Unlike my little wife, who’s staring daggers at Gwen from across the bar. “Careful, little one,” I murmur, bending down to speak against the shell of Elena’s ear. “People might get the impression that you like me.” Elena scoffs, placing her palms on the table. “I’m your wife. I’m supposed to like you. But I just think it’s rude to flirt with married men.” Her comment feels like a stab wound, gliding through bone and muscle in a direct hit to my heart. I rub at the soreness in my chest, nodding to Gwen when she comes back over with a Diet Coke for Elena and a pint for me. She says the food will
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