Page 53 of Texts From My Exes
Then Graham happened.
“Just some highlights,” he’d said, smug as hell, before sending me the reel.
The shot of her laughing so hard she had to cover her face—gut punch.
The way she leaned in at the table, eyes shining like he was the funniest bastard alive—another hit.
And then. The forehead kiss.
He froze the frame. Zoomed in.
Her eyes. That look. Thatyearn.
Why show me the yearn? I didn’t need to see the yearn. I’d been begging the universe to put me on the other side of it for years.
I slammed my laptop shut and swore loud enough the neighbor’s dog started barking. Okay maybe it was the guy taking out the trash but still. My chest felt tight, my skin buzzing, like I’d run ten miles without moving an inch.
It wasn’t jealousy. Couldn’t be.
This was stress. Overwork. Heartburn. Anything else. How could I already be jealous of a guy I didn’t even know?
But the truth crawled up my throat, no matter how hard I tried to choke it down:
If I didn’t do something, I was going to lose her.
Was she still up? Uploading? I jerked open the guest room door and padded down the hall to hers. Lights off. Probably exhausted. What was I thinking?
With a sigh, I turned toward the bathroom—pushed open the door?—
And there she stood.
A siren.
A mermaid.
A goddess.
Aphrodite herself.
Every programming-obsessed particle in my body gave up and lit itself on fire while I stared like an idiot.
Her eyes widened.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried to turn, only to pivot straight into the wall. My forehead cracked against it. “Son of a bitch!”
“Ezra!” She rushed forward.
Warm breasts slammed into my chest. Fuck my life. I was moaning. Actually moaning. Because breasts. Supple. I hated that word. Wanted to chew it, suck it, worship it?—
“Is your face okay?”
“I didn’t think you were awake. Or naked. Or naked—did I say naked?” I groaned. “You should…clothes.”
“I was going to shower.”
“Shower him right off you!” I shouted. Out loud. Not in my head. Out loud.
Her brows shot up.
