Page 120 of A Lucky Shot

“Cass.” His voice, more than his touch, halted her flight, and his words spilled out in a low rush. “I can explain.”

Her feet stalled under her, breaths still coming in shallow gasps. She wanted to believe whatever he’d say, whatever honeyed words would flow from his mouth. But he’d just left his wife standing on the other side of the building. The wife he’d kept from her for the months they’d known each other.

Or thought she’d known him.

And what was there to explain? He was married. That was all the explanation needed.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Isn’t it? Because it sure looks like I just met your wife.” A choked laugh erupted from her throat that threatened to turn into a sob, and she pressed her lips together and turned away.

“It’s not like that. I didn’t want to tell you because?—”

“Then I wouldn’t sleep with you.”

A flash of guilt crossed his features. “That’s not it,” he said in a low, urgent voice.

She gulped a sharp breath and struggled to free her arm from his grasp. “I don’t know you at all. I thought … I don’t know what I thought. What else haven’t you told me?”

He pressed his lips together, and what was left of her heart ripped at the seams.

“Cass,” he tried again, his hand still securely on her wrist, “you need to listen to me.”

Anything he said would be the things he’d think she wanted to hear. “Actually, I don’t think I do.”

“Give me a chance?—”

“Enough.”

Josh stalled, and dropped his hand to his side.

Her eyes burned, and the empty ache in her chest crowded her throat. She couldn’t listen to this. Not now. Not from someone who didn’t respect her enough to tell her something so important.

Cass wiped her hands over dry cheeks and stared at the rigging over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes.

“I need time to think. Please leave me alone.”

He didn’t follow her as she walked away.

Libby poured another inch of the flat faux Champagne into the plastic tumbler. An emptybottle of cheap red blend sat beside the remains of a carton of ice cream, upturned in the kitchen sink.

Sirius Darker had wrapped. The proudest she’d ever been of her work, and instead of joining in celebrations with the crew, she’d slunk out at the end of the day without a word. Like she was the one who had done something wrong. Libby had stayed with the crew a short while, showing up less than an hour later at Cass’s door with sugar, alcohol, and a shoulder she was prepared to get wet.

Ice cream and wine. The perfect pairing for heartache. A terrible pairing for gastrointestinal distress. The ice cream was already curdling in her stomach as Cass swigged from the bottle.

Josh had blown up her phone the minute she’d left set. He’d buzzed her apartment from downstairs minutes after Libby had arrived. He hadn’t tried to sneak up, or at least he’d been unsuccessful, and the buzzing had stopped after an hour.

“You know,” Cass slurred, “last time I got this drunk, it was after that jerk who bailed after five minutes on that stupid date. Josh was the first person I called.”

He’d said she was beautiful. He’d said he’d write sonnets about kissing her.

He’d said a lot of things. But not that he was married.

She was so stupid.

Libby’s brows threaded together. “Why didn’t you call me instead that night?”

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