Reminding him that he was cheated on probably isn’t a smart move. It could prompt him to the fact that we’re more a rebound than anything, but since I need to be reminded of that as well, I run with it.
There’s a moment of tension, then a trickle of humor. “It is presumptuous to assume there isn’t a ton of money in defiling the cheaters of the world, butterfly.”
Butterfly?
He continues talking, moving my contemplation of my nickname to a later date. “Numerous TV shows on that very subject have brought in millions of viewers and just as much capital.”
Since everything he says is true, I don’t disagree with him.
“I was once one of them,” I admit.
“Once?”
It is almost impossible to keep my eyes on his face, but I must. His tone gives nothing away, so if I don’t drink in his numerous expressions, I will have no clue if he’s angry or relaxed.
At the moment, he’s calm enough for me to say, “I saw a few too many similarities between the cheaters’ excuses and the ones Roy gave me anytime he was out late or didn’t come home at all.”
Now he’s somewhat peeved. “So Tasha wasn’t the first woman he cheated on you with?”
I shake my head before switching it for a shrug. “I don’t have any proof, but I’m reasonably sure she is one of many.”
Nero takes a moment to contemplate before he plucks me from the vanity like my shower is double its size. He drags us under the spray while muttering, “Shows how much of a fucking tool your soon-to-be ex is.”
Shockingly, we fit. There isn’t enough room for a snippet of air to be placed between us, but I’m not bothered. Our conversation is more cleansing than any shower could be.
“So the teddy…that fucking teddy”—his growl sets me on fire—“was that payback? Or for someone else?”
I groan, wishing I could be as vindicative as a perpetrator when done wrong, but aware I would have never gone through with what we did if I hadn’t been handed divorce papers beforehand.
Two wrongs won’t make a right.
“It was more…desperationthan anything?” Since I am unsure of my reply, it sounds like a question instead of a confirmation. “Roy had promised to try, and our vows said for better or worse, so I was trying to drill through the worse.” When Nero’s expression switches from lusty to sympathetic, I alter the direction of our conversation. “But that’s enough about me. How about we go back to if you’re looking at filming a remake ofCheatersor keeping it as a side gig until something better comes along.”
He smiles, loving the playfulness in my tone, before he says, “Depends on how well Roy behaves.”
I swallow the brick his reply lodged in my throat but remain quiet.
He didn’t rough Roy up a little like previous participants of theCheatersshow. He bruised him, nicked him, and scoured a derogative word into his forehead.
He also admitted he had intended to kill him before I arrived.
The remembrance should make the shower water chilly.
It doesn’t, and I am at a loss as to why.
I’ve never believed violence is the solution, but my thoughts changed when I read the divorce paperwork Roy forwarded the day of our wedding anniversary.
Roy went for blood, so it is logical that I fight back just as dirtily.
Do I wish he were dead? No.
But I’m not opposed to a bit of help if it plays the player at his own game.
“He wants the house.” I don’t snarl until I finalize my statement. “And Tempy.”
Nero hits the nail on the head. “Because he knows they’re the two things that will hurt you the most to lose.” He stares straight into my eyes while revealing his insides aren’t as hard as his outsides. “He’s a drop of salty water in the ocean. But this”—his eyes flick around my bathroom—“is your home, and Tempy is your baby.”
“A baby with a bite bigger than her bark.”
