Hot Text

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An Excerpt From: HOT TEXT

Copyright © CARI QUINN, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

“Do you know how many orgasms I’ve had with him in the last three years?”

Again Jeff appeared stunned, his pupils widening as he opened and closed his mouth like a guppy. Then he shook his head.

“Less than a handful. Lucky for him I have minimal needs or I might have divorced him a long time ago.”

She wouldn’t have but Jeff didn’t need to know that. For a little while, she could pretend to be a different person. She could become a woman who loved ’em and left ’em rather than being the one left.

“They have vibrators, you know,” he muttered, his jaw cracking as he flung his gaze toward the window.

She laughed and tilted her head, enjoying the opportunity to study him while he was looking anywhere but at her. “I have two but thanks for the tip. It’s not only about sex,” she said into the awkward silence. “We fell out of love, plain and simple. The saddest thing is we won’t even be friends after. I always told myself I’d be friends with my exes. That everything would be so civil and lovely.” She sighed. “Not so much.”

“Really? I can’t stand the sight of mine. If everything was so hunky-damn-dory, they wouldn’t be your ex.”

“Well, that is true. Ex-wife?” she asked. At her best guess, he was around her age of thirty, maybe a few years older. Certainly old enough to be married and divorced, maybe multiple times.

“Yeah. Two of them.” His frown dug lines around his mouth. “Honestly? Marriage fucking sucks. But it would really help me out if you’d stay in yours.”

Curiosity piqued, Karyn leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table. His attention shifted to her hands. Or more specifically, her rings. They were all silver except for her wedding band, which stood out like a beacon from the rest. She wore them on her thumbs and every finger but her pinkies, her only concession to personal adornment. She had no tattoos and no piercings, not even pierced ears. But her rings, each polished to a high sheen and intricately carved, always grabbed notice.

Sometimes people asked her why she wore silver with gold. The silver had been her choice. She hadn’t picked the dull gold band but Lon had wanted something traditional.

More irony.

“Why?” she asked, curling her thumb into her palm. Still he continued to stare. Maybe he really liked baby-blue nail polish.

He started to answer then cut himself off and shook his head. “Look, I’ll just give you your husband’s phone. Return it to him when you want.”

“Wait,” she said as he set the familiar navy cell on the table. “You’re not going to tell me any more than that? Why do you care if I stay married?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is he sleeping with someone important to you? One of those ex-wives? A girlfriend?”

Jeff didn’t answer. She didn’t really expect him to.

“I know about his affairs. I’m okay with them,” she added.

“Lady, with all due respect, you seem way too okay with way too much.”

A laugh tore from her chest and she covered her mouth to try to hold it in. Talk about a lost cause. She doubled over and let the hysteria overtake her until tears blurred her vision.

Tears. Real, honest-to-god tears. From mirth, but still. They counted.

He reached across the table and awkwardly patted her back as one might a potentially dangerous, wounded animal. Only his palm made contact with her spine, not his fingers. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

“Yeah? I’m sitting here discussing my non-sex life with a total stranger and you think that’s okay? A stranger who wants me to stay with a guy who wouldn’t eat my cooking and refused to come to Christmas dinners at my parents’ house? I’d say none of this is okay, Mr. Maddox.”

“You can call me Jeff.”

“Thanks so much.” The hint of sarcasm in her voice surprised her as much as she could tell it did him.

“He’s sleeping with my little sister.”

“Oh.” Then as it sank in, she said again, “Oh. Sorry about that.”

Much to her shock—and pleasure—he started to laugh. “Yeah, it fucking sucks.”

“Do you always swear so much?”

His laughter subsided but the glow in his truly amazing eyes didn’t. “You really sound like a preschool teacher, you know that? So calm and well-mannered.”

She shrugged. “I’m good at my job. I must admit, I wonder what yours is. Because of the swearing and…lack of vocabulary, I’m thinking maybe truck driver?”

Again he laughed, long and loud. “Hardly. I edit. Books,” he added at her blank look.

“What kind of books?”

“Ones with a lot of pages.” He got up and fished a ratty wallet out of his back pocket. “Want another coffee?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t—”

“Go for it.” He gave her a half-smile. “Go wild.”