Page 16 of The Problem with Fire
“This isn’t over, Monroe,” he replied, still pissed off.
“It is for me,” she retorted before grabbing me by the arm and dragging me with her into her house, leaving Thomas to stew on the porch.
Once the door was firmly shut behind us, Monroe whirled around on me, and hissed, “What in the hell was that?” I looked down at the annoyed beauty and just smiled.
I was finally standing inside Monroe Stewart’s home.
Chapter 9
Monroe~
Was this really happening? Did Sayer Hayes really just pretend to be my boyfriend?
As if I didn’t already have enough things to be embarrassed about in front of this man, now he’s gone and pretended to be my boyfriend because my ex-husband felt the need to announce to the world what a loser I was because I haven’t gotten laid in three years.
Lord, why me?
Now, don’t get me wrong. Sayer coming to my rescue had been fabulous. I would never purposely set out to embarrass or attack Thomas, but I had been furious as he tried to blame me for the friction between him and Leta. He was still trying to get out of his mess with no responsibility, and I drew the line at placing the blame on my shoulders. However, that didn’t change the fact that we’d lied to his face for petty revenge.
And, Sweet Baby Jesus, when Sayer had started sprouting off how he’s in my bed every night, it had been everything I could do not to scream‘Yes, please!’and not pull the covers on our charade.
“You’re not going to offer me a refreshment?” Sayer asked, grinning down at me, and I was back to being a bumbling idiot, my anger at Thomas no longer around to distract me.
“Wh…what?”
He jerked his gorgeous head towards the kitchen. “A drink,” he said. “You’re not going to offer me a drink?” His smile deepened, making his dimples pop and my knees weaken. “After all, I did almost get arrested for you.”
My eyes widened, and I couldn’t stop my shocked laugh. “You didnotalmost get arrest,” I corrected.
Sayer smirked and it was that sexy kind of smirk that should be outlawed for the sanity of all women everywhere. “Iwould have, though,” he returned. “Had he kept running his mouth, I would have fucked him up, Monroe.”
That one statement brought me back to the seriousness of what just happened. I jerked my head towards the kitchen for him to follow me. As he sat down at the counter, I went to the refrigerator. “Soda, iced tea, or water?”
“Water,” he replied. “Please.”
I grabbed two bottles of water and walked over to stand on the other side of the kitchen counter, placing one of the bottles in front of him. He thanked me as he twisted the cap open. “So…”
He took a drink, but his grin was positively wolfish when he repeated, “So…”
I grimaced, because this really was embarrassing as hell. I’ve barely spoken to this man in the two months that he’s lived next door, and he’d just witness something very personal and very humiliating. I didn’t need this sex god to know that I haven’t had any action for three years.
I cringed.
Sayer let out a soft laugh. “It’s okay, Monroe. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I snorted, and it was probably the most unladylike sound in history. “Yeah, right.”
“He’s a dick,” he said simply. “That…that scene was all him.”
I looked at this perfect specimen sitting across from me, and looking at him, how could he possibly understand? "Have you ever been married?" He shook his head. “Do you have any kids?” Again, he shook his head. “You ever been in a serious relationship?”
“Uh, it’s…it’s been awhile,” he hedged. “And it had never had the makings of marriage or forever.”
Karma was the only other person who knew my story. She’d been there for me through it all. Through picking up the pieces, through the heartbreak of not being able to help Leta adjust through the destruction, through it all. And even if this wasn’t any of Sayer’s business, he did come to my rescue. That deserved something.
“I had been rifling through my dresser drawer, looking for my favorite pajama pants, when Thomas had announced that he had wanted a divorce,” I told him. “No talk about being unhappy, or going to counseling, or anything. Just, simply, that he had wanted a divorce.”
Sayer looked flummoxed. “What a dick,” he finally threw out.
