When I Was Yours(52)

I’m running a business I don’t give a shit about. I’ve been living day to day, one f*ck to the next f*ck, and I’m just tired.

The last time I was happy, truly happy, was with Evie, and for that, I owe her.

But it’s more than that.

In those days, Evie gave me freedom. When I married her, turning my back on it all—well, trying to—I gave up the money and went against my parents.

But I went crawling back after she’d left. I went back to what I knew.

It was that or face the world alone, and I didn’t know how to do it.

Better the devil you know, right?

And coming back to this life…well, I blamed Evie for that, but it was my own weakness. I could have stayed away and built a life for myself, even without Evie there.

But I was a coward, and I went back to what was easier.

It was my fault.

But no more. I want out.

And I’m doing that by getting rid of the money I received from my trust fund and the money I’ve earned over the years from selling my soul to the devil.

Giving it to Evie might seem like a strange thing to do because I know she’s never cared about money, but she’s struggled financially her whole life.

I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any easier for her, considering she’s driving a twenty-year-old Pontiac Grand and is working as a waitress in a coffee shop. Also, Casey is starting at UCLA, and I know that won’t be cheap. I know Evie will be paying for it. It’s not that her dad and sister are freeloaders, but it’s just the way she is. She takes care of them.

She took care of me for a time, too.

Now, I can finally take care of her. I can make her life a lot easier.

As for the business, I’m signing that over to Richard. As soon as the divorce is finalized, I’m giving it to him.

And then I’m going to…well, I don’t know what’s at the end of that sentence, but I do know that it’s time to let go of the past, to let go of Evie, and move on.

And I guess that starts right now.

Getting up from behind my desk, I walk to the front of it and lean against it, crossing my legs and curling my hands around the edge, as I await Evie’s arrival.

I can’t deny that I’m nervous. My heart is pounding.

No one can get to me like she does. No one ever could.

I hear Mark’s voice outside my door, and then it opens with Evie walking in.

She looks like she just got out of bed. And she looks f*cking beautiful.

Her hair is tied into a messy bun on the top of her head, and her face is free of makeup, not that she ever really wore much. Her eyes are full of ire, and they’re blazing. Everything in me pays attention, especially my cock.

Angry Evie is hot Evie. Well, any version of her is hot. But I always did get off on it when she was all fired up.

“Mark, hold all my calls, and cancel my eleven o’clock,” I tell him without looking away from her.

“Sure thing,” he says. Then, he closes the door behind him, leaving Evie and me alone.

There’s a brief moment of silence. The emotions are so thick in the air around us that you could reach out and grab them.

That was the thing with Evie and me. We always did feel too much around each other.

“So,” I say, lifting my brow, breaking the silence, “you’re my wife, huh?”

Her cheeks stain pink, like they do when she’s embarrassed. “Mmhmm…yeah, sorry about that.” She twists her hands in front of her.

“Don’t be.”

“I just needed to get up here, so I could talk to you,” she explains, gesturing with her hands. “And your Pit Bull Barbie receptionist wouldn’t let me through.”

“Pit Bull Barbie?” I laugh. “Guess that is a pretty accurate description of Serena. But you could have called if you wanted to talk. It would have saved you the trouble of coming here.” I don’t mean that. Her coming here, even if because she’s angry with me, means something. I just don’t know what that something is.

“I wanted to talk face-to-face about this.”

“And what is this?” I uncross my legs and stretch them out in front of me.

A frown appears on her face. “The divorce settlement, Adam. Have you lost your damn mind?”

“Quite possibly.”

She folds her arms, which pushes her tits up, and of course, my eyes go straight to them.

That’s when I see what she’s actually wearing. I registered that she had on a T-shirt, but I didn’t focus on the T-shirt itself.

It’s mine—or it was mine. She claimed it in the early days of our relationship. I loved seeing her in that shirt. I always felt like it somehow branded her with me, so no other man could ever touch her.

Seeing her wearing my old T-shirt causes something primitive to tear open inside of me, and all I can think about is ripping that shirt off her body and f*cking her senseless.

“Nice T-shirt,” I say, lifting my eyes back to her face.

She glances down at the T-shirt. Her fingers curling around the hem. “I always liked wearing it,” she says softly.

Hearing her say that elicits a thousand memories. I feel the pleasure and pain of each one in every part of my body.

“I remember.” My voice is rough. I remember how many times I pulled it off your body right before I made love to you. “I also remember it was mine.”