“See my last point—you don’t care enough to not cheat on him.”

My phone buzzes on the bar and I shudder. “I don’t know, okay? I’m just not ready to break up with him.” I drop my phone into my purse.

“Is it your parents? You know they aren’t going to think less of you that the first boyfriend you ever had isn’t your end-all, be-all.”

She’s being logical, and there’s nothing about this situation that’s logical. “If I break up with him, there will be questions. I’ll have to move home, and then Aunt Sienna will be in my business. She already doesn’t believe he’s good enough for me, and if she thinks he did something—because she’d never believe I’m the issue . . .”

Michelle grimaces. “At that point, we might as well kill him and save him from her locking him up in her murder basement and torturing him for months.”

“It’s not a murder basement,” I say faintly. “It’s a lab.”

“Two terms, same result. Besides, the alternative is for you to stay with Luke forever, becoming the cliché of a bored housewife. What’s next, sleeping with the pool boy?”

“We don’t have a pool in our apartment complex.” The protest is weak, even to my ears.

“Then tennis coach, tutor, fill in the blank. You know what I mean.” She nods at my glass. “I think we need something stronger to continue this conversation.”

I’m already motioning the bartender over. “Agreed.”

Several hours and far too many shots later, I still don’t have a good answer for why I’m climbing the stairs to the apartment I share with the boyfriend I . . . love? I don’t know if that’s even the right word.

When Luke and I first got together, we were like a wildfire. I was drunk off the freedom of living on my own and having hot sex with a partner who showed every evidence of being completely obsessed with me. He was handsome and sexy and wanted me more than anyone ever had. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and there were more than a few times we were caught fucking in places we shouldn’t have been. I don’t know when things changed. Maybe when we moved in together. Maybe when he got his new job and started working longer hours and traveling out of town for extended periods of time, selling insulation to companies. Things are fine, but fine feels tepid at best.

Maybe my standards are too high. Look at my parents, after all. They’ve been together for nearly thirty years, and they still flirt and play grab-ass and make regular trips to Hades’s kink club. The fire never burned out between them, and gods help me, but I want that fiery love.

I thought I had it with Luke. But then, I was never completely honest with him, was I? It’s no wonder we fell apart along the way.

I stumble through the front door and stop short. I expected the apartment to be bathed in shadows. He has an early morning tomorrow. A meeting with . . . someone. He definitely told me, and I definitely forgot as soon as the conversation ended.

Except he’s not in bed like I expected. He’s sitting on the couch with a tumbler of whisky and a paperback. He’s so fucking handsome that the first time he approached me, I couldn’t believe he was even talking to me. Now I wish he were less perfect. A few scars. A crooked nose. Something to make him feel human and fallible.

Is it any wonder I went seeking sin just to be able to breathe? Except that’s not fair. It’s not Luke’s fault that I’m a shitty, cheating girlfriend. The blame lies solely with me.

“Hey, Ruby.” He holds out a hand, and maybe it’s the alcohol making me foolish, but I’m crossing to him and taking his hand before I realize I really shouldn’t.

I jerk back. “Sorry. The bar was so damn crowded, and I’m covered in perfume and cologne. Let me take a shower and we can chat.”

“I was just going to bed. I was reading and lost track of time.” He rises easily and brushes a kiss over my lips. “Glad you got home safe.”

“Me too.” I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying. I stand there, numb, and watch him walk into our bedroom.

It’s only when I set my purse on the counter that I remember the weird messages. Luke and I don’t go through each other’s phones, but there’s no reason to leave out clear evidence that I was up to no good. My stomach drops when I click on my phone and see the series of texts.

Unknown

You can ignore me, but do you think HE will?

Unknown

I’m feeling generous after the show you gave me, so I’ll give you until three to respond before I send that photo to the boyfriend.

Unknown

Clock’s ticking, Red. And I’m not a patient man.

I glance at the clock. Five minutes until three. I should ignore it. There’s no reason to engage with this weird-as-fuck interaction. He called me Red, just like the guy at the bar. Maybe it was one of his friends who somehow got my phone to get my number . . . Except that doesn’t make sense. My purse was right next to me the entire time. It’s more likely that whoever this is, they were close enough to hear the guy call me Red.

I bite my bottom lip. It’s hard to think through the film of drunkenness making me feel loose and reckless. “Fuck it,” I mutter. I type a reply.

Pretty pathetic to get your jollies watching other people fuck. Get lost, loser.

Unknown

Baby, you keep talking to me like that and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.

I blink. “This motherfucker is out of his goddamn mind. Does he think I’m flirting with him?” Now’s the time to walk away. Put down my phone and call . . . Well, not my mom. Not Dad either. They’ll ask too many questions. Da may, too, but he’d at least take care of the creep first.

Except I don’t.

This game is over. If you know who I am, then you know who my parents are. My fathers will bury you somewhere no one will find you.

A pause, long enough that I let out a sigh of relief.

Then my phone buzzes.

Unknown

Daddies’ little girl, huh? Do they know you’ve been haunting mafia bars and rubbing your pussy all over the trash that hangs out there?

The blood rushes to my head. Or out of my head. I can’t tell if I’m furious or terrified.

Who the fuck are you?

Unknown

Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to be a good girl and send me a picture of those perfect tits. In return, I won’t tell your boyfriend that you’ve been a dirty little slut behind his back.

I stare at the text, my mouth hanging open. “The audacity of this motherfucker.” My nails click against the screen as I type too hard.

June, two years ago. If you’re good enough to get my number, you’re good enough to find that picture.

I’d let Michelle convince me to join a wet T-shirt contest. It was a wild time. It was also the night I met Luke for the first time. We’d been flirting for hours, and after that contest, we ended up in the parking lot, and he ate my pussy right there against my car.

Unknown

It’s a nice picture. I want one that all of Carver City hasn’t seen.

Shame heats the back of my neck. I got quite the lecture after the contest pictures were posted—all three of my parents got a word in edgewise about it. Our family has a reputation, after all.

No one talks about the fact that my parents engage in public kinky behavior every Saturday night, but I show my tits once and it’s the end of the world.

I don’t know if it’s the shame or the alcohol or the kernel of fear growing in my stomach. Whatever the cause, I find myself in the bathroom. I jerk down my dress and raise my middle finger as I snap a photo.