Yet here I am with my face buried in his broad chest, his strong arms wrapped around my back as he whispers that I’m okay now.
How does he still smell so good? I’m almost positive he’s taller than before, and he was six-two when we dated. He’s definitely more muscular, having filled out in all the right places.
Why does it feel so good to be back in his arms?
The only reason I can think of is that I just went through something traumatic, so almost anyone would feel good in the aftermath. Right?
“We should probably get out of here before a woman comes in and freaks out that there’s a guy in here.”
“Right.” I quickly pull away and reach for a paper towel so I can wipe my face. I probably look like a disaster after crying off my makeup, and I don’t want to appear any more vulnerable than I already am in front of my ex.
“You going to be okay?” he asks after a moment.
“Yes. Thank you. Again. He just pushed his way in and had me against the wall before I could scream.”
“I know. I watched him follow you.”
Our eyes meet, and for a brief interlude, he’s the boy I fell in love with all over again. Dark-blue eyes, chiseled features, curly blond hair that’s always in need of a cut… For almost a year, he was mine. And I was his.
Then the spell is broken and he reaches for the door. “I’ll wait for you outside, just in case.”
“I just need a minute,” I say.
This entire evening has been a disaster. From my car not starting to the zipper on the dress I was going to wear coming apart to my friends deciding to Uber, which meant I had to as well. It cost money I don’t have, so even though I’m not driving, the unexpected expense means I can’t afford more than a few drinks.
My makeup is smeared and my eyes are a little puffy, but I don’t care anymore. I’m going home. It’s my friend Merrill’s birthday but she’s already three sheets to the wind and probably won’t even notice I’m gone.
I pull in a shaky breath, remind myself that I’m okay, and then step into the hallway.
As promised, Jordan is waiting, standing there talking to someone I don’t recognize.
“Thank you again,” I say quietly. “I think I’ve had about all the excitement I can stand for one night. I’m going home.”
“Probably a good idea.” Jordan nods.
“Could I ask for one more tiny favor?”
Jordan eyes me hesitantly. “Sure.”
“Could you stay with me while I wait for the Uber? I don’t want them to come back.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He looks at his friend. “I’m taking off—see you at practice.”
“Have a good one.” The other guy nods and moves off, leaving us standing there awkwardly.
I pull out my phone and open the app.
“Don’t call a car,” he says after a moment. “I’ll take you home.”
My eyes snap to his. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Come on. You’ve had a tough night. Last thing you need is to get into a car with a stranger.”
I hesitate. Not because I’m afraid of him, but more because I’m afraid of me. Of feelings that seem to claw their way to the surface any time I so much as hear his name.
And since he plays for the local pro hockey team, the Lauderdale Knights, his name comes up a lot more often than I’d like.
“Okay,” I say finally. “That’s very kind.”
