Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(52)

He waits in silence as I take three long, deep calming breaths. “Does she know you’re here with me right now?” I do a cursory glance around the patio, looking for the little ginger-haired husband-stealing bitch hiding behind a plant.

A frown zags across his forehead. “What? You think she’s watching from somewhere?”

“No, only a crazy person would do that.”

He pauses, a smirk curling his lips. “No, she doesn’t know. She’s not even talking to me right now.”

“Oh yeah? Had a big fight?” My conscience starts to laugh—a wicked, triumphant cackle inside my head.

“Yeah. Over something stupid that happened at paintball,” he murmurs absently, cocking his head. “Don’t look so happy about it, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” I offer, deadpan.

He folds his hands into one another. “We’ve been fighting a lot, actually. I’ve known her for eighteen years and yet the second I said those vows, it’s like she changed into an entirely new woman and she’s trying to change me with her.” He works his mouth for a moment, watching me carefully. “You weren’t like that, though, were you?”

That’s because we only knew each other for six weeks before we got married. And no, I wasn’t. I accepted him as he was. I hold his gaze—a heated look that I’ve seen plenty before, though never while sitting in a public place—but I say nothing to that.

“So this lawyer you’re seeing, how long has that been going on for?”

“A few months,” I lie.

He nods slowly, reaching out to curl his hands around my empty mug, pushing it back and forth slowly. “I was thinking we could all go out to dinner or something, sometime.”

Now my bitter laugh does escape. I know Jared can be kind of dense sometimes—letting me walk into the apartment to collect my things that day is a good example of how he sometimes doesn’t think through his ideas—but this? Chewing food . . . carrying on a conversation . . . not slitting Caroline’s throat with a steak knife . . . all things that sound impossible.

Green eyes flicker to my face, assessing me. “Too weird?”

“Just a little.”

He shrugs. “Okay, well . . . maybe drinks or something more casual at first. Even just the two of us. I really want to be friends, Reese. At least.”

At least? What the hell else could we be? He’s married! Is he actually doing what I think he’s doing? Flip-flopping back and forth between Caroline and me like a beached fish? Like he wants to have his cake and eat it too? If I were an outsider watching in, I would be pointing and laughing at the lot of us right now and especially at the idiot blond, for even sitting here and speaking to this douchebag. If I were an outsider and not the idiot blond who not so long ago hopelessly loved said douchebag, who was left broken-hearted and humiliated in a ditch.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I say, standing. He follows suit, and we’re left facing each other in this uncomfortable stance. Do we just walk away? Do we hug? Do I punch him in the junk so maybe he starts using that dense mass of gray matter filling his skull, for once?

“You got a new number, right?” He pulls his cell out of his pocket and starts scrolling through it.

I hesitate. “Yeah, Miami local.”

Frowning, he mutters, “Weird. I had your contact info in here. I don’t know where it went.” I think I have a pretty good idea. To deleted heaven, care of your sweet new wife. “Here. I’ll put it in again. Okay, shoot.”

I pause.

Do I do this?

Do I give him my number?

I give him my number.

“Great. Well . . .” He frowns and then, stepping forward, envelops my stiff body in a hug that I don’t reciprocate. “See you soon. I hope.” His lips brush against my cheek as he pulls away. I watch him stroll away, whistling happily.

And I release the lung’s worth of air I didn’t know I was holding.

I don’t know how I feel about all of this. Jared’s not happy with Caroline. In the nasty swirl of hurt that has encased me for months, there’s no mistaking the sweet feeling of that knowledge. Now he’s come right out and told me that he misses me. He’s showing me that he still has feelings for me. If I ever wanted Jared . . .

To hurt.

To suffer.

To love me again.

This could the perfect opportunity.

But first, I would need Switzerland to play along.





Chapter 16




BEN





“Well, look at you, big-shot lawyer.”

Fuck . . . Just the sound of that smooth voice has blood rushing to my cock. It’s nothing I can control. Mercy has always had that effect on me. It’s only gotten worse since my farewell party at Penny’s. Cain’s “no screwing the strippers” rule got publically launched out the window by her and Hannah that night. At the same time. I didn’t even suggest it, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to pass up the chance.

But the look on Mason’s face now as he turns around to find the platinum-blond stripper in my office is almost as entertaining. His face goes from pale to beet red in an instant as the poor guy’s eyes bobble around uncontrollably—from her face to her tits to her face to the wall and back to her tits before he turns around to stare at me with pleading eyes.