Ledger clapped a hand on my shoulder on his way out. “You know what you need, Dirks?”
“No,” I said flatly. “But I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
He grinned. “To get laid. Maybe one of those hot farmers market ladies you pretend not to look at when we jog past the stands.”
Alex glanced at me, then at Ledger and shook his head like,Don’t push it.
They said their goodbyes, I thanked them for driving to the city, and the door shut behind them with a click.
Suddenly, the apartment was quiet again. I stood there, drinking a warm beer, replaying Alex’s words on a loop—She’s scared.I’d waited years, convinced she’d left because she didn’t want me. I’d been so caught up in my own hurt that I didn’t see it for what it was. I could’ve done something—texted her, gone fora run, buried myself in film—but instead, I sank back onto the couch and let the silence wrap around me. For once, I didn’t try to outrun it.
11
dirks
“Papaya on the left,” I grumbled, brushing a rogue blonde curl out of my face.
I’d gotten sick of rotting on the couch, so I decided to organize my fridge by color and type of fruit and vegetable, because obviously, that was productive. What I didn’t account for was the fact that vegetables come in every awkward size and shape imaginable, and suddenly, my perfect rainbow system looked like a chaotic produceTetris.
I’d worked out earlier in the apartment complex’s gym, so I was still in my sweat shorts, shirtless, and slightly damp from a half-assed shower that turned into me standing under hot water. It was then I decided to alphabetize and reorganize my fridge.
When a knock came at the door, I considered grabbing a shirt, but whoever it was, probably one of the guys from the team, didn’t matter enough to bother.
“Dude.” I complained as I walked over, pulling the door open with zero enthusiasm?—
And froze. It wasn’t one of the guys.
It was her.
She was wearing a leopard print shirt that clung to her curves. A black leather mini skirt hugged her hips—hips I remembered gripping, worshipping. Her platinum blonde hair was loose and wavy, cascading past her shoulders like she hadn’t been caught in the wind or worried about the way she looked, even though she never had to.
Her tits, full, heavy, barely contained by the low neckline as her chest rose and fell with each breath. Red lipstick painted her mouth, and her blue eyes locked onto mine with something between challenge and hesitation.
I couldn’t speak. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was breathing.
“Are you a ghost?”
She laughed, and before I could process the sound of it, her arms were around me. It was like coming home after a long day... no, after years of feeling empty. Years of waiting for something I couldn’t name until it was standing in front of me, wrapped in leopard print and smelling like strawberries.
“You’re here,” I murmured into her hair, the familiar scent of her shampoo hitting me like a sucker punch. “You’re here.”
She leaned back and smirked up at me. “You sound surprised.”
I huffed a laugh, but it cracked on the way out.
“You called,” she said softly. “So I came.”
I pulled back enough to look at her, really look at her, and it was hard not to fall back into old patterns. Into the warmth of her, the sharpness, the ache that somehow always felt good.
My hands stayed on her hips. I hadn’t realized I’d even put them there.
“You came? Like . . . you’re here to visit?”
She shook her head. “No, you big dummy. I moved back.”
I blinked. “You what?”
“I missed home. I missed?—”
