Page 3 of Playing Field
"What is there to say?" I asked, my voice tighter than my nerves. "You were screwing another woman. Not just that, but your friend's girlfriend. Who does that?"
Kris sighed and looked down toward the floor. "A guy who made a mistake?"
"A crap friend," I snapped. "And a crap boyfriend. I meant what I said. It's over. I want you out. Now."
He slumped. "Fine, I'll leave, but it'll take me a while to pack up my comic books."
I should set them on fire.
"Whatever." I turned my back on him. If I never saw his face again, I'd be okay with that.
Now the shock of walking in on them was wearing off, my heart started to ache. Tears prickled my eyes again.
I held back the sobs. I didn't think I could stop once I started and I didn't want to lose it in front of him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Let him think I didn't care as much as I did. That I'd move on with my life the moment he was gone, and never give him another thought.
I wished it was that simple. He tore a hole in my entire life. Pulled out the comfortable rug from under my feet. Now, I was in freefall for a few thousand metres.
I poured a cup of coffee and added a couple of spoons of sweetener and a whole lot of milk.
Even though my stomach was twisted into all kinds of knots, I took a sip.
It was cold.
Without realising, I remained standing in the kitchen holding the mug in my hands for ages. Distracted much? Yeah, a lot, with good reason. Kris was still moving around, throwing things into boxes and bags.
A tiny part of me wanted to tell him to stop, to make him promise never to do it again. He could stay. We could work it out.
The bigger, and much more sensible part of me, couldn't get him out the door fast enough. The urge was almost strong enough to help him pack, so he was gone sooner.
To hell with that. He'd made our bed; he wasn't going to lie in it again.
I grimaced. I'd have to change the sheets. Maybe burn them. The idea of sleeping where he cheated turned my already knotted stomach. I might have to sleep on the couch for a night or two. Maybe get an exorcist to flush out any demons left behind. Could I afford a brand-new mattress? Was it cheaper than an exorcist?
"Ash?" Kris' voice interrupted my pity party.
I turned around. "What?"
He wore the blue shirt and jeans combination I liked best on him. Probably on purpose. Maybe he thought if he appealed to my sentimentality, I'd take him back.
He brushed a bunch of hair back off his face. He needed a haircut, like always. He only went when I all but dragged him,kicking and screaming, to get it done. Later, he'd tell me how glad he was to have me looking out for him.
Now he would have to fend for himself and it was one hundred percent his fault.
Why had he cheated? Was I not enough? Was I away too often for work? Was my dark hair not as appealing as Brandi's bleach blonde look? Were my hips too wide or my breasts too small? Had I been too overbearing in insisting he take care of himself once in a while? Did any of the potential reasons even matter? He did it. Why was irrelevant, or so I tried to tell myself.
He scratched the side of his nose.
"I'm sorry, okay? It was a one-time thing. I got caught up in it. I was there, she was there?—"
"So she accidentally fell on your dick?" I snap, trying to hold onto the anger, not the tears.
He flushed. "Yeah, something like that. She was really aggressive and I wasn't thinking."
I gave him a sideways frown. "You're blaminghernow? She came after you and you were powerless to resist?"
"Yes," he replied. His face fell. "No."
"It has to be one or the other," I said.
