Page 1 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

Chapter One

Six years ago, almost to the day, Truly first spotted Justin Gallagher in all his dreamy, sun-kissed, green-eyed glory and thought, I’m gonna marry that guy. Now, bare from the waist down wearing nothing but a red muscle tee, her fiancé looked the furthest thing from dreamy she could imagine.

He looked like Winnie-the-Pooh.

If Pooh Bear were a lying, cheating bastard.

With one hand shielding her eyes from the tableau of bare skin she had zero desire to see, Truly braced for the inevitable crush of sadness to steal over her. Any second now, she was going to feel something other than this... distant mortification that she’d wasted six precious years on a dumbass who, when caught with his dick in another girl’s mouth, said, this isn’t what it looks like.

Any second now... any second...

“True, hon, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that. Jessica’s a vocal performance major. I was just helping her practice. You gotta believe me.”

Her hand dropped and with it, her jaw, her mouth hanging open. That had to be, without a doubt, the worst, most half-baked excuse she’d ever had the displeasure of hearing. “With your dick out, Justin? Really? It’s not a fucking microphone.”

Maybe it was her withering glare that did it, but he gulped and cupped his package protectively. “We were just—we were working on her breath control. Tell her, Jess.”

Breath control. Christ.

She wasn’t sure what offended her more—that he had cheated, or that he honest to God thought she was stupid enough to believe that the pretty blonde frantically throwing her clothes on had been getting up close and personal with his dick in the name of music.

“I am so sorry.” The girl—Jessica?—stole a furtive glance at Truly as she breezed past on her way out of Justin’s front door. “This fuckwad told me he was single.”

Fuckwad, indeed.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, Justin held up both hands, palms facing out, fingers spread, placating. “Honey, listen—”

“Don’t.” Truly snatched the throw blanket she’d crocheted him two Christmases ago off the back of the couch and hurled it at his head. Dicks looked weird on a good day; she really didn’t want to keep seeing his out of the corner of her eye. “Do us both a favor and cover yourself.”

He clutched the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“And it’s nothing I have any desire to see ever again.”

“Don’t be like that,” he whined. “You don’t get to be mad at me. We’re on a break, remember?”

A break she’d agreed to take against her better judgment, because Justin had sworn up and down that his desire to press pause had nothing to do with wanting to see other people.

“Because you told me you couldn’t handle any distractions while you’re on tour. Because you told me you were, and I quote, investing in our future. That when you hit it big with the band, it would all be worth it.”

Privately, she’d believed it to be a classic case of cold feet. That with a little time apart, he’d realize, unequivocally, just how good he had it.

Had she known he wanted to sow some wild oats before even hitting the road, she never would’ve agreed to spend any time apart.

“Fine. You want the truth?” He stood, blanket falling and with it, any semblance of his dignity. “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe the fact that my girlfriend proposed to me might’ve been a little emasculating? Huh? You ever think about that?”

She didn’t have the time nor inclination to unpack how sexist that was. “So, you’re, what? Saying this is my fault? You’re sleeping around to reestablish your masculinity? Prove to yourself you can still pull?”

“Now that sounds like a trap.” Justin set his hands on his bare hips. “And speaking of traps, yeah, all right, that’s how you made me feel. Trapped. Smothered. I needed space to get my head on straight. Sue me.”

Her breath hitched, lungs constricting. “You are saying this is my fault.”

Unbelievable.

“I’m saying that we shouldn’t be throwing glass houses here.”

“Stones,” she said, faintly horrified. “It’s stones, Justin.”

“Well, yeah.” He scoffed. “If you throw glass houses, someone’s stones are bound to get hurt.” He cupped his balls unabashedly. “Namely, mine.”

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