There’s a loud crash in the kitchen. Something shatters. I turn and race back in there, Morgan right on my heels. I skitter to a stop in the doorway directly in front of a large chunk of my favorite teapot. The floor is damp with tea, and chunks of the expensive china pot are all over the floor.
My eyes land on Adam, and he shrugs. “I brushed against it while getting my travel mug.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“Hardly. I guess you left it too close to the edge of the counter, Zoey. You should be more careful.” He takes a few steps, intent on brushing by me and leaving me with the mess, and I let him, because if he doesn’t leave, I might stab him with one of the broken china pieces.
But Morgan has other ideas. He uses his six-foot frame to block the doorway. Adam sighs dramatically. “I don’t have time for your protective-brother act, Morgan. I have a meeting.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that, Adam,” Morgan says, refusing to move an inch. “I’ve always thought it, but now I can say it.”
“Your opinion of me matters to no one, Morgan, because you matter to no one,” he replies, his tone like ice. “Now move or I will call the police.”
He doesn’t move. Instead Morgan just smiles with the warmth of a wolf. “Go ahead. Call them and tell them you have an unwanted man in your house. I’ll go upstairs and wait for them naked in your bed while I anonymously tip off the society page. I know they don’t blink at divorce, but I doubt your Waspy rich family would like a homosexual scandal.”
“I doubt your husband or the parents of the kids you teach would like that.”
Morgan laughs. “It’s a charter school. Very progressive. And Ned would know it’s a lie and he’d go along with it. He hates you as much as…well, just about everyone else on the planet.”
“What the fuck do you want from me, Morgan? It’s just a fucking teapot.”
“And it’s just a fucking house, so stop being a petty bitch and give it to her.”
I sigh. “Morgan, let him go. It’s not worth it.He’snot worth it.”
“He should clean up his mess,” Morgan argues, but I just shake my head.
“I’ll do it. I just want him gone.”
Adam smiles like that’s some kind of victory to him. “See, Zoey? Now you’re being agreeable.”
I ignore thebiggest mistake of my life and glare at Morgan. He relents and shifts so Adam can get by. A second later the front door slams as I grab a paper towel and start collecting the broken pieces of china. Morgan disappears. I hear his feet on the stairs but don’t bother to ask him where he’s going.
With the remnants of the teapot cradled in the paper towel in my hands, I step on the lever and open the trash can beside the fridge. Morgan reappears with one of Adam’s expensive dress shirts in his hands. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he drops it into the biggest puddle of tea on the floor and uses his foot to push it around, mopping up all the liquid.
“Great. That’s just going to make things worse,” I remark and cross my arms.
Morgan levels his dark blue eyes at me. “Is that even possible at this point?”
He’s right. It’s probably not. But just in case, I walk over to the shelf holding the remaining pots and carefully start to take them down and carry them, one by one, up to my room. I place them gently under my bed. As I return from hiding the last one, my phone beeps on the counter beside my empty teacup.
I walk over and grab it and open a text from Jude. I’m smiling at just the sight of his name, but when I open the message it’s a picture of him—a selfie—and now I’m downright grinning.
“Who is doing that to your face?” Morgan asks with awe. “Christ. You look blissful.”
“Language,” I warn as I stare at the photo of Jude in bed, one arm tucked under his head, tattooed bicep flexed, eyes sleepy and seductive, soft, panty-wetting smile dancing on his lips, accompanied by the wordsDo I look tired? Barely slept. Couldn’t stop thinking of u.
“I’m not the one who doesn’t swear,” Morgan retorts, reaching for my phone. “I have broken way too many commandments to worry about taking his name in vain.”
He plucks my phone from my hand before I can stop him, and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “Holy sweet mother of Satan. He is still one hot little fuck stick, isn’t he?”
“Morgan, seriously. Your mouth is a porta-potty.” I grab the phone back and quickly save the picture to my gallery. “And yes. He is.”
I grab my bag and make my way to the front hall. Morgan follows behind. “I Googled him right after you mentioned running into him, and I knew he grew up well, but those ad campaigns and hockey shots are nothing compared to bedhead nakedness.”
I smile and turn to lock the door as Morgan steps out onto the front stoop. “Why is he texting you half-naked photos? Is he still crushing? Clearly he’s still crushing. Are you going to hook up with him? You need to hook up with him.”
I laugh and start down the stairs, scanning the street for Morgan’s Mini Cooper. “I can’t hook up with anyone until I make this divorce final.”
