I--39-m Not The One Sam Smith -

The color drained from his face, then rushed back in a guilty flush. “That wasn’t—I was drunk. You know how I get when I’m drunk.”

He spun around when she entered the bedroom. His face was a masterpiece of rehearsed surprise. “Em? What are you—?” I--39-m Not The One Sam Smith

“Don’t,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. That surprised her. “I heard the voicemail, Sam. The one from O’Malley’s. The one where you explain to your friend how exhausting it is to be faithful.” The color drained from his face, then rushed

The cold night air hit her face as she walked to the car. She didn’t cry. Not yet. She got in, turned the key, and the radio flickered on—low, almost hesitant. And then, like the universe had a sick sense of humor, Sam Smith’s voice filled the car. His face was a masterpiece of rehearsed surprise