Page 162 of Handsome Devil
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were so into straight guys.”
“I didn’t know I was either. Until I saw your husband in that hetero porno.”
“Please don’t,” I muttered.
“I can’t stop watching it…” he whispered.
I gave him anI don’t want to hear about itlook, headed into the meeting room and shut the door. “What was that about?” I asked Dane.
He stood over his temporary desk—the meeting table—sifting through paperwork and didn’t look up. “Nothing.”
“Dane.”
Finally, he looked up.
“Who pissed in your matcha?” I asked him.
“What?”
“What’s with the face?”
He dropped the papers he’d been holding. “Shane wants you to come to his fight tonight?”
“Really. You’re mad about that?”
“I’m not mad. Just asking.”
“What fight are we even talking about?” I inquired. “Shane Madrigal is a fighter now?”
“Uh-huh. Mixed martial arts.”
“Like… UFC?”
“No. Like underground fighting.”
Huh. Dark.
I studied Dane, trying to read his body language. Stiff. Cold.
Were we back here already? He looked like the man who’d stood in Janelle’s office that first day, staking out his new territory with icy determination—and bitter resentment.
I wasn’t interested in going to the fight, particularly. But did he not want me to come? Because Shane wanted me to come?
“Should I come?”
He stared at me for a long moment. “Do you want to go?”
I crossed my arms. “I meant, is he interested in me?”
“Maybe,” he said neutrally.
“That doesn’t bother you?” I pressed.
“Why would it?”
“Because I’m your fake wife. Aren’t there rules?”
Dane just gave me a blank/cold look, which I was coming to realize was his guarded look. The one he tossed around when he didn’t feel like sharing whatever he was actually thinking. It was the look he wore about ninety-percent of the time. “You can do whatever you want to do. I don’t own you.”
