“Eric’s been asking around about where you are.”
My stomach drops. “Seriously?”
“He showed up at my studio last week wanting to know where you’d disappeared to. Said he’s been trying to reach you for a while.”
“Well, I blocked his number as soon as I found out he wasn’t going to show up for our wedding,” I snap. “What the hell does he want?”
“He said something about explaining himself. I told him to go fuck himself, obviously.”
I rest my head back against the seat and sigh. “After all this time, what could he possibly have to say that matters now?”
“That’s basically what I said.” I suck in a breath and grab the door handle when Sasha takes a curve a little too fast. “Sorry. Just... he seemed pretty desperate.”
“Did you tell him where I am?”
“Of course not!” she gasps, offended. “You know I would never do something like that. But I wouldn’t put it past him to come here looking for you.”
My heart races at the thought of my ex-fiancé showing up at my door. “Shit.”
“Yeah. I wanted to give you a heads-up. Just in case.”
I stare out the window into the dark. “I can’t believe he thinks he can just waltz back into my life after humiliating me!”
“Men are assholes,” Sasha offers helpfully.
“Not all of them,” I murmur, thinking of Ryder.
“No.” A small smile plays at her lips as she tips her chin. “Not all of them.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes, my mind racing with thoughts about what went down that day. Suddenly, I realize I’m not sad anymore—far from it, in fact.
Now I’m just pissed. “Screw him.”
“Exactly. And you know what?” Sasha says suddenly. “If that asshole does show up, you’ve got a six-foot-something tattooed former Marine living with you who looks like he could snap Eric in half without breaking a sweat.”
That makes me laugh. “True.”
“Plus, Eric’s soft, pasty ass has always been intimidated by anyone with actual muscle. He’d take one look at Ryder and hightail it right outta there.”
“God, you’re so right.” I laugh, tension easing from my shoulders. “What was I even thinking when I agreed to marry him?”
“You were thinking with your head instead of your heart,” Sasha says gently as she shuts off the car. “But now you know better.”
“You hungry?” I ask as we shuffle inside.
“Always.” Sasha kicks off her heels with a grateful sigh as I do the same. “These shoes are killingme.”
The moment I close the front door, Goonie struts into the room, winding around my legs, meowing loudly.
“Hey, baby,” I coo, scooping him up. “Did you miss me?”
He purrs against my neck, and I’m struck by how normal everything feels—coming home late after a night out, hanging with my best friend, snuggling my cat.
I pour us each a generous glass of wine and start grabbing stuff out of the fridge to make omelets, while Sasha collapses onto the couch.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m handing her a steaming plate.
Settling beside her, I tuck my legs under me and dig in. “So. You and Jax?”
