Layne blinked at the steering wheel and repeated, “What?”

She laughed softly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay if you give a shit about this stuff. It’s not like it makes you any less of a man.”

What the f**k?

“Uh… Rocky, what the f**k are you talkin’ about?”

“Your clothes, your furniture, Layne, they’re stylish, handsome. Your clothes make you look good, especially when you dress up. Definitely hot.” He knew she said this through a smile but he was too busy concentrating on his neck muscles contracting to let that penetrate. “And your furniture is fantastic. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be able to put a house together like that, Layne, but it looks great. I mean, it’s comfortable and manly but it’s still attractive. I love it and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Shit.

“Roc –”

“So, baby, since you know what you’re doing, in a badass interior decorator kind of way, tell me, do you like oak?”

“Roc –”

“Or do you want to come and look? Maybe we can swing in on Saturday.”

Shopping.

Shit.

He pulled in a breath then he let it out and made a decision. And he made his decision because shit happened and if he didn’t tell her, she’d eventually find out somehow. That shit had a way of making it to the light. Usually through Tripp.

“I didn’t buy that furniture, baby,” he said softly.

“Sorry?”

“Or most of my clothes.”

Silence then, “Sorry?”

“Melody did.”

He waited. She didn’t speak.

Fucking shit.

“Rocky –”

“Um… I’ve gotta go.”

“Roc –” he stopped speaking because he had dead air.

“Shit!” he hissed, tossed the phone on the passenger seat, started the truck and headed to her house.

He was standing out on her balcony an hour and a half later having a smoke when he watched her car drive up and swing into the spot beside his truck. She got out and moved from under the awning over her spaces, her eyes lifting to him. Then she dropped her head and walked to the sidewalk.

Layne moved to the little, black wrought iron table she’d had delivered from the Garden Center and he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray she left out for him.

He was inside when she came through the door.

“Rocky –” he started.

She didn’t look at him when she shrugged off her coat and stated, “I need some alone time.”

He crossed his arms on his chest and said softly, “Baby, you know that shit’s not right.”

She tossed her coat on a stool by the bar and turned to him. “I do?”

“We’ve had this discussion,” he reminded her.

“Yes, you had women in your life, we’ve had this discussion,” she agreed. “What you failed to mention during that discussion was that I was sleeping in her bed.”

Fuck, he was getting pissed.

He controlled it and replied, “She picked it, I paid for it, I sleep in it, it’s my bed, Roc.”

“Did she sleep in it?” Rocky shot back.

“Don’t do that shit,” Layne returned.

“She slept in it,” Rocky muttered, dropping her head and moving into the kitchen.

He followed her but kept his distance, stopping on the other side of the bar.

“Like I said awhile ago, sweetcheeks, I wasn’t in suspended animation when we were apart.”

She was at the fridge and she’d pulled out a fancy-ass beer. She opened a drawer, popped the cap, tossed it and the opener on the counter and turned to face him, resting her waist on the edge of the counter, lifting the beer and taking a pull.

She dropped her hand, her eyes hit his and she said, “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

What he knew was that was not good.

“Rocky, don’t do this,” he warned.

“And what I’ve been thinking is that, awhile ago, you were right. I played you.”

Layne was silent.

Rocky was not.

“You were right as well that I didn’t know it but, thinking about it, I did. I played you.”

“Where you goin’ with this?” Layne asked even though he really did not want to know.

“So, I asked you the other night, if I made that pass, would you have accepted it and you said you didn’t know. Which means no.”

“You don’t know what it means. I don’t even f**kin’ know what it means,” Layne returned.

“It means no.”

“Rocky, god damn it.”

“Because she was in your life.”

Layne shook his head, barely controlling his temper and feeling his patience ebb. “I explained that too,” he reminded her.

“How long was she in your life?”

“Point is, she isn’t now.”

“She thought she was, surprising you like she did.”

“Honestly, you wanna process this?”

“I’m putting two and two together, Layne,” she announced.

“And, sweetcheeks, you’re comin’ up with five.”

“I’m not.”

“Baby, you are.”

“You wouldn’t have done it,” she stated in a way that he knew whatever the f**k she was referring to was important.

“Done what?”

“Made the play.”

“Made what play?”

“For me.”

Fuck!

“Roc –”

“You had your Melodys, your Cassies, you didn’t need me and you wouldn’t have made that play. Thinking about it, thinking about the way you spoke to me that first morning I came to your house, you had no intention of finding us again.”

Layne clenched his teeth and when he won the battle for control, he reminded her, “Rocky, you were married and you still are.”

Her eyes narrowed and she returned, “You knew it was over when we were sitting on Merry’s couch and you knew it had been over a long time. You knew it was bad. And you still walked away from me.”

“Now I’m standin’ right here so what the f**k does it matter?”

“It had to be me that made the play.”

That was when he lost it.

“Yeah, Rocky, it had to be you because, sweetcheeks, you left me. I wasn’t gonna swing myself out there again, not unless I knew I’d find a different ending this time.”

“There it is,” she announced. “You’re throwing it in my face again.