He's Cheating On Me!

Yup. Hubby’s cheating. I caught him. In my own bed. I was floored, stunned. I mean, I’d gotten up to run downstairs to check my email. Yeah, I’m addicted to email, and I’ve made this confession before. Not that it means I deserved this to happen. And seriously, I’d only left him a lone for . . . what? Twenty minutes?

And when I snuck out of the bedroom he’d looked content, no signs of any problem. He was relaxed, happy, reading a book on some dead president. But when I came back, and slipped into the room, there he was . . . a big happy smile on his face with Rachel Gibson in his hands. Well, her book in his hands. Then I see it. Resting beside him was Colleen Thompson’s book, as if cheating on me with one author wasn’t bad enough. And I mean, I’m friends with Colleen. How could he do this?

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He gazed up. He didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “Uh . . . I’m reading.”

“You don’t read romances,” I insisted.

“I read yours.”

Yeah, he did read mine. But only mine. I mean, his tastes run more in line with dead presidents and the ancient Mayan civilization. Honestly, he only started reading mine so he wouldn’t feel so guilty about reading and depositing my checks.

He squirmed a little in the bed. Good, he was finally accepting his guilt.

“What happened to your president?” I pointed to his book left abandoned on his bedside table.

More guilt flashed in his eyes. “Uhh, he died.”

“And that was a surprise?” I asked. “You should have known that when you bought the book, the title The Sixteen President should have clued you in. Besides, someone is going to die in Colleen’s book. They always die and it’s never pretty.”

His gaze shot to Colleen’s book with longing and desire. “Really?”

I snatched Colleen’s book from the bed and put it back on my night stand. His gaze darted back to Rachel’s book. “What about that one.”

“They could die . . . Maybe. She sometimes kills people. But she’s not scary like Colleen.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Which one?” I asked. Was I jealous? Heck yeah. He’s only supposed to read my romance novels.

“Both,” he confessed.

I sent him “The Look.” You know the one wives have been giving husbands for years.

“You got something in your eye?” he asked.

I hate it when he doesn’t get the look. “You would do this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Well, you haven’t given me one of your books in a long time.”

Isn’t that just like a man to think of his own needs. “It takes me at least two to three months to write one.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Do without until you have something to hand over?”

“Fine,” I said, “Read them.” I tossed him Colleen’s book, and Rachel’s. “And here, try T.J. Bennett.” I dug into my to-be read stack. “I’ll bet you might enjoy Nina Bangs, Gerry Bartlett, Teri Thackston, Gemma Halliday, Leslie Langtry, Kathy Bacus and wait, give this one a going over.” And I toss him Jana Deleon’s latest.”

He grabbed the books and stacked them around him as if they were his harem. Then he looked at me with a smile and said, “Hon’, I’m sure they’ll not mean near as much to me as your books.”

“Because I’m special to you, right?” Hey, I needed some assurance.

“No,” he said. “Because I’m not going to get to cash their royalty checks.”

Men!!!!!!!!!

So…what books are on your night stand? If you’re a writer, does your husband read your books? Does he cheat on you with other authors? Should I be honored that I made a romance reader out of him?

Crime Scene Christie