“You’re lying,” I accuse when I manage to gather words.
He isn’t.
Maliki wouldn’t drag me through this torture if it wasn’t true, no matter how tattered our friendship is.
He winces in frustration, appearing almost pained at me doubting him. “Do you think I’d do this for shits and giggles? I was there last night and witnessed it.”
I shake my head as a tear trickles down my cheek. “No.”
“Good, but I want you to see it for yourself, so the little cocksucker can’t lie his way out of it.”
“What do you mean, see it?” I gape at him, horrified. “Jesus, please tell me there’s not a sex tape or something like that, and that’s how you know about this.”
“A sex tape? I hope the fuck not.” His face twists into a line of disgust. “Do I have proof without seeing his weasel dick? Affirmative.”
I’m so lost.
My stomach tightens at his failure to elaborate, and I’m afraid to ask for details. I snatch my phone with sweaty hands, unlock it, and scroll to my husband’s name. Him not coming home last night didn’t worry me. He’d rented a hotel room for him and his friends the night of his party. I’d expected it. Hell, I’d helped him pack his overnight bag.
I shake my head, powering off my phone, and toss it into my bag. I’ll ask his side of the story after seeing this evidence.
We don’t speak the rest of the ride, and twenty minutes later, Maliki pulls into the parking lot of the Twisted Fox Bar. It’s a newer establishment in the surrounding county and tends to drag in the younger crowd. Devin comes here to hang out with friends … and this is where the bachelor party was last night.
Maliki picks up his phone from a cupholder and calls someone. “Hey, man. We’re here.” He nods a few times and ends the call.
We step out of the car, and he leads me to the entrance of the building. The door is unlocked. A man behind the bar is the only person here. He looks around the same age as Maliki and was here the few times I came with Devin.
He circles the bar and comes our way. He has light-brown hair, and even though he’s on the slimmer side, he’s hot.
Maliki lifts his chin. “Yo, Cohen.” He jerks his head toward me. “This is Sierra.”
I politely wave at Cohen, and he responds with a sympathetic smile before telling us to follow him.
He takes us through the kitchen until we reach an office with a desk covered with two large computer monitors. Reality strikes me when Cohen sits in the chair by the desk.
Cohen is showing me the evidence of Devin cheating.
I’m not prepared for this.
I stay in the doorway, watching Cohen punch a few buttons on the keyboard and turn to Maliki, a curious look on his face.
“You sure she wants to see this?” he asks.
“She needs to,” Maliki replies.
I hold up my hand. “Uh, she is standing right here.”
Cohen only nods and puts his attention back to the computer.
Maliki curls his arm over my shoulders and steers me to stand behind Cohen. I gulp and resist the urge to shut my eyes.
This has to happen.
When Cohen pulls up the bar’s camera footage, I immediately spot Devin. My belly knots with panic while I watch him take shots with friends. Then, he’s talking to a woman at the bar, and he buys her a drink. My hands curl and press against my stomach. I recite two quick prayers—the first that I’m not about to see my husband cheat and the other that I don’t vomit on Cohen’s head.
I grip the back of the chair and tense when Devin turns stupid.
Oh, this motherfucker.
He grabs the woman’s hand and takes her to the restroom. Even though Cohen speeds up the time, I’m aware of how much has passed. Fifteen minutes later, I watch my husband exit the restroom, buckling his pants, with the woman lagging behind him.
“That motherfucking asshole,” I bite out. “And that two-faced tramp.”
Cohen drops his head back to look at me. “You know her?”
“She was a sorority sister. Louise.” My attention shifts to Maliki. “The bitch who asked you for Buttery Nipples on my birthday.”
“Never trust a chick who drinks Buttery Nipples,” Cohen comments.
I never got along with Louise. One night, Devin drunkenly confessed she’d slid into his DMs during one of our breaks but swore he’d ignored it. I doubt that now.
I bury my face in my hands. “Well, if this isn’t humiliating.”
“For him,” Maliki says, gently squeezing my shoulders. “Not you.”
I twist out of his hold to face him. “Why?” My voice shakes. “Why did you show me this?”
I move when Cohen wheels his chair away from the desk and springs to his feet.
“I’ll leave you two to do whatever,” he says.
I wait until Cohen disappears through the doorway before speaking.
My chin trembles.
Don’t cry.
Don’t you dare cry.
“Why?” I ask again, fighting to keep my voice calm.
Maliki raises his hands next to his head in a mind-blown motion. “Are you shitting me? What did you expect me to do? Sit back in my chair at the back of the bar and let him fuck around on you?”
I stammer for the right words.
“Do whatever you want with the information, but you needed to know. Whether you stay with the cheating bastard is your call.” He stops me when I turn around to leave. “Oh, and don’t be surprised if he has a black eye when you see him.”
Seven
Sierra
I’m pacing the living room, wiping tears away as they fall, while waiting for my cheating bastard of a husband to come home.
My life will change when he walks in.
I’ll be divorced before reaching my thirties.
Hell, I’ll be divorced before making it to our first anniversary.
