Page 9 of The Trust We Broke
But the way Grudge says it makes me shiver. “Put me down,” I snap.
He does, but I slide down his body. His warmth next to mine. And my shoes land on the toes of his boots.
Like we used to.
Dance with me, Luce.
God, how I loved it.
I grab hold of him. He’s stronger, more solid, than when we were young.
He’s thickened out.
The tattoos up the side of his neck that creep underneath the undercut of his hair are so beautiful and vivid, I want to reach out and touch them.
Out of habit and muscle memory, I grip his arms.
Then, I notice his patch has changed in the four weeks since I last saw him.
It states he’s now the president.
“Fuck,” Grudge curses, then gently shoves me off his boots and away.
2
GRUDGE
“Pull your skirt down,” I say when I notice it’s ridden up her legs to reveal the top of the sexiest lace stocking ever wrapped around her tan thighs.
“Shit,” she says, glancing down to see what I’m staring at. She shimmies it down, so it covers what it’s supposed to, but I’m not going to get the image of Ms. Counselor wearing sexy lace shit beneath her please-take-me-seriously suit out of my mind.
I glance up at the top shelf to see what she was trying to reach, and putting what’s up there, with the bananas and whipped cream in her basket, I know she’s about to make sundaes.
They were always her comfort food, and it takes me a moment to bite down on the immediate need to ask her what’s going on, if she’s doing okay.
Because she’s none of my goddamn business anymore.
“Cherries?” I ask. Juicy red maraschino ones.
“I can get them myself.” She folds her arms and pouts.
“Don’t make me pretend I want to pass you what you can’t reach,” I say, grabbing the jar from the top shelf with ease. Ireach down to the floor and see her basket, and something about the two pitiful bananas and whipped cream makes me angry.
If she hadn’t divorced me, maybe we’d be here together. Maybe we’d have talked over dinner about what was bothering her tonight. Hell, maybe I’d have come to the store to get her the things for her sundae while she put our kids to bed, or perhaps made it for her when she called me from the office to say she was on her way home.
But no.
Here we are.
Hating each other.
And yet, I still want her, which is fucking infuriating.
I grab the basket from the ground and throw the cherries in it. I just want to do my grocery shopping, get home, and eat some food. Three days ago, I got the shock of my life. Butcher stepped down and announced me as his replacement. The president patch on my cut is so new, I can still smell it. The first twenty-four hours were spent drinking and then recovering from the world’s worst hangover.
Today was spent meeting with people Butcher used to manage our relationships with. A judge in our back pocket. A detective paid to turn the other cheek.
They all know who I am and my record as vice president. Hopefully, my behavior in the past will reassure them that I’m the right person for the president job. Big Daddy shook my hand and slapped my back and said, while he thought the world of Butcher, he was looking forward to the change.
