“Yeah, but there are good guys out there. You just have to find them.”
“I notice you didn’t say we have to find them. Just me. As if you’re already taken.”
Something inside me squeezes painfully.
It does feel like I’m already taken.
It’s always felt like that.
There’s never been anyone but Jordan in my heart.
I’ve slept with two other guys, dipped my toe in the dating waters, and done my best to move on.
But deep down, it was and—if last week was any indication—it’s still only Jordan.
I want to continue hating him, but after our talk it’s abundantly clear that things didn’t happen exactly the way either of us thought they did. Now that the narrative has changed, so have my feelings.
And it’s terrifying.
“Dad will lose his shit,” Ivy says when we get to my car.
“I know.”
“But you’re going to do it anyway.”
“I can’t not do it,” I admit, looking at her across the roof of my Toyota. “It’s like an addiction, a pull so strong I can’t resist it. I tried and then fate intervened with these damn tickets. So now I have to see where it goes. Please don’t say anything.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, hell no. I get too much free babysitting from you to do that.”
I laugh and get in the car.
I get to the restaurant at 7:15 and sink into the same booth where we sat last week. I’m being ridiculous but can’t seem to help it. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to say when he gets here. There was no plan beyond getting him my number. Part of me figured there was a good chance he would just toss it. Instead, he texted me and I fell asleep wondering how to explain why I reached out.
Granted, since he had the option to throw out my number, there has to be a reason he texted me. It’s just a matter of digging deep to get to the bottom of whatever it is we’re dealing with.
I see him the moment he parks. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt that pulls tight across his chest. He was always gorgeous, but he’s filled out beautifully. His blond hair is longer now, and curlier than I remember, and I love the way it blows back as he walks. Twenty-three-year-old Jordan is the personification of masculinity and sexuality, something I’ve struggled to find in anyone else.
He walks into the restaurant, smiles at the hostess and then his gaze zeroes in on me. Warmth heats my skin, and I manage a small smile to acknowledge him as he walks in my direction.
“Good morning.” He slides into the seat across from me, eyes never leaving my face.
“Good morning.” I want to say more but the waitress is upon us, taking our order.
“So.” He rests his arms on the table in front of him. “Why are we here, Victoria?”
“Isn’t that the million-dollar question?” I ask ruefully. I take a deep breath and then do my best to explain. “The truth is, I’m not really sure. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you saved me at the club. That’s as much honesty as I can muster up.”
He frowns. “You said you didn’t want to see me again.”
“I answered with my brain instead of…my heart,” I whisper, finally looking away.
“Victoria, we’re too old, and have been through too much, to play games like this.”
“I know. It’s not a game. I swear. I just… once I saw you again, there was no way to go back to pretending you didn’t exist. Especially after what we talked about last week.”
He rubs the fingers of one hand back and forth across his forehead, eyes closed, as if he’s thinking about something really serious. Like this is difficult for him. It probably is. God knows, it’s hard for me.
“I think about you a lot too,” he blurts after a moment. “And it pisses me off.”
