Chapter 9
Frankie
Of course I couldn’t get shit done at work, and my Office Manager Jeremy Standing Bear tried to stop me on the way in.
“What’s all this I hear about—”
“Can’t talk, so sorry!” I yowled, hopping in my office and slamming the door.
The walls seemed to close in on me as I paced from one side to the other.
Panic was short-circuiting my brain.
Divorce?
Such a horrible word had never entered my brain, never entered my fantasies.
What had I expected to happen?
Whatever I had expected, it wasn’t this. Never this.
“What about getting in a quickie now?” Christabelle asked, opening my office door and strolling in like she owned the damn place.
But suddenly, even though I could see every curve of it, her body didn’t seem quite so enticing.
“It sucks that your wife found out this way,” she added, sliding onto my desk. “But isn’t it better that she’s finally found out?”
“Found out what?” I snapped.
And I finally realized the truth.
I hadn’t wanted Jillian to find out at all, ever. Yes, in my head I had played around with a what if things were different scenario.
I had been thinking about it way too much lately, immersing myself in the fantasy, but now that it was real? Now that my wife knew about my past?
I didn’t want it at all.
I didn’t want to go back to Christabelle.
I just wanted to fix things with my wife.
“I’m not leaving my wife! I told you that!”
Christabelle’s smile wavered, but only for a moment.
“But—Frankie, we’re twin souls! You said so!”
“Shut up,” I said distractedly.
If Christabelle and I were twin souls, would I be this upset and horrified about Jillian?
“Maybe this is the opportunity we need, Frankie,” Christabelle said, plucking at my sleeve. “To start fresh now that we’re wiser and more mature. Without the burden of school or your wife.”
“My wife is not a burden!” I yowled in a hyena screech.
Fuck, how had this gone so wrong?
Why had I ever let what was a stupid fantasy bleed into real life?
In my fantasy, what had happened after Christabelle and I got together?
I realized—nothing!
My fantasy had never extended beyond a quick and dirty fuck.
And now Christabelle was hanging around like the flu when I didn’t even want this fantasy. Not at all.
How long had it been? How much time should I give Jillian?
Cold sweat began to drip down my forehead and back.
What if Jillian got the wrong impression—didn’t think I loved her—was at home thinking I wanted to break up our marriage for Christabelle?
That was the furthest thing from my mind!
Moaning aloud, I jerked my door open and bolted down the hallway.
The blood was pounding in my ears so hard that I didn’t notice until I was all the way on my front porch that it was overflowing with suitcases and boxes and Cash was hauling one of my surf boards out.
“What? What are you doing? What’s happening?” I croaked.
“Come get your shit,” he grunted.
“What? Jillian, no!”
Cold uncomprehending fear trickled down my spine.
“Jillian!” I cried. “It can’t be over just like that! Please, baby girl, no! Cash, you’ve got to help me convince my wife I am sorry and will never do that again!
The big man kicked my bike helmet out of the way and crossed his arms. There was a twisted little smirk on his face.
“Hell no. Because guess what, fucker? I’ve been waiting ten years for your ass to screw up. And now I’m going to make the most of it.”