Page 136 of Dirty Husband

"You look awful." Ian holds up his mug as if to toast.

I keep my cup of drip exactly where it is. Awful isn't the right word. Torn in half is more accurate. Too much of me craves Jasmine's company. Every time I think this might get easier, that bastard reminds me it won't.

These constant updates on Marcus and his fucking factory—

Like anyone cares he overcharges tourists in a dozen different cities. Even I know his bars aren't worth what he charges. They're not the single-origin craft chocolate he claims.

They're fine.

Maybe I'm blinded by my hatred.

Maybe I don't know good chocolate anymore. Maybe I'm still incapable of truly savoring food.

That doesn't feel right… I can taste the flavor quality of this coffee. A little burnt, too acidic, not strong enough.

Mediocre.

But I know good is out there. I've had great before.

And Rome…

The thought of sipping espresso as Jasmine shakes her headit's horrible, how do you drink itmakes me smile.

Then I think about why we're heading to Rome and—

"It's not lack of sex." His voice is teasing. "I know what you look like when you aren't getting laid. It's not pretty."

He's not wrong. Thoughgetting laidis hardly the language I'd use. "What do you know about pretty?"

"Are you claiming I'm not beautiful?" He lets out an easy laugh.

It's ridiculous. Ian is an attractive man but no one would call him beautiful. Handsome is a much better fit. As Key likes to remind me.

As Lock likes to remind me.

Sometimes, they even argue about the words that best suit Ian. And whether or not the rumors are true. Is he really fixated on virgins? Introducing women to domination? Picking up strippers and offering cash for a night at a hotel?

I never ruin their fun with the truth. Well, what I know of it.

"Jeff sent over your itinerary," Ian says. "Heading to Rome this weekend."

I'm not even going to ask how he knows. Ian always knows. "Do you have a point?"

"It's a romantic city."

"It's the center of Catholicism."

"And pasta."

"And wine." Really, the entire world revolves around booze. Mezcal in Mexico, Souchu in Korea, wine in Italy.

"Should have gone to London," he says.

"Soyoucould woo her?"

"You can't handle a little friendly competition?" He rests his back against the wall. Looks out on the empty office. It's early. Just the two of us here.

We're always the first two here. I'm not sure how he does it. If my information is good—and I'm pretty sure it is—Ian has a lot of late nights. But he always makes it here at the crack of dawn. And he never looks worse for wear.