Page 23 of The Wife Situation

“On us,” I say with a groan. “Sometimes, you’re really annoying.”

“Only when I’m right. Show me those Southern manners.”

I slowly take in a deep breath and look down at his contact. ASSHOLE. My phone is heavy in my hand, like I’ll drop it. Calling him feels personal, but he deserves a thank-you, even if that’s where this ends. I’ll quickly make the call, get it over with, and put my protective walls back up.

“You can use my room,” she says, lifting her hand toward it.

“Do Ihaveto do this?” The thought gives me hives.

“Yes.”

She pushes me down the short hallway and into her room. There’s only enough space for her bed, a small table, and a standing mirror. I look down at my phone as she clicks the door closed. It’s the most privacy I’ll get.

“I can do this,” I whisper and click on his number.

It immediately rings, and after the fourth one, I hang up and meet her in the living room.

She grins. “Well?”

“He didn’t answer,” I explain with a shrug. “Ready to go?”

Her brows furrow. “Did you leave a message?”

“No, that wasn’t part of the deal. If he calls me back, I’ll pick up.”

We take the stairs down the four flights of our building. The evening chill hits my cheeks when I push open the door.

As I look out to the street, I stop mid-stride.

Thereheis, standing in a gray three-piece suit with a black tie. He’s leaning against a white Mustang Shelby GT500 withblack racing stripes down the hood—1967, if I had to guess, and I think I’d be right. Pure muscle and Americana. He’s holding a bouquet of yellow roses as the ghost of a smile plays on his luscious lips.

As my foot hits the bottom step, he moves forward and hands them to me.

“For you,” he says.

I look at him like he’s lost his mind.

Carlee looks over at me. “I think I forgot something upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

“Carlee,” I say between clenched teeth, not wanting her to leave me alone with him.

She’s out of sight before I can say anything else.

I turn back to Easton. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you call me?”

My mouth falls open and closes. He has a point.

“I did. I wanted to say thank you. Also, thanks for the roses. We’re heading out for the night.”

The roses smell incredible, and I can’t remember the last time anyone bought me flowers.

I meet his gaze. “I thought I told you the next time you decide to stalk me, wear a mask?”

This makes him chuckle. “I wasn’t stalking you. Was in the neighborhood.”

“Really? You hang out in Harlem often?”

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