So she’d called to rub it in my face. Sam had always criticized my job as a trainer. To her, it was a hobby. Not something any self-respecting man would do, because it would never make me rich.
I was already rich, something she very well knew, but no amount of money would ever be enough for my ex-wife.
“What’s new? Fuck anyone interesting lately?” she asked.
“Do we really need to do this?”
“Oh, that’s a yes. Tell me all about her. Does she tug your hair just the way you like it?”
As a matter of fact, yes. Eloise was always pulling on my hair when we were having sex. But I kept my mouth shut.
“Tell me.”
“No,” I clipped.
“Jasper.”
I stayed quiet, having learned a long time ago that whether I talked or not, it wouldn’t matter, not to Sam. She didn’t give a damn what I had to say.
She’d fill the lull in conversation.
Eloise did that too.
Though Eloise never spoke with the intention to hurt. Her tongue wasn’t her greatest weapon. No, when Eloise talked, that heart of hers shined even brighter.
“How many times have you fucked her?” Sam asked. “More than once? Is she the first since me?”
Yes. At thirty-three years old, I could count on two fingers the women I’d slept with more than once. Samantha.
And Eloise.
“Your silence is telling, Jasper.”
I always regretted these calls, but none so much as today’s.
When had we started this sick game? I wished I could go back in time, to that first phone call after our divorce, and block Sam’s number.
There’d been a woman in my bed when she’d called. I’d just moved to Vegas. I’d met a pretty woman at a bar and had forgotten her name as soon as she’d spoken it. But I hadn’t needed a name to take her to bed.
The morning after, Sam’s call had woken me up early. It had woken the woman too. Sam had heard her in the background, and instead of hanging up, she’d asked if I’d liked fucking another woman.
I’d lied and said yes, mostly to make Sam jealous.
But Samantha had called me on the lie. We’d known each other too damn long to pull off convincing lies.
Two weeks later, Sam had called again. Asked if I’d been with another woman. So I’d told her all of the vivid details, rubbing my sex life in her face, thinking maybe it would hurt her the way she’d hurt me.
It hadn’t.
Ten years had passed since our divorce.
When would this stop?
“I had sex last night,” she said. “I thought about you. I thought about our first time. Remember that? We were so young.”
And stupid. We hadn’t used any protection. Thank fuck she hadn’t gotten pregnant.
“It was so . . . bad.” She laughed. “It was sweet. You were so gentle. But we were so bad in the beginning. Then we got better, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I dragged a hand through my hair. We’d learned with each other. Taught each other. I’d never forget the two of us sitting on my bed, shoulder to shoulder, reading a book on tantric sex.
Any other woman and I probably would have been embarrassed. Not Sam.
“Who is this mystery woman? Is she any good?”
“Goodbye, Samantha.”
“Wait.”
Hell. “What?”
“Tell me. Does she make you lose your mind? Does she rake her nails down your back and leave marks?”
“Yes. It’s the best sex I’ve ever had.”
It was the truth.
And I’d never felt so fucking slimy in my life.
“Are you bringing this woman to my wedding?” Sam asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Who is she?”
If I couldn’t hang up the phone, then what I was about to tell Sam would do the trick. “My wife.”
The line went quiet.
No one in my family knew I’d gotten married. There was no way Sam could have known before now.
Sam cleared her throat. “I’m excited to meet her.” A lie.
“She’s a treasure.” A truth.
Without a goodbye, Sam ended the call. Probably to make another. To scatter her minions in search of gossip and information on Eloise. But whatever drama Sam conjured wouldn’t touch us, not in Montana.
And anyone who might have cared that I’d gotten married in secret, well . . . they’d stopped talking to me a long time ago. My parents included.
I stood from the bench suppressing the urge to puke.
Foster walked out, dressed in clean clothes, his hair wet. He held up his phone. “Okay, change of plan. Tally’s not feeling well. She’s, um . . .”
“Pregnant.” It was a guess, something I’d suspected for a while. But my hunch was confirmed by Foster’s wide smile.
“We haven’t told many, but I wanted you to know.”
“Congratulations.” I pulled him into a hug. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”
With all that he’d endured, losing Talia, the fight to win her back, Foster deserved this happiness.
He clapped me on the back, letting me go. “Thank you.”
“Go home. Check on Talia. You up for a workout tomorrow?”
“Definitely. Nine?”
“I’ll be here.” With a wave, I headed for the door, climbing in the Yukon. Then I breathed a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t have been able to sit through lunch today. Not after talking to Sam. So I took the familiar road toward town, grateful to have a few minutes to shove it aside.
Main Street was crowded with people. Tourist season had arrived in full force and happy strangers crowded the sidewalks. Kids, free from school on summer break, skipped along the blocks, their parents trailing behind.
There was an energy in the air, one that hadn’t been here this winter. Quincy was no longer in hibernation but flourishing along with the rugged countryside. The snow had melted, making way for blooming flowers.
If someone had asked me in January if I’d miss it here, I would have said fuck no. But maybe I’d miss it after all. Of all the places I’d traveled in my life, there weren’t many as captivating as Montana.
Eloise’s car was still parked outside the A-frame when I got home.
I headed inside, dropping my keys and phone on the kitchen island just as she walked out of the laundry room, carrying a full basket. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She was wearing a simple green dress that hit her midthigh. Her feet were bare, showing off her polished toenails. White. This morning they’d been pink.
Her hair was down, the silky strands draping over her shoulders. When she smiled, her blue eyes sparkled like jewels. It was that smile that stopped me in my tracks. She looked at me like watching me come through the door was the highlight of her whole day.
And not that long ago, I’d told Sam how much I liked fucking my wife.
I wasn’t supposed to like that label. My heart wasn’t supposed to stop whenever Eloise walked into the room.
“What’s wrong?” She set the basket down on the couch, coming closer. Her gaze raked over me from head to toe. “Did Foster punch you again?”
“No. It’s nothing.” I shook my head, turning away and walking to the fridge. “Thought you were going to the ranch.”
“I changed my mind. I didn’t feel like driving out there today.”