And immediately it feels wrong.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to the apartment settle around me, the faint creak of pipes, the soft hum of everything cooling down after a long night, and every small sound makes me half-expect to hear movement in the hallway, a knock, anything that would mean we didn’t just end the night like that.
But nothing happens.
The door stays closed.
And he doesn’t come.
Even though I want him to.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Jenna
Icheck my watch for the third time in five minutes, standing awkwardly among the cluster of parents outside Oakridge Elementary. The bell should ring any minute now. I’m completely out of place in my tailored charcoal suit and heels that sink slightly into the playground mulch. The other parents wear casual clothes, comfortable shoes—they look like they belong. I don’t. But here I am, playing stepmom.
A woman beside me offers a friendly smile. “First pickup?”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask and tug at my blazer.
She laughs. “The heels are a dead giveaway. Don’t worry, you’ll learn.”
I’ll learn?
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the school bell cuts me off. Suddenly, the double doors burst open, and children pour out like water from a broken dam. They all wear the same uniforms: dark blue with accents of red and light blue. It’s one of those fancy schools with high fences and lots of security measures. Something my mother could never have afforded. I start to wonder how Colton managed to get aroundthe rules. Schools like that usually don’t ignore a mother’s note saying the father isn’t allowed to pick up his daughter.
I scan the sea of backpacks and pigtails for Livy’s blonde hair.
When I finally spot her, she’s walking hand in hand with a woman who must be her teacher. My breath catches.
The teacher is stunning—late twenties I guess—with honey blonde waves and a white sundress that accentuates curves in all the right places. She laughs at something Livy says, her head tilting back to reveal a slender neck. I notice the absence of a wedding ring.
Something ugly twists low in my stomach.
I look over before I can stop myself.
My brain, traitorous as ever, supplies details no one asked for: Colton picking Livy up after school. The two of them talking easily. Her laughing at something cute Livy said. Maybe touching his arm like it’s casual and meaningless.
I hate every single imaginary second of it.
And suddenly I know why they let him take Livy.
She must have done him a favor. Because apparently rules become flexible when six-foot-five-chiseled-fucking-everything hockey captains with stupid hot faces are involved.
Of course she did it because he’s attractive.
Men like Colton get handed things all the time just for existing with jawlines.
I tighten my grip on my bag.
There’s a decorative lake beside us—calm, sparkling, aggressively picturesque. And for one brief, deeply unprofessional moment, I consider how satisfying it would be to push her into it.
And that’s…crazy much.
What the hell is wrong with me? I shake the thought away. Since when do I care who Colton talks to? Since never. This is ridiculous. I can’t get mad like this over a fake scenario.
I raise my hand awkwardly, and Livy spots me, her face lighting up in a way that makes the stupid knot in my chest loosen.
