10
TERA
I’m deep into my work when there’s a knock on the door.Which one of them is it?With the way things are set up, the only ones who can get through this level of security are the people on the list.
I wipe my hands on the paint rag and look through the peephole. My heart plunges into my stomach.
“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit,” I whisper. I turn around and pace. What’s he doing here? I don’t want to see him, not when a year ago a sex tape of him and Jesse and some slut was released. That was one hell of a threesome.
Yeah, I tortured myself and watched it. It made me really glad I never went public about Xander and me. Watching him parading a different chick around before the cameras every night was one thing, but a sex tape took it to a whole new level. I wanted to file for divorce or legal separation, but somehow Lincoln talked me out of it.
He pounds on the door again and I press a hand to my stomach to try and calm my nerves.
God, why did he have to come now, of all times? I'm painting. My hair's up in a messy bun, I'm covered in paint, and I'm makeup-less. Plus, I've been working nonstop on this piece, so I'm plagued with dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep.
Maybe he'll go away.
Ugh.
I unlock the deadbolts and the chain before opening the door. I keep my pissed off in place in spite of how fucking delicious he looks right now. Oh God. I've missed him so much.
I want nothing more than to run my fingers through his messy dark curls, pull his face down, and kiss him stupid. But I don't.
I don't say anything. I just wait with raised eyebrows.
"Tera," he says softly, with such reverence I nearly drop to my knees—nearly.
"Yes?" I ask.
"I brought you a coffee," he replies, holding out a large cardboard cup from my favorite coffee place.
I really want to accept that coffee. I could use it, and I bet it's my favorite. What I really want is to invite Xander in, but instead, I give him an eye roll and close the door, relocking the chain and deadbolts.
I stand there and wait, knowing he's on the other side. I hear a thump, and I can picture him resting his head against the door.
I walk away because if I don't, I'm going to do something stupid and open the door, take the coffee, let him in, share the coffee, then take him to bed—and I can't do that. I won't. I can't.
I think about everything that’s happened. I think about his showing up out of the blue. Who the hell does he think he is? The anger inside me explodes.
"How dare he show up here," I mutter to myself as I pace the length of the kitchen. "I mean, the nerve! After that sex tape and no apology," I growl.
"What's going on?" Linc asks, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed, feet crossed at the ankles—the perfect image of someone who's very comfortable in their own skin. It seems to be his favorite pose.
"Xander is what's going on."
"Huh?" Linc asks.
"He showed up."
"Here?"
"Yeah."
"Just now?" He turns his head toward the door.
"Yeah!"
"Why?"
