He pulled out his phone and stared at the photo of Jo on his screen saver. The smile on her face ripped right through him. She had flour in her hair and buttercream on her cheek that he’d smeared there. The act had led to a messy frosting war, and he’d licked it off every inch of her.
He ran a thumb over her cheek. “I never should have let you go.”
But he’d been determined not to hurt her, so he followed her lead. A clean break now rather than later. Both of them moving on with their lives.
Yeah, that was a joke. The night she left, he’d rolled to her side of the bed, needing to smell the vanilla lingering on her pillow, to feel close to her, but nothing had eased the ache in his chest.
Monday morning, he’d gone through the motions of going to work and pretending nothing was wrong. Then his mom had called to check on him and Jo after the incident at the museum, and he’d been compelled by some unholy force to confess everything. The PG version, anyway. She hadn’t said much, but the disappointment in her silence was deafening. Just one more fuck up.
Then he’d gone home to find his housekeeper had been there and stripped Jo’s scent from his bed, every trace of her wiped clean. Except for the clothes he’d bought her. They still hung in his fucking closet like ghosts left to haunt him.
An incoming text notification popped up at the top of the screen. Several followed. The Sigmas.
With a groan, Avery slumped deeper into his chair and scrolled to the group chat.
Dane: Jet fueled. Bar stocked. Flight leaves at 8:55. Don’t fucking be late.
Linc: Heading that way.
Bryce: Have a good time.
Kade: Traffic’s a bitch, but I’ll be there asap.
Dane: Anyone heard from Mav?
Blaze: No, but I bet he pussies out. omw
Bryce sent another text privately.
Bryce: Why aren’t you answering my texts?
Because I don’t want to hear a fucking, “I told you so.”
Avery: Been busy.
Bryce: Call me when you get back.
Avery snorted. He hadn’t even finished packing.
Yesterday, he woke up in a dark place. She didn’t want him, then fuck it. He was going to Greece. Why not? He was free again and single.
But last night, every item he placed in his suitcase added a new knot in his chest. He’d tried to ignore it, telling himself, “Come on, man, just think. Water, wine, women.”
Closing his eyes, he’d pictured whitewashed walls lining the coast of Santorini. Turquoise water from the Aegean Sea. Beaches of volcanic sand where the party never ended. A glass of Vinsanto in his hand. And a Grecian beauty walking toward him, barefoot, her dress billowing in the wind to offer a glimpse of long, sleek legs, and the sun catching on the waves of dark red hair.
To quote Gage, he was fucking toast.
Muffled footsteps pulled Avery upright just before Nick’s reflection in the window had Avery spinning in his chair to face him. “Hey.”
“Zach said you were looking for me.”
Avery shrugged. “Just thought you might want to go for a drink.”
Marcus strolled in behind Nick. “Shouldn’t you be at the airport by now?”
Spencer brought up the rear. “Yeah, I thought you were headed to Greece for a week.”
Marcus sank into one of the chairs in the sitting area where Avery met clients. “You’re not going, are you?”
