“Oh, my God,” Angie said. She ran down the stairs, into the driveway, and then matched her steps with Gerry’s as he strode in the direction of the house. “You are so dead.”
Gerry didn’t bother to try and seem tough. “I know.”
“So?” Angie’s eyes flew up to him and then back to the house, as if accessing how much time she had. “What happened?”
He paused. He turned to look directly at Angie and shook his head. “Mark.” Her eyebrows lifted and he huffed a sound that was meant to be a laugh but sounded like a strangled whine. “Mark Devon happened.”
Angie’s entire face became a series of Os—eyes, mouth, even nostrils. “You met him? Face to face? Did you talk to him? Did—”
“I slept with him.” Gerry laughed. It sounded so weird to say it out loud. “We…”
“I’d f*****g ditch work too,” Angie sai
