Page 29 of L.O.V.E

What kind of man does that shit? If Martin was worried, he should’ve made the call. “Okay. So we’re back in junior high?”

A deep, chocolatey, gooey chuckle reached my ears. “You’re right. Immature. Again, I apologize.”

“You’re forgiven,” slipped my lips, and I sank deeper into my cushions.

“Uh. Wanna meet for dinner tomorrow? Victoria’s heading to Portland for a bridal shower. Ellis and Lacey are MIA.”

I hadn’t spoken to Lacey in days. I was lonely, and maybe that was why talking to Cole seemed like a necessity. But savoring the sound of his voice was wrong on too many levels. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I think you know why.” I swallowed another long pull of my wine.

“Are you drunk, Natalie?”

“Maybe a little.” Why did he care? “Barolo never lets me down,” I whispered, saddened by the truth of that statement. “I’ll never love a man more than I love Barolo.”

“Listen. I’ll be at Wall Street Thai tomorrow at six, having my usual. Join me or don’t. Just thought I’d offer, seeing as we’re both without our significant others for the weekend.”

“Significant.” I laughed. “That’s funny.” Martin was of no importance to me. Not really. Pathetic, I know.

“What’s funny?” His voice echoed like he was in a large empty room.

“Never mind.”

He grunted, then released a long exhale, the sound of metal clinking in the background.

“Where are you?”

“Gym.”

I glanced at the clock. Ten thirty-six PM. I remembered him boxing with Ellis, his grace. His power. I sighed.

“You okay?”

No, I was not. “I will be, soon as Ray ditches the priest’s body.”

“What?” His breaths quickened and a thump, thump, thump, thump reached my ears.

I emptied my glass. Swallowed. Lay back down, stretching my legs across the sofa. “It’s sad how we root for people to die, isn’t it?”

“The hell you talking about?” His breaths came measured in sync with the background noise. Thump, thump, whack. Thump, thump, whack.

“It’s wrong for us to take pleasure in their deaths, yet we do.”

“Who died?” Whack, whack, whack.

“Take Ray Donovan for example. The priest abused him. Raped countless children, including Ray’s brother. And while that old fucker sits there on the couch, bleeding, we’re silently hoping, please Ray, please, just end that bastard. Don’t take him to the hospital. Don’t forgive his sins. Just end him. Andbam! Bullet to the head. And I’m happy. Happy that a man was murdered. Does that make me a bad person?”

“No.” Huff, thump. Huff, whack. Huff, thump, thump.

The sound was a lullaby, a calming caress. I let my guard down, closed my eyes, and whispered, “I used to wish someone would kill Victoria.”

“Natalie,” he whispered, low and gruff. A warning, perhaps.

“Sorry. Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

“How bad was it?”