He storms out, his lawyer traipsing after him. I look at Cordelia. “You could have gotten even more,” she reminds me.
“He can’t give me what I want,” I tell her and exhale a low, steady breath. “Now what?”
“I’ll file this Monday. It can take up to six months to get it processed, but you can consider yourself a single woman as of today, Ms. Penner. Congratulations.”
“It’s Ms. Quinlin again,” I promise, more to myself than her. We shake hands, and I leave her office feeling lighter and more hopeful than I have in longer than I can remember. And the only thing I want to do is see Jude.
I start to walk to the coffee shop at the end of the street to waste time so when I go back to the house Adam is gone. I don’t need another verbal smackdown with him today, or ever again. Across the street from the Starbucks is a burger joint. It’s got a few tables outside, and the patrons are enjoying what look like incredible burgers and big, thick milk shakes. My stomach roars, and I walk right over and plop myself down at a table. I order a burger with bacon and two kinds of cheese and a drunken orange creamsicle milk shake made with amaretto. Because fuck it, this is a celebration.
As I devour my meal I get a text from Jude.
Hope the meeting with your lawyer is going well. I can’t wait to see you tonight.
I smile and wipe burger juice from my fingers so I can text him back.
He signed.
I take a long, decadent sip of the boozy milk shake. It’s like heaven in a glass. I’m pretty sure I’ll end up a little tipsy from it, and I’m looking forward to it. Telling Jude my divorce papers are signed is the equivalent of stripping naked and lying down in front of him. It means we’re going to have sex. I’m glad. I’m looking forward to it, but I haven’t had sex with someone new in more than four years. Hell, because our marriage was crumbling, I haven’t had sex at all in over six months. And the last time Jude and I attempted it, it was a disaster, so the loose, warm, uninhibited feeling the amaretto will leave me with can only make this easier.
My phone rings about two seconds after I hit send on the text. Jude’s naked selfie flashes across my screen, because I set it as his contact picture, and I quickly swallow down a chunk of burger as I put it to my ear. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” he counters in a deep, flirty tone. “You’re divorced?”
“You bet your sweet ass,” I say with a giggle. Yeah, this milk shake is already working its magic.
“Then why the fuck aren’t you at my house yet?”
“We said seven thirty,” I remind him, smiling like a cracked-out cheerleader just from hearing his playful voice.
“That’s when you were just coming over to paint,” he replies, and then his voice drops an octave. “Now you’re coming over for more than painting.”
Whoosh.Just like that, it’s official—we’re going to have sex.
“I need to go home and change,” I explain. “I’m still in my dress from the open house.”
“Just come over. Now,” he demands, and the need in his voice shoots through me, landing between my legs. “I promise you won’t need to worry about what you’re wearing.”
I take a long sip of the milk shake, finishing what’s left, and then shove the last fewbites of my burger across the table and lift my hand to catch the waiter’s attention. “Be there in twenty.”
I pay my bill and order an Uber. As my driver slogs his way through weekend traffic toward Jude’s place, I think about how this feels right now. The ink on my divorce papers is barely dry, and I’m driving across town to have sex with someone. And I have zero hesitation about it. I mourned my marriage already. I spent the first two months devastated and broken. I couldn’t eat, or sleep, or hold a normal conversation. I just wanted to be alone, and I had given up on anything ever resembling happiness entering my life again.
Then after a while I had no choice but to pick myself up. And then, as the pain subsided and the frustration started because he wouldn’t sign the papers and he wouldn’t leave the house, I was able to see the fatal flaws in my relationship with Adam—the warning signs I missed—and I had come to terms with the failure and the loss and just wanted to move on, even though I didn’t know to what.
Now I know what I’m moving on to—a better life, one that I get to build all over again. One that may include Jude. Jude has always looked at me like he sees something I don’t. Something special and valuable, and it mesmerized me as a kid. I was drawn to that feeling he gave me. My rebellion and liberal sexual tendencies may have made me seem confident and bold, but I was as insecure as the next eighteen-year-old girl. It was an act, a way to defy my parents and guarantee attention from boys. But Jude looked at me like I was everything I hoped to fool people into thinking I was—beautiful, smart, desirable and lovable. And he had popped back up in my life at a time when I thought I was faking it again, only to look at me like I was everything I pretended to be. And if he saw me that way—beautiful, bright, confident, desirable and lovable—then maybe I actually was.
The Uber stops in front of Jude’s building, and I thank the driver, get out and make my way inside. Nervousness is starting to seep past the calming warmth the milk shake caused. It’s like getting back on a bicycle. I’ll remember how to do this. And the chemistry between Jude and me is stronger than ever. People with that kind of connection—that crackle of heat between them every time they look at each other—don’t have bad sex. It’s not possible. Right?
I need this to be the right decision. Because it feels right. Everything about being near Jude, including that searing kiss last night, felt right. And I need that instinct to be true. I can’t handle being so wrong about something again. I honestly can’t. I ring his bell, and he opens the door a second later. He’s got pants on this time, and a shirt, and it’s mildly disappointing.
“Sunset,” he growls, and as it rumbles up through him, it rumbles down through me. I step into the apartment, and he lets the door close behind me, and then he grabs me. His arm loops aroundmy waist, and he yanks me into him. Before I can adjust my balance, he drops his mouth over mine.
It’s savage and primal and so damn perfect. I’m breathless, and when he pushes his tongue into my mouth, his whole body presses forward, making my back arch and further tilting my precarious balance. I’m dangling, helpless in his arms, and I want to do nothing about it. I just want to submit, so I do, opening my mouth and giving him all the access he craves. When the kiss breaks, he pulls me upright, and I grab his broad shoulders for that balance I can’t seem to find. My heels are firmly on the ground now, but my legs feel shaky and weak, like I’ve never stood on pumps before, and my knees are slightly bent and turned in, and I’m pretty sure I look like Bambi.
“You okay?”
“I’m better than okay when you kiss me.”
It’s a silly confession, but he seems to like it, because he grins and his lips graze my jaw as he whispers in my ear. “Imagine how good you’re going to feel when I make you come.”
