DEMETRIA
“You left work early,” I said to Marion as we relaxed on the couch, sipping my red wine.
“Paula showed up,” he said bluntly.
I stiffened, brow arched. “And?”
“And I ended the conversation before it probed further. Still talking about what her friends said.”
I looked at him slowly, expression unreadable. “Did she cry?”
“Not enough.”
I snorted, shaking my head as I flipped the steak. “You’re cruel.”
“You like it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“You crave it.”
“I will hit you with this bottle.”
“I’ll take the pain.”
I couldn’t hide my smile. Marion chuckled lightly. I watched the curve of his mouth linger, the ghost of a smile hooking at one side as if he knew exactly what he was doing to my insides. I hated that. Or maybe I loved it. Honestly, I couldn’t tell the difference these