The video of him and Louise has consumed my every thought. I had two glasses of wine for breakfast after Maliki dropped me off at home—attempts to erase the memory of the video, but it didn’t help.
Maliki asked if I needed help packing or if I wanted him to give Devin another black eye.
Do I stay or go?
I stop when the front door opens.
This is it.
There’s never been a longer silence in my life as I wait for Devin to come into the living room. I clutch my stomach, nausea creeping in, and suck in a life-changing breath. Suddenly, I’m struggling to find the words I prepared, the words I held back from calling and screaming at him over the phone.
My lip trembles when he comes into view in what seems like slow motion.
“Hey, babe,” he greets, gripping his overnight bag.
My plan to handle this rationally flies out the window, and I grab our wedding photo, hurling it toward him. His eyes bulge, and he shuffles back a step, barely dodging it.
“Shit,” he rasps, looking from the frame to me. “Is it that time of the month?”
There’s no regret on his face. Had Maliki not told me, I would’ve never suspected him cheating. His hair is combed over in the same style he’s worn since college, his clothes are wrinkle-free, and he shows no symptoms of a hangover. There is a slight discoloration beneath his eye—a bruise that wasn’t there yesterday. The black eye Maliki mentioned.
“You cheated on me?” I scream, my hands shaking. “You cheated on me with Louise?”
His face pales, and he drops his bag to the floor. “What the fuck? Who told you that?”
“Maliki. His friend works at the Twisted Fox.” I make a sweeping gesture toward his face. “The man who gave you the black eye.”
His hand lifts to his eye. “That fucker hates me and hit me for no reason.” He sneers, an attempt to cover his lies, but his shoulders droop. “I’m insulted you’d believe him over me. I’ve never made you doubt my love for you.”
“There are cameras there.” My voice raises. “I saw you with her!”
“I swear, it’s not what it looked like.”
“Oh, come on! I’m insulted you’d think I’d believe that lie.”
He extends his arms out and steps closer. “I’m sorry! I was drunk.” He focuses his eyes on me and expels an audible breath. “It’s eating me alive that I hurt you.”
“I can see it’s really eating you alive.”
“It was a bachelor party. It’s not the first time a man has accidentally hooked up with a woman at one.”
Oh, that’s his argument?
I grab another frame, and he dodges it flying toward him again.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
He takes another step toward me.
I take one back.
“Please, baby,” he pleads. “We’ve had so many years. Don’t let this fuckup—my only fuckup—tear us apart. It won’t happen again. I swear it.”
“No, you tore us apart.” Fear and hurt spiral through me, and I pick up my bag from the couch. “I can’t even look at you.”
He catches my arm, turning me to face him, and guilt surfaces on his features. I swallow, hurting while watching his face contort in pain, and it torments me not to console him.
I mean, he is my husband.
I care about him.
Not enough to stay though.
I jerk out of his hold.
“Please,” he whispers. “I made a mistake.”
I remove my wedding ring and allow it to fall to the floor. “And I made a mistake in marrying you.”
He calls my name when I walk out.
“Tell me you left his sorry ass.”
I didn’t know where to go.
My mom would know something was wrong. My brothers would want to kick Devin’s ass. Not that he doesn’t deserve an ass-kicking, but today, all I want to do is clear my mind of my husband cheating. I don’t want them to know yet. I need time to process it myself before hearing their relationship advice.
Stay with him.
Leave him.
Kill him.
I drop my purse onto the bar and fall down on a stool.
“I left his sorry ass.” I fight to keep my voice steady and confident even though I’m near losing it.
Being back at Down Home seems surreal. It looks the same, smells the same, feels the same, like I never stopped coming.
Maliki beams with pride while standing behind the bar. “Where do you go from here?”
“No idea. Not only did we live together, but I also work for his father. I’m now homeless, possibly unemployed, and husbandless. Yay.”
Moving in with my parents is a hell no. They’re working to move on from my father’s infidelities. Ellie lives with Corbin. No doubt Devin would show up there, wanting to talk.
I press my forehead against the bar and groan. “I’m so screwed.”
“I can help you in the housing and employment department. As for the husband position, you’ll have to seek help elsewhere,” Maliki says.
I lift my head to see the seriousness on his face. “Trust me, I don’t even want to sweat about a husband.”
He nods. “Good girl. You need to get rid of the one you have now.” He rubs his hands together before ducking down and grabbing me a bottle of water. “The guest bedroom in my apartment is open, and you can work here.”
Whoa. Definitely wasn’t expecting that.
“That’s …” I unscrew the bottle cap and take a drink. “That’s …”
“An offer, Sierra. Take it or leave it.” He’s not insulted by my response. “I’m helping a friend.”
Friend.
I raise a brow. “Is that what we are? Friends again?”
“We’ve always been friends … after you quit being annoying and sneaking into my bar.”
I sigh. “I appreciate the offer but don’t know if it’s a stellar idea.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I swear on my shoe collection, that asshole isn’t stepping foot in my apartment,” Ellie says after I decline her offer to stay at her apartment. “You won’t need to worry about seeing him because I’ll kick his ass before he makes it through the front door.”
