“Trust me. My ass is still very much arrogant. You just saw it a month ago.”

“I know, it’s just . . . I’ve never heard you actually speak like that . . . with so much passion and conviction. I have to say, Justice, I’m impressed. You might not be as full of shit as I initially thought.”

He laughs again, and this time I join him. “Look, Heidi. We both know that monogamy isn’t always successful for people like us.”

“People like us?”

“Sharks. Predators. We take what we want without apology, no matter who gets hurt. We’re selfish motherfuckers, but that doesn’t mean we don’t feel. And when we do happen to find that one person in this world who can tame us, who isn’t afraid of getting ripped to shreds and eaten alive, we have to do whatever it takes to keep them. Because being wild again just isn’t an option. Not anymore. So if this is what he needs, or what you need, just be sure you’re doing this to help your marriage, not harm it. And above all, realize what you’d be losing. What you could never, ever have again.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your innocence.”

I snort, and roll my eyes. “Innocence? You do realize that when a man and a woman love each other, they sometimes like to show it by taking off their clothes and getting into bed together. Sheesh, I thought you of all people would understand the birds and the bees.”

“Not your sexual innocence, wise ass. The innocence and sanctity of your union. When you get married, you create a bond between you and your husband, and if you’re religious, God. You become untouchable to everything else. That person becomes as essential to your being as the air you breathe. But the moment you invite someone else to stand within that union, you find that you don’t need your spouse as much as you once thought you did. You can breathe without him. You can find gratification without him. You can live without him. And that’s a slippery slope for someone you have vowed to love for eternity.”

“So you don’t think you can maintain the emotional bond of a marriage if the sexual aspect is unconventional? Kinda narrow-minded coming from someone who makes his living off staging fantasies.”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t happen. I didn’t even say I disapprove. I’m just giving you my honest opinion. Experimentation is one thing, and it can be uniquely beneficial to a marriage, especially one that’s withstood the test of time. However, when does an experiment or a fantasy turn into a habit? And when does that habit turn into a full-blown affair?”

I can almost imagine the smug grin on his face as he leaves me too stumped to answer eloquently. Tucker and I experimented, and it was great. Better than great. So much so, that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Haven’t stopped wanting it.

My mistake wasn’t sleeping with Ransom. It was letting that fantasy blur into reality. What happened between the three of us should have stayed and died in that hotel suite. It should have been nothing more than a few risqué memories for Tucker and me to laugh about in bed between wet kisses and eager touches. Something to get us hot and bothered before expelling all that lustful energy into each other.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks, Justice,” I say, my words as sober as my heart and mind. “Hey, I have to make a call. Talk soon?”

“Hopefully not too soon.” He hangs up before I get the chance to. I swear, I think we’ve made hanging up on each other a game.

I scroll through my contacts and land on R. His number is the first name in that section. Even if it weren’t, it’d still be the only one I see.

After five rings, I’m just about to hang up when he answers, obviously out of breath. Heat flames my face—guilt, suspicion, desire—and I stammer out a cold greeting. Initially I think he’s still busy with his last night’s booty call, but then I hear the sounds of drums and a guitar tuning up.

“Heidi? You need something?”

“Oh.” I clear my throat, trying to put the business back in my tone. “I wanted to see if we could discuss something. It’s important, and I’d like to get this over with at your earliest convenience.”

“Well, I’m at sound check for SNL. I’ll see you later, right? And we can just talk then.”

“Well, actually, I—” I hear the piercing sound of a microphone on the fritz, shrill enough to make my eardrums bleed.

“Hey, we’ll talk later. I gotta go. Ok?”

Fuck. Not ok. “Yeah. Ok.”

I hang up, and set my head in my hands, feeling like a complete pansy. Shark, my ass. I can’t even quit a fucking job.

Damn him. Damn us both.

I can’t quit him.

Chapter Sixteen

Tucker gets home just minutes after I do, which is later than usual. I have to be honest; I was stalling for time, wandering the city in search of clarity. Or maybe just a small reprieve from my marital woes. And nothing soothes the soul better than a little retail therapy.

“You went shopping,” he remarks, eyeing the bags strewn about the bed. There’re a lot of them—Saks, Bloomingdale’s, Barneys. Plus I had to replace the pajama set from La Perla that I ruined the night before.

“Yeah.” I make busy work of arranging my new garments in our closet, which is almost as large as the little love nest we had years back. I smile at the memory. Ikea furniture, a bathroom the size of a coat closet, and a kitchen that was barely large enough for us both to fit in at the same time. But we were happy. Happy and in love.

“I made us a reservation at Nobu for tonight. Thought you might like a change of pace,” he says from behind me, his voice tentative. He’s feeling me out, studying my movements, searching the tiny lines in my face that tense together when I’m agitated and smooth when I’m amenable. I turn my back fully to refuse him those little clues. I shut him out, shut him down, just as he did me last night. If he wants to make this right, he’s going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.

“Bunny . . .” I turn to shoot him a terse look that says, Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare try to butter me up with that name. It will not work. He clears his throat and starts again. “Heidi, what I said last night . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you feel defective or deviant. You know how much I adore you.”

I turn back to my rack of clothing, refusing to let him see the flash of pain that goes along with the knot in my throat. “But you don’t take it back. You don’t regret saying it, you’re just remorseful that it hurt me.”

“Of course, I regret saying that, baby.” He steps in closer to me, so close that I can smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body caress my back. “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

I shake my head, not to refute his claims, but to try to shake away the frustrated tears collecting in my eyes. I’m not upset at his words. I’m upset that no matter how much he may claim to love me, I’ll always feel like a charity case in his eyes. The little monster he tamed and domesticated. He walks on eggshells to avoid disturbing the wildness in me that simmers right at the surface.

“Tuck . . . I don’t want to fight anymore. But I don’t want to have to lie about who I am and what I want.”

He places a hand on my shoulder and I lean in to his touch, starved for affection . . . acceptance. “Then let’s not. Let me take you to dinner. Let’s just be Heidi and Tucker tonight. Let’s laugh and joke about my feeble attempt at using chopsticks and drink too much sake. And maybe . . . maybe we can try again. Just you and me.”

I turn around, my breast brushing his chest. “Really?”

“Yes. If that’s what you need me to be, then I can try. For you.”

I hug him tight to my body, so tight that every cell within me fuses to his. His embrace is warm and comforting, and he kisses me on the top of my head.