What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(43)

The clink of ice cubes interrupted her thoughts, and a voice drifted through the dark. “If you’re going to jump, wait until morning. I’m too drunk to deal with a dead body tonight.”

Bram sat by his open bedroom doors, just off to her left. He’d stuffed his feet into an ancient pair of sneakers and propped them on the railing. With a drink in his hand and a sickle-shaped shadow slicing across his profile, he looked exactly like a man contemplating which of the seven deadly sins to take on next.

She knew all the back bedrooms opened onto this same second-floor balcony, but until now she hadn’t seen Bram out there. “No jumping necessary,” she said. “I’m on top of the world.” She curled her hand over the railing. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Because this is the first chance I’ve had all week to drink in peace.” He took in her sleepwear, which was a far cry from the tiny teddies and flyaway baby-dolls she’d worn for Lance. Still, he didn’t seem overly critical of her comfy boxers printed with pink and yellow pop art lips.

As she observed the slouch to his spine, the lazy droop to his wrist, she had the feeling she was missing something, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. “Has anybody told you that you drink too much?”

“I’ll think about quitting after our divorce.” He took another sip. “What were you doing poking your nose in my office on Wednesday morning?”

She’d wondered when Chaz would get around to ratting her out. “Snooping. What else?”

“I want my video camera back.”

She ran her thumb over a rough place on the railing. “You’ll get it back. Aaron’s buying me one of my own.”

“Why do you want it?”

“Mess around.”

He set his glass on the tile floor. “Other than walking off with my stuff, what else were you doing out there?”

She debated how much to say, then decided to come right out with it. “I needed to know whether the reunion show was real or a figment of your imagination. I found the script, but the box was taped up nice and tight. Not that I would have read it anyway.”

He rose from his chair and wandered toward her. “You should have asked me. Trust is the foundation of a good marriage, Georgie. I’m hurt.”

“No, you’re not. And I won’t do a reunion show. Ever. I’m sick of being typecast. I want parts I can sink my teeth into. Playing Scooter again would be the worst career decision I could make. And you hate Skip, so I don’t get why you’re so set on this. Well, I do get it, and I’m sorry you’re broke, but I’m not sabotaging my career to help you solve your cash flow problems.”

He slipped past her and poked his head in her bedroom. “I guess that’s it, then?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay.” He ran his hand along the doorframe, as if he were examining it for dry rot, but she wasn’t buying his easy surrender.

“I mean it,” she said.

“I get that.” He turned to her. “And here I thought you were trying to snoop into my love life.”

“You’re married to me, remember? You have no love life.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. She’d given him a mile-wide opening to delve into the subject she most wanted to avoid. “I’m going to bed.”

“Not so fast.” He touched her arm before she could make it inside, and that’s when it hit her. The nagging feeling that she’d been missing something…“You don’t smoke anymore!”

“Where did you get that idea?” He released her and walked over to retrieve his drink.

She’d noticed the way he smelled, like soap and citrus, but until this precise moment, she hadn’t jumped to the logical conclusion. They’d only been together for seven days, but still, how could she have missed something so obvious? “You’re always talking about cigarettes, but I haven’t once seen you light up.”

“Sure you have.” He flopped down in his chair. “I smoke all the time. I just finished a cigarette before you came out.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t smell like smoke, and I’ve never tasted tobacco when I’ve had to endure one of your pathetic kisses. In our Skip and Scooter days, kissing you was like licking an ashtray. But now…You really have stopped smoking.”

He shrugged. “Okay, you’ve got me. I stopped, but only because my drinking has gotten out of hand, and I can’t deal with more than one addiction at a time.” He tipped the tumbler to his lips.

At least he was aware of it. Even in the morning, she’d see him with a glass in his hand, and last night he’d had wine with dinner. So had she, but that had been her only drink of the day. “When did you stop smoking?”

He muttered something she couldn’t make out.

“What?”

“Five years ago, I said.”

“Five years!” That made her furious. “Why couldn’t you have just said you’d stopped smoking? Why do you have to play all these mind games?”

“Because I like to.”

She knew him, and she didn’t know him, and she was worn out from keeping her guard up. “I’m tired. We can talk in the morning.”

“You know we can’t go on like this much longer, right?”