I called an hour ago and asked her to meet me at our favorite taco joint outside of town. She was as stunned as I was when I broke the news about Devin and Louise’s restroom field trip. I’d been nervous about going out in public, in fear of a breakdown, but I’ve stayed strong.
Each time I almost cry, I take a tequila shot instead.
It’s working perfectly.
“While I appreciate your loyalty, kicking his ass will only lead to problems with you and Corbin,” I tell her.
She lifts her margarita. “Corbin will be lucky if I allow him to hang out with a man who has no issues with banging tramps in restrooms.”
“I’ll figure something out. If worse comes to worse, I’ll be at your doorstep.”
Do I tell her about Maliki’s offer?
Nope.
She’ll go into full freak-out mode. It wouldn’t surprise me if she suggested I screw Maliki, tape it, and then send the video to Devin. Ellie loves a good revenge.
“You swear?”
I nod. “I swear.”
“What are your options then? Moving home?”
“Not if I can help it. Hopefully, I can find a rental.”
“Good luck with that in Blue Beech. Finding a rental there is like snagging a golden ticket to Wonka’s factory. The people never leave their homes. They pass them down through generations like bad genetics.”
I press my palms to my temples. “Ugh, I know.”
“Where are you crashing tonight? The offer is open for my place even if it’s only temporary.”
I chew on my lower lip, tasting the lingering tequila. “Undecided. Can you drop me off at Down Home? I told Maliki I’d help him close and then ask Kyle if I can crash at his place.”
She grins. “She runs to her prince in bartending armor.”
I throw a chip at her. “Shut up. I’m not running to anyone.”
“You are so running to him. And no judgments over here, babe. Maliki is hot and will have no problem fucking every thought of Devin the Douche Bag out of you.”
I gulp down the rest of my margarita. “There will be no sex with him. We’re friends. I’m comfortable talking to him.”
“Gee, thanks, best friend. I’m all for you running to him for sex, but I’m the one you’re supposed to feel the most comfortable talking to.”
“Trust me, you know way more about me than he does. It’s just …” I pause, struggling to define my relationship with Maliki. “We have this weird friendship.”
“Turn it into a fuckship, and I won’t be offended by you going to him and not me.”
“God, I love yet also hate you.”
She pushes her shoulders up and smirks. “You love me.” She motions for our waiter. “Now, let’s get you good and drunk before you go to your future fuck buddy.”
I lower my voice. “I’m not even divorced yet!”
She shakes her head. “Devin set the marriage bar when he stuck his pencil dick into a sorority tramp.”
The waiter comes, and she orders us another round of margaritas.
And two shots of tequila.
“Your closing partner has arrived,” Ellie announces while helping me walk—no, stumble into Down Home.
I had four margaritas and lost count of how many shots I downed during dinner. My purse swings from my shoulder while I dangle off Ellie’s. I can walk. It’s just easier to do it with help.
What a way to celebrate your husband cheating.
A few loners are settled around the bar, vacant stools between them, and my vision is too fuzzy to make out who they are. Chances are they know me though.
Everyone knows me in this godforsaken town.
They’ll hear about Devin’s restroom scandal. It’ll become the scandal of the year—right behind my father’s.
Keepin’ it classy in the Lane family.<
br />
“And she’s wasted,” Maliki says, rounding the bar to meet us.
“Wasted and asking for you,” Ellie clarifies. “I trust you’ll take care of her?”
“Always.” Maliki wraps his arms around my shoulders, relieving Ellie of my weight, and pulls me into him.
“Perfect!” Ellie kisses my cheek. “You two kids have fun.”
She leaves and heads to the parking lot where Corbin is waiting. I’d reluctantly let him pick us up from the restaurant. At first, I was afraid he’d tell Devin my business, but Ellie swore on her firstborn—my future godchild—that he wouldn’t.
Maliki guides me to the corner of the bar and assists me onto a stool. “I’m insulted you drank somewhere else. What’s wrong with my liquor?”
“I needed to get away from Blue Beech,” I answer.
“I get that.”
“And I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy. I can say my ABCs and recite every word of ‘Toxic.’ ” My words are slurred, but I trust Maliki can understand me. He’s regularly around wasted people. Drunken gibberish is his second language.
He chuckles. “I’m happy tipsy you remembers her Britney Spears songs.”
“Damn straight. And I’m impressed, Bridges. Im-freaking-pressed.”
He raises a brow in question.
“You know who sings ‘Toxic.’ It makes me like you more.”
He laughs. “Nice to know.” He squeezes my arm and steps away. “I’ll grab you a water and food to sober you up.”
I gulp, realizing how dry my mouth is. “Water—yes, please. Food—God, no. I devoured enough chips and queso to feed a small country.”
I rub my forehead and drag my phone from my purse. I turned it off hours ago after Devin wouldn’t stop calling and texting. You can only hit the fuck you button so many times before you lose your mind.
I glare at it for a moment and then slide it away from me, up the bar. When I turn it on, no doubt dozens of texts from Devin will pop up. I’ll make Ellie delete them later.
Just Roommates Page 6