“Rebound sex?” I ask dubiously.
She leans forward, making sure I have her full attention. “Hot, sweaty and dirty rebound sex. Find the hottest guy you can,” her eyes travel to the balcony next door. “And rock his fucking world, or have him rock yours for that matter.”
She sits back like this is a done deal. Decision made. If only I could get on board.
It’s been a full week since the ‘affair,’ and I’ve never been happier to relish in the fact that it’s Friday night. Work has been a bitch since one of the partners in my firm took on a pro-bono case. He’s never had much interest in charitable acts of kindness in the past, but for some strange reason Thomas Feeley has developed a keen interest in this orphaned little girl. It’s a small office, but with so much of his time being spent on that case, I’ve had to pick up the slack.
My neighborly eye candy has been doing wonders to wedge Matt out of my mind. Every morning Damian appears with his coffee mug, usually something smutty, and my morning view, which used to be the ocean is now an eight pack. I can think of worse things to wake up to.
I’m settled in for a marathon night of American Ninja Warrior episodes. Nothing is going to stop me from finding out who makes it to the finals.
Planted on my comfy white sofa, Chardonnay and frozen pizza in hand, I’m about to press play when someone knocks on my front door. If this is Paige or Mia, I’m not letting them in. I’ve waited all week to see what happens on tonight’s episode. Looking through the peephole, my breath halts and I instantly start to sweat as my heart ratchets it up a notch. This is crazy.
“What are you doing here?” I’m both angry and confused, having no idea why Matt Bryson would be standing on my front porch, looking sinfully sexy, as I swing the door open wide.
He smiles, his straight white teeth brilliantly flashing at me, his dark blue eyes intense as he takes a step inside my apartment. “I needed to see you.” He removes his hands from the pockets of his dark gray trousers and steps closer. I back up, my heart in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry and my mind wondering why a married man would need to see me. Why a married man who somehow still holds a piece of my heart is slowly and gently closing the door behind him.
He locks it.
Shit.
“I tried to call you all week, but you never picked up. I need to talk to you,” he says, his voice smooth and rich, his heated gaze never straying from my own.
I’m drawn to him, too drawn, my mind erasing every reason I have for hating his guts, every minute I spent wondering where he was and what he was doing the past five years flies out the window. My body completely betrays me, reacting to his presence.
“Stop!” I throw my hands out. “You can’t come any further.”
His lip curls up on one side and . . . damn . . . he’s adorable. I scan him from head to toe. He’s tall, solid, not a body builder, but a swimmer with a broad chest and chiseled muscles that are visible through his light blue button down. His shirt is partially open where he’s taken off his tie, and taut smooth skin is peeking through the triangle at the top. The contrast between his dark hair and blue eyes makes my stomach flutter. His nose is slightly longer than it should be, but it complements his strong jaw and firm lips. He’s brilliant and it shows, intellect dancing in those sapphire blue eyes.
He’s married, I remind myself. But so far, he’s beating me in the battle to keep him at an arm’s length. Mentally I don’t want him here, but my body recognizes what we once had, what we so recently shared, and right now, my body is craving more.
“Were you always a two-timer? Did you cheat on me?”
He stills, his smile fading as he shakes his head, and sympathy swims in his pretty blue eyes. “No. Never.”
Taking a step closer, I take one back.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I should have told you about Helen.” Not making another move in my direction, he searches my eyes, looking for some clue that I forgive him. But all I can focus on is the name Helen.
The wife has a name. The woman who gave him that wedding ring, the ring I accidentally stumbled upon in the bathroom Saturday morning, revealing that he wasn’t as available as he’d appeared. Suddenly, she’s not a distant being, but a real living breathing person, standing between me and the man I once thought was going to be my husband. The man I didn’t think I could ever live without.
It feels like I may faint, my head is spinning, my breathing jagged and uneven, and before I have a chance to turn and sit on my sofa, Matt has pulled me close, my cheek resting against his solid chest, his strong arms wrapping around me, holding me against his beating heart.
Somewhere, I find my voice. “Matt, you left me.”
“I did. And now, I’m back.” He releases his hold on my body and cups my face in the palms of his hands.
“Why?”
He looks at me in confusion.
“Why are you back? Why were you here last weekend if you’re married?”
I feel him stiffen, and I search his eyes. The sympathy swimming there gives me my answer. “You didn’t come back for me did you?”
He takes a deep breath and releases his hold on my face. “Today, yes.”
Pushing him away, I level a gaze at him. “I’m not talking about today! Last weekend, were you in town for me or not?”
No hesitation. “No. I was here for business. It was late, and I became unusually nostalgic. You were at Joe’s and every feeling I’ve tried to deny for the past five years came rushing back. I saw you sitting with Mia and Paige, just like old times, and I knew I royally fucked my life up.”
God, I feel sick. How many times has he been back to Santa Barbara and never bothered to find me?
“Addison,” he whispers. “Look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Addison—”
“You’re married,” I lash out.
A slight tic in his jaw and a hardening of his eyes lets me know I’ve hit a sore spot. “A slight technicality. One I plan to remedy.”
“She’s your wife. How can you talk about her like that?” I ask in disgust.
“Because I don’t love my wife. I love you, Addison