Page 117 of Capri

He nods like the little pussy I knew he was and I let go, reveling in his struggle for air.

I adjust my suit, forgetting about the restroom entirely. I need to find my girl and just fucking hold her. How she managed to marry this belligerent douche, I’ll never know.

I don’t make it far because there’s my golden girl, and it seems she just saw our little feud play out.

“Capri,” I whisper.

I don’t know what I expected from her but she looks dazed, striding in our direction, lethal in her heels with a look of determination on her face.

A dark chuckle resounds from beside me, and I take a glance at the dirtbag now attempting to stand straighter.

Pathetic.

I don’t stop Capri’s stride but stand back and take her in, full of power. She has the ability to command a room and, in this case, make a grown man scurry.

She’s a woman on a mission. A woman who now stands in front of her ex-husband, the one who cheated, demonized her, and made her feel inadequate as a woman, and she slaps him.

Slaps him across the face with a force so damn fierce, his head flies in the other direction and a groan of pain breaks free. Long gone is the graceful woman I’ve fallen for these past few months. In front of me is the side of Capri that’s been scorned and refused to tolerate the disrespect any longer.

The full fucking package.

With her finger in his face, she spits out at him, “That is for disrespecting Stevie.” Another slap. “And that is for wasting the last five years of my life on someone so undeserving.”

Head held high, she turns toward me and locks her arm with mine.

“Atta girl,” I whisper, kissing the side of her head and leading her out of harm’s way.

I’m a proud man.

38

CAPRI

“I need you.”

“Capri, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’ve had a long night.”

All I can think about is the way Jones defended me tonight. Advocated for me like it was muscle memory, and he refused to let anyone talk about me or my child the way they did.

Despite being humiliated by someone I once called my husband, my heart soared at Jones’ declaration. Whether directed at me or not, I knew that was him showing how he felt about me.

I felt it bone deep.

The struggle to not ask Jones to take me right there in the hallway was a task in and of itself.

But now that we’re alone and in the privacy of his rental house, I want him with a burning passion.

“Jones, do I look tired?” I ask, my eyes wide and full of heat.

He’s seated at the end of his bed, still in the suit that’s been teasing me all night, and I’ve never been more awake.

“Well, no,” he laughs, and I take that as my sign to take the lead. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ve never been better, to be honest,” I tell him, unclasping the halter of my dress and letting the silky blue fabric fall to my feet. Jones swallows thickly, his eyes taking in the sight of my sheer garter set.

There’s nothing modest about it. Not one part of me is concealed by the fabric, and by the looks of it, Jones is happy about that.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You look like sin.” His voice is sharp and heavy, like he’s working hard to restrain himself.

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