Page 70 of Best Offer Wins

“Your fucking burner phone, Stringer Bell.”

He jerks away from me, flushing a deep scarlet. “What are you talking about?”

Is he seriously going to insist on turning this into a struggle?

“I don’t think I’m asking for very much, Ian.” I glare at him. “Just for the tiniest shred of honesty—the bare minimum, really, given that you and Alex have been shitting all over our marriage for… how long has it been? Almost two months? Jesus, what would your parents think?”

Ian’s eyes stretch into unblinking orbs. He seems to have stopped breathing, then his frozen, horrified expression crumples. He buries his face in his hands, shaking his head like he can’t believe this is happening. His shoulders begin to heave up and down. He looks so small, like a weak little boy.

He lifts his gaze to meet mine, his face a mess of tears and snot. He is pathetic.

“Margo, I am so sorry,” he chokes out. “I am such a fucking idiot. You know I love you more than anything in the whole world. She is nothing to me. You have to believe me.”

“So you love me and you just love fucking her? Am I understanding right?”

He’s shaking his head again. Another sob racks his body. “You never should’ve had to look at that phone. I can’t even imagine…”

I cut him off. “I need you to give it to me. Right now.”

He goes silent and still.

“Fine,” he says. “That’s fine.” He rises from the sofa and heads over to his backpack, on the floor in the entry. He roots around init before removing a wrinkled, brown paper bag from Pret. A costume for the Nokia. Sneaky motherfucker.

He returns, placing the bag on the coffee table, too ashamed to take out its contents.

“Do whatever you want with it.” He sinks back into the couch. “It’s over, I swear to you. I ended it today. I couldn’t live with myself anymore.”

I think back to what I saw outside the apartment building. I want to believe him.

“Was she the first time?”

“Yes!” He says it urgently, grabbing my hands. “Oh my God, Margo, yes. Please,pleasebelieve me, I’ve never done anything like this before. I fucking hate myself for it.”

“Did you use protection?”

The possibility of that teenager getting pregnant before me erupts in my brain like an aneurysm.

“Of course! God, of course.” Ian’s eyes are damp again. “Hearing you ask me that makes me sick to my stomach.”

I tear my hands free of his and get up. I can’t stand to sit next to him any longer.

“How’d you meet her?” I ask, pacing in front of the television.

He groans. “You really want to know that?”

I pause to face him. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this too uncomfortable foryou?”

He stares at the floor.

“Yes,” I say, “I want to fucking know.”

“On the sidewalk, near the office.”

“You met her on the sidewalk?”

“She was holding a clipboard, canvassing for the Environmental Defense Fund.”

It takes a second for this little twist to sink in. Then I start to laugh. I can’t help it.