NoCriminal Minds. Just moping.
After Emily nursed Cody’s crotch back to health with an assortment of cold compresses, he bounced right back, completing our first lesson. And before Em slinked off to drinks with him, she pulled me aside to double, triple, quadruple check I was okay.
When I asked her why I wouldn’t be okay, she said she’d called my name like ten times. Turns out, being in love is a full-time job. A massive distraction. An obsession. An addiction.
Still, I gave her my blessing to go get dicked down by Cody and made my way home.
“You’re going to get him back,” she’d called over her shoulder, trying to reassure me.
And that’s exactly what I’mnotdoing. Because there’s a small doubt that’s crept up now that my dumbass heart is involved.
It was over then. And it’s over now.
A knock on the door jolts me out of my mope. If this is Mom, coming with more wedding cake as a way to make amends, I’m going to lose it.
I drag my feet to the door and fling it open with an air of irritation, only to see Xander standing there.
“Hey,” he says. His voice comes out rough. My breath hitches at the strain in his voice.
I rake my eyes over him. He’s got on his classic white T-shirt, bare forearms, ripped jeans, curls curling in a way that makes my stomach bottom out. I’m aware I haven’t said anything.
Why is he here?
Is he here to getmeback?
A sliver of hope weasels its way into my chest, and I have to clutch my hands to physically stop myself from reaching for my heart to massage it away. Impossible. I’m the one who walked away. Not once. Twice.
And he was the one who put it all on the line. Not once. Twice.
What’s that clichéd saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
No, he’s not here to get me back. Xander Miller is many things. Funny. Freakishly smart. And kind. He is not a masochist. And yet, all evidence points to him being one, standing at my door.
“Can I come in?” he says, waiting for me to respond.
In my mind, I lean forward and run my hands through his curls all the way to the base of his neck, where I grab onto a fistful of hair and pull him toward me.
I want to hold him. Forever.
Love him forever.
“Ash?” Xander says, reminding me that I have yet to respond.
“Yes,” I breathe out, blinking. He walks past me, giving me a whiff of his so fresh and so clean cucumber scent. And I immediately crave burying my face into his neck.
Nope. No. Get it together, Ash.
I watch as he shrugs his satchel bag off his broad shoulder, throwing it on the floor near the kitchen bench. And that’s when I notice a stack of papers in his hand.
He turns to me, and I see it in his eyes.
He’s not here to win me back. He’s got that ruthless determination look, the one I saw back in the café, when he caught me playing the penis game with Emily and he was in the middle of a court case.
“I know how to get your job back,” he says, his tone cool and calculated. All business.
The eye contact alone has me squirming inside. I want to grab his hand, drag him to the bedroom, pushhimagainst the wall, and drop to my knees, watching his eyes grow dark.
“Ash,” he says, pleading like I projected that image right into his brain.
