When I got home, he was waiting in the living room like he’d been rehearsing his face.
“Where were you?”
I set my bag down.
“Meeting Tessa,” I said.
Casual. Just as a thing I’d done.
The color left his face so fast it was almost impressive.
“You know Tessa?” I asked. “Brooke? Olivia?”
He said nothing.
“How many?”
“Whatever they told you, don’t believe them.”
“How many, Marcus.”
“They’re exaggerating.”
“There are screenshots.”
“Messages can be taken out of context.”
“There are photos.”
He paced toward the window. “Some of those women knew what this was.”
“What was it?”
Silence.
“Say it.”
His shoulders dropped. “Nothing serious.”
I nodded slowly.
“And what was I?”
He looked at me.
I pulled out my phone and read it to him.
Danielle makes my real life work.
“That sounds terrible,” he said.
“It sounds pretty accurate.”
“I didn’t mean it the way you’re reading it. I meant you were my real life.”
