Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
My life turned out nothing like I had planned, and only last week, I thought I was too old to change it.
How stupid have I been? Thirty-five isn’t close to ancient. I’ve not even lived half my life yet, and I refuse to waste another second on things that don’t matter.
With my mood suddenly perky, I don’t attempt to cover myself when Nero places me onto the vanity so he can switch on the shower.
My shower stall is one of those annoying, fully enclosed glass boxes that restrict movements. I hit my elbows while washing my hair, so although I admire Nero’s un-voiced suggestion that we wash the stickiness off our skin together, it isn’t practical.
I’ll wait on the vanity, enjoying the show while pondering how little I know about the man standing before me as naked as the day he was born.
It isn’t a hard feat. Nero is as striking out of his clothes as he is in them. Muscles upon muscles, lines and lines of ink, and a huge cock that never seems to deflate.
He is insanely attractive, and I’m more than happy to waste hours sampling everything he has to offer—both inside and out of the package.
“What do you do for a living?” Nero checks the temperature of the water pumping out of the faucet before twisting to face me. His nose is crinkled, and his brows are furled, but there’s a touch of playfulness in his eyes that frees me to say, “I’m assuming bounding and gagging your cheating spouse’s conquests and stuffing them in a closet is a side gig, so what do you do the rest of the time to earn a living?”
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… desperation than 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 of Cheaters or 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 the Cheaters show. 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.