Page 47 of The Butcher

“What does that mean?”

Instead of backpedaling or dropping his gaze, he kept his confidence. “You’re a little thinner than the last time I saw you.”

“You can tell?”

With his elbows on the table and his hands together, he looked at me head on. “I know your body. Know it very well.” His eyes were so blue even in the dimly lit room, a man all the more handsome in his potent confidence.

The waitress interrupted the standoff when she brought the profiteroles and the coffee. Steam rose from the mug, and the plate was warm from the chocolate sauce they seemed to have just taken off the stove.

I sliced my fork into the layers of flaky dough then took a bite, all the flavors like a tide of warmth over my tongue.

He watched me eat the dessert, his eyes fully absorbed. “What do you think?”

“It’s fucking good.”

He smirked slightly before he drank from his glass again. “Women and their desserts…”

“Like men and their steaks.”

He smiled again. “Touché.”

I ate the entire plate of profiteroles and scraped up the little pieces left behind because my stomach had had an awakening. It was the first time I’d left the house for pleasure rather than for work. It was nice to do something other than mope. “Remember when I told you Adrien wanted to talk to me?”

He didn’t answer or nod, just gave that hard stare.

I took that as a yes.

“Well, I found out what he wanted to tell me…that it was more than the one time.” I’d kept this inside for almost a week, letting it rot my organs and bones until I was completely empty. “That there were at least a dozen different women. How I didn’t get an STI, I’ll never know.”

He had no reaction to that, like he had suspected that all along or didn’t want to fuel my raging fire with more fuel.

“I’m such a fool. I’m certain his older brother knew because they’re close. I’m sure his best friend knew. I’m sure other people knew too, and they just didn’t want to tell me. So there I was, walking around like a fucking idiot, oblivious to all of this.”

“You aren’t an idiot, sweetheart,” he said gently. “We never suspect the people we trust. He’s the fool for throwing away a damn good woman. I promise you he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.”

“He does seem apologetic—or I’m an idiot for believing his remorse.”

“I have no doubt he regrets it,” he said seriously. “And especially regrets getting caught.”

I stirred my coffee because the cream had settled at the top. “He said he wanted to tell me the truth and, since he was honest with me when he didn’t need to be, asked if there was a chance we could?—”

An uncontrollable laugh escaped his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

My eyes shifted back and forth between his as I tried to understand what had just happened. “What?”

His laughs subsided, and he shook his head. “Nothing.”

“What am I missing here?”

“Nothing,” he repeated.

“Then you think my misery is funny?” I snapped.

“Not at all.” He turned serious again. “I just think he’s full of shit.”

I continued to look at him, and for the first time, I felt deceit from him. Like there was something I was missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t a good feeling, and I didn’t want to feel that way again. “I don’t like this feeling.”

“What feeling?”

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