Page 67 of Heated
“It’s obvious.” He crosses his heavily inked arms over his chest, arching a dark eyebrow. “She wants you back.”
It’s my turn to snort. “Bullshit.”
“Why bullshit? As Mom always says, ‘The grass not only isn’t greener on the other side, but the neighbor’s dog takes regular dumps on it.’”
“I don’t ... I don’t even know what to say to that.” Mrs.Grace Ransom is a lovely woman, but I swear to God she comes up with her own sayings, and they don’t always make sense.
“Okay, I’ll clear it up. This new motherfucker either didn’t kiss her ass enough, or she realized he didn’t have enough money to keepher how she’s accustomed to living. I’m just saying, she’s not suddenly hitting you up ’cause she misses your conversation.” Jordan cocks his head. “Could be she miss the dick, though.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I whip around on my heel and stride toward the gym doors.
“What?” He laughs, and it’s diabolical. His long legs bring him by my side. “It’s an option.” His laughter ebbs, and he slides me a look. “The question is are you going to fall for it?”
Seriously? He knows me better than that.
“Hell no. Once I’m done, I’m done.” I press the bar handle on one of the large gymnasium doors, pushing it open. “No offense, Jordan. But why do you give a damn?”
“Are you kidding me?” He frowns, his strides stiff, abrupt. Yeah, he’s offended. “Yeah, bruh, you’re my attorney, but you’re also my friend. And I know you and Valerie had some kind of quid quo pro arrangement going on that, personally? Was fifty shades of fucked up, but I hate to see you used. And ol’ girl was using you.”
“I wouldn’t paint her as the bitch in our relationship,” I say. “I was using her too.”
“Like I said, fifty shades of fucked up. But it was your shit, your arrangement. And in the end, she betrayed it. Betrayed you. She shouldn’t get another chance to do it again. Nobody should get another shot at shoving a knife in your back.”
I look at Jordan’s dark expression and wonder if that last part is as much about him as it is about me. Curious, I study him closer. I thought I knew my friend well, but maybe that’s not exactly true.
“Yeah, well, that’s over. I don’t go back once it’s over.”
Jordan absently nods, but then he draws to a halt in the middle of the emptying hall. His attention no longer on me, he stares down the long length of corridor. A smile curves a corner of his mouth.
“Huh. It’s a good thing you mean that, or else that one right there might make things a little more complicated.”
I follow his gaze, and ...damn.
My cock recognizes her the moment my eyes do.
Zora.
After a week, it’s as if I’ve been on a hunger strike. My stomach tightens damn near to the point of pain, like cramps, and only a taste of her can satiate it. Her thick hair is pulled up in a curly crown, and big golden hoops decorate her ears. A white turtleneck embraces every curve, flaunting her gorgeous breasts, and dark-green wide-legged pants hug rounded hips and long toned legs. She’s beautiful. She’s a goddess. She’s breathing and walking sex.
Part of me wants to go stand by her side, see if she’ll claim me.
The other part wants to march over there and snarl and snap at the men sniffing at the six-foot table she’s standing behind. Let them know she calledmyname as she came all overmyhand. Let all those motherfuckers staring at her like she’s a goddamn steak dinner know that she’s fuckingmine.
But that’s not true.
Her silence in the last week speaks volumes.
Doesn’t stop me from craving it to be true.
At least to the end of the year.
As if sensing my gaze on her, Zora’s head turns in our direction. I can’t see her eyes with the distance of the hall between us, but judging from the stiffening of her frame, she notices us.
“Friends.” Jordan hums, humor lacing the sound. “Are we still rocking with that story? I just need to know how I’m playing this before we go over there.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, walking down the hall. Toward Zora.
He chuckles, following behind me.
