My husband kissed his female best friend in front of 8,000 people while I was buying them beer. The Falcons had just scored the winning goal. The entire arena erupted. Fans jumped to their feet, blue towels flying above their heads. Someone bumped my shoulder as I hurried down the aisle with two plastic cups. Then the Kiss Cam appeared on the giant screen. A red heart surrounded Nolan and Maren. My husband and the woman he'd called his best friend for fifteen years. I stopped six rows above them. Maren saw the screen first. She threw back her head, laughing, then grabbed Nolan's jersey and pulled him to his feet. The people around them started chanting. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Nolan laughed and shook his head. For a second, I thought he would sit back down. Instead, he stayed where he was. Maren wrapped an arm around his neck, caught his chin with her other hand, and pulled his mouth down to hers. The crowd exploded. Nolan's hands lifted. I waited for him to push her away. But his right hand settled on her waist. His other arm came around her shoulders. He held her while she kissed him. A man behind me whistled. Someone yelled, "That's a couple!" I tightened my grip on the cups. Nolan had sent me to the concession stand during the final timeout because Maren wanted another drink. I'd hurried back, afraid I'd miss the winning goal. I had missed it. But I'd made it back in time to watch my husband kiss another woman. The kiss lasted six seconds. I counted every one. When Maren finally pulled away, her fingers were still hooked in Nolan's jersey. She laughed, leaned against his chest, and waved at the giant screen. Nolan was laughing too. He didn't take his hand off her waist. Not until I reached our row. Maren spotted me first. Her smile faltered. She looked at the beers in my hands, then nudged Nolan's arm. He turned. His smile disappeared. His hand slid off Maren's waist. I watched him glance at my empty seat beside him. He knew exactly where I'd been. "Tal." He stepped toward the aisle, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was the Kiss Cam. Don't make a thing out of it." Maren recovered faster. "Oh, come on, Talia!" She laughed and wiped the corner of her mouth. "Everyone was shouting for us. What were we supposed to do?" She reached over and straightened Nolan's jersey where she'd pulled it crooked. "We've known each other for fifteen years. You know how we are." Fifteen years. That was her answer to everything. When Maren called Nolan at two in the morning, crying about her divorce, I was selfish for asking why he had to drive across town. When she stayed in our guest room after another late night, I was unreasonable for wanting advance notice. Once, she'd interrupted our anniversary dinner because she couldn't find her car keys. Nolan left before dessert arrived. He came home two hours later. I'd spent that night waiting beside a melted candle and two untouched slices of cake. And now she was standing in front of me, touching my husband's collar after kissing him in front of thousands of strangers. Nolan reached for one of the beers. I pulled my hand back before he could take it. His eyebrows drew together. "Talia, seriously?" I looked at the two cups. Cold beer was running down my wrist and soaking into my sleeve. I'd carried them all the way from the concession stand. I set them in the cup holders beside his seat. "Enjoy your drinks." Then I turned and climbed the stairs. "Talia!" Nolan came after me. I heard him apologize to someone as he squeezed past their knees. By the time I reached the exit, his footsteps were close behind mine. He caught my elbow outside the seating section. "Don't make a joke look this ugly." I pulled my arm free. He looked annoyed, as though I'd embarrassed him by walking away. "Everyone was watching," he continued. "What was I supposed to do? Shove her away in front of the whole arena?" "You could have turned your head." His jaw tightened. "Maren just got divorced. She's already having a hard time. Do you know how humiliating it would've been if I'd rejected her on that screen?" I stared at him. My sleeve was still wet. I could feel the sticky beer drying between my fingers. Eight thousand people had cheered while another woman kissed my husband. And he was worried about embarrassing her. "I was watching too, Nolan." He looked away. Behind us, the doors swung open and a group of fans spilled into the hallway. Nolan waited until they passed before speaking again. "You're my wife. You know I love you. Why do you always have to turn things with Maren into a fight?" A familiar ache spread through my chest. For seven years, whenever Maren crossed a boundary, Nolan had asked me to be understanding. And whenever I finally complained, I became the problem. I used to argue until my throat hurt. Sometimes I'd cry. Sometimes I'd apologize just to make him stop looking at me like that. Tonight, I wanted to go home. I walked toward the parking garage. Nolan followed, muttering under his breath. At the car, he unlocked the doors and climbed behind the wheel. "Fine. I'll drive. But you're overreacting." He slammed his door. I got in beside him. The drive home was silent. At every red light, Nolan glanced at me, waiting for me to speak. He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel, growing more irritated each time I looked out the window instead. Usually, I would have tried to explain why I was hurt. Tonight, I opened my phone. Find My. People. Nolan Hart. For years, I'd shared my location whenever I traveled for work. Nolan liked knowing when I'd reached my hotel or left the office. I scrolled to the bottom of the screen. Stop Sharing My Location. My thumb hovered over the words. Then I tapped them. Nolan didn't notice. He was too busy rehearsing whatever excuse he planned to give me when we got home. When we pulled into the driveway, he cut the engine and leaned back against his seat. "Tal, look. I'm sorry you're upset, but I'm not going to apologize for being nice to my oldest friend." I turned toward him. The same man who'd held Maren by the waist was sitting beside me, waiting for me to accept that he'd done nothing wrong. I watched his fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Then I asked him the one question he'd been avoiding all night. "How many times have you kissed her before?"