Page 107 of Hot Shot

She laughs behind me as I walk into the kitchen and gather supplies for breakfast. I’ll admit it—I do whistle, but only a little and very quietly. Bacon is sizzling in the pan when she joins me, and boom, just like that I’m ready to starve to death.

Her hair is piled on top of her head like a pretty bird’s nest, exposing her long neck and the shape of her jaw. She’s wearing one of my old Dodgers tees with my last name and number thirteen on the breast and the back. I have no idea if she’s wearing shorts, but I am one hundred percent ready to find out.

I’m about to turn off the stove so I can do just that when a knock sounds at the door. She freezes, half on a bar stool at the island, as if to ask if she should get it. But I make for it, wiping my hands on the towel on my bare shoulder, wondering who the fuck is at my door on a Sunday morning when ninety percent of the town is at church.

I expect Jessa. Maybe her mom.

But not Davis.

CHAPTER 40

THE VESSEL

CASS

Worry slithers through me when I hear Wilder say, “What the fuck do you want?”

I slide off my stool and walk toward the door, freezing when I hear the response.

“Is Cass here?” Davis demands from the other side of the threshold. As if he has any right to demand anything, least of all here.

“None of your fucking business where she is.”

“Her mom said she’s here. I just need to?—”

“You just need to get the fuck off my porch,” Wilder growls, and I touch his arm to draw his attention. His eyes snap to mine.

“It’s okay,” I promise.I can handle myself,I tell him with the power of my brain. He seems to hear me and shifts out of the way, but he’s tight as a bow string, looming behind me when I turn around to face Davis.

For a split second, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut, the sight of him leaving me reeling. My life, for that strange second, feels split, and I’m two people. One belonged to him.

The other one is Wilder’s. She always has been.

I fold my arms across my chest and glare at my ex, who looks resplendent standing there like he has any business on my front porch. His dark hair is perfectly messy, his face composed of beautiful lines and planes of perfect symmetry. His brows are pinched together in an expression that could only be read as betrayal.

Him. Betrayed by me.

The audacity strikes a match in me.

“What the fuck do you want?” I echo Wilder.

The hurt on his face deepens, joined by a slight flush of his cheeks. He glances at his shoes and scratches the back of his neck. There’s something under his arm, a folio of some kind.

He doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Speak up or fuck off,” Wilder says from behind me, and I turn to give him a look before shooing him away.

“I’ll be fine,” I whisper, tilting my head in the hopes that he’ll kiss me. Wary, he does, and then I step outside and close the screen door behind me.

Davis backs up to give me room, putting him at the top of the stairs.

“So, how was our honeymoon?” I ask, my anger simmering, blood roiling at the nerve this man has to show up like this.

At least he has the decency to look ashamed. He puts up his hands, his eyes tortured, which shouldn’t spark a little glee, but here we are. “Please. Can we just have a conversation?”

“We did. After ourwedding.”

“I know. But…please, Cass. Five minutes.”

---