just how pathetic I am—hoping for the woman I love to come to my door and tell me she can’t live without me, even though I was a complete and total dick, and God knows there’s no future for us. But the thought’s there, and like it or not, it’s the driving force that has me putting down my scotch when I otherwise wouldn’t bother to answer.
I’m not exactly sober, but I’m definitely not drunk enough, because when I pull open my door, who’s standing there but my motherfucking asshole brother-in-law?
“Fuck off,” I mutter, swinging the door closed.
He catches it with his foot. “We have a problem.”
I glare at Connor, daring him to . . . what? I don’t know. I wish he’d throw a punch or something so I’d have an excuse to start swinging. While I’m not typically an angry drunk, tonight I’d take any opportunity to go a few rounds.
There better be a goddamn fantastic reason he’s here. I have very important plans for my Thursday night, and they involve drinking scotch until I can’t feel my face. Because it’s been five months since I found out the woman I loved was having an illicit online affair with my father. Five months since I punched my own father in the face and stopped speaking to him altogether.
Five months since she left.
“Sam.” Connor says my name like an apology. As if he feels sorry for me, just for the fact that I have to be me.
Join the fucking club, buddy.
I don’t bother answering or trying to kick him out of my house. I turn around and head back to my couch. And my scotch.
The glass is halfway to my lips when he sits next to me and takes it from my hand. “It’s important.”
“If this is about my father’s campaign, you’re wasting your time. You know how many shits I give about his chances of moving into the governor’s mansion? Zero shits, Connor. I give zero shits about the mansion or the office or, let’s be clear, about my father.”
Sighing, he lifts the tumbler to his lips and shoots it back, grimacing as it goes down. Pussy.
He exhales slowly. “This isn’t about your father. It’s about you.” He taps the screen on his phone a few times then hands it over to me. “You and these pictures, which are going to air on the national evening news tonight, if you even care.”
* * *
Liz
“Let me help you with those.”
I loop the sixth and final grocery bag over my arm and turn to see my neighbor standing beside my car.
“Hi.” I realize I don’t know his name, even though we’ve seen each other nearly every morning for the past five months.
He grins. “Hi.” Today, he’s in a fitted black T-shirt, his hands tucked into his pockets, his dark, wild hair slipping to cover his left eye. Before I can say anything, he’s taking the bags from my hands. My biceps and forearms sing with relief.
He sweeps his gaze down my body in a way that leaves me flushed, but the warmth has barely had a chance to settle in before I go cold with guilt. Sam and I may not be together anymore, we may not have a fighting chance to ever be together again, but even the thought of letting another man look at me like that feels like a betrayal.
“Is this all of it?” he asks. His biceps bulge as he lifts the bags.
I’m capable of carrying in my own groceries, but I’m just lonely enough that I can’t resist his offer, misplaced guilt be damned. “You don’t have to do that.” The words ring empty.
“Oh, but I do,” he says. “I’m shamelessly using your groceries as an excuse to get your name. Mine’s George.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. George is cute. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered, and with a smile that makes me blush. He has a great smile. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed. I should be so hot for this guy, but I’m not exactly in a place for dating, emotionally speaking.
“Liz,” I answer. “Thanks for helping.”
He leads the way, and I unlock the door when we reach the top of the stairs. Letting him carry in my groceries feels like a treat and a sin, and I hate that I feel guilty for accepting a simple kindness.
