The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(64)

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he whispers against my lips, not kissing me, not breaking eye contact.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” I say with a moan, bucking my hips up to meet his, and something flashes in his eyes. He wants to say something, I know it, but before he can, I press my lips to his, grind my hips against him, and come around him, moaning into his mouth. With a few more thrusts, still attached to my lips, he groans my name and follows me over the edge.





Twenty-Eight





-Cassie-





The drive home from the wedding is quiet, both of us in our own heads. We left early Sunday morning, skipping the farewell brunch before my father and his new bride went off to some exclusive resort or another. It wasn’t even up for discussion, our attending. Instead, we stop at some greasy diner, getting our own buffet of breakfast delights from bacon and pancakes to eggs and pork roll.

We had a long conversation about pork roll versus Taylor ham, neither conceding on the point and laughing most of the meal the way that seems to be normal for Luke and me.

When we get back in the truck, heading back to our little ocean-side city, my stomach sinks, my hearty meal turning sour in my stomach. The entire ride, I stay in my head, dreading what will happen next, what has to happen next. It’s our deal. It’s my plan. I may have broken every single one of my rules in the last three weeks, but this is one I can’t let pass.

Life goes on and so must I. As much as it is going to rip me to shreds.

The “Entering Ocean View” sign makes my breathing shallow, the bright green, cheery sign anything but. Traffic is low as Luke navigates the empty streets, residents sleeping in on the dreary Sunday and visitors avoiding the city during the cold. Eventually, we see my street, and he turns into the parking garage, driving past my car to park in a guest spot before turning off the truck.

My overnight bag is at my feet, strategically placed for an easy escape, and I reach for the wide strap.

“Thanks again, Luke.” The words are curt, and they slice my throat as they leave my mouth. My eyes move everywhere but to Luke.

“I had fun, Cassie. Nothing to thank me for.” I tell myself he’s thanking me for the last few weeks. That it’s been a fun, a crazy ride, and we’re going our separate ways like we agreed. That he knows, he know’s this is it.

Are you sure you’re not making a mistake? the sex fiend asks.

I ignore her, and I say the words I’ve been practicing in my mind the whole drive home.

“Right. Well. When I get to the office on Monday, I’ll look in my database to find someone for your first date. I’ll put you in contact, and if you both agree, then Gabrielle can help coordinate your first date time and location. If you have any questions at all, you can call her. She’ll be able to answer them.” I reach down to the footwell and grab my purse, moving my hand to the door handle. But before I can escape, before I can get out of this suffocating car, run to the stairs and skip the elevator, jogging the twenty flights before collapsing in my bed as this terrible feeling tears me apart, his hand is on my arm, stopping me from leaving.

No, no, no, no.

“What?” His words are angry and cold, full of disbelief. My eyes stay on my hand, gripping the black leather straps of my bag. On the nails I got done specially for this weekend, nails I want to chip off as I eat a pint of ice cream and curse my bad luck, this lousy timing.

“Monday. I need to look at my files or I’d give you more info today. I think I have a good idea of who to match you with, though. It should be easy.” You’re a perfect catch. I don’t look at his face, don’t look into those expressive eyes, instead digging through my bag like there’s gold in there, a lifeline, something to save me from having this conversation.

Over the past few days, I’ve tried to convince myself he knew. That although he’s been bugging me about more, he’d understand. We were on the same page. That when the time came, he’d gleefully leave, tires burning marks into the road as he drove off, free of my chaos. But each day, each word, each gesture… It said something else. Something he can’t be telling me. Right?

“Cassie, what are you talking about?”

“Your first match. The Ex Files. You’ve more than completed your entry interview process.”

“Are you telling me you’re talking about setting me up with another woman?”

“That’s how this works, Luke.”

“No, it’s not, and you fuckin’ know it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say with a lie. “You’re a potential match. My job is to set you up with someone.” The words churn the acid in my stomach, making me sick. Most women break up with a man and get to stalk him on social media, see who he moves on to, know the bigger, better things through a sense of distance. Not me. No, my lucky ass will be the one choosing the woman he spends his days and nights with. God, what kind of sick fate is this? To give me a taste of the perfect man and force me to find his perfect match?

“You’re telling me the only reason we’re in this car right now is so you can match me?”

“No, we’re in the car because you helped me out, took me to the wedding.”

“Don’t play games.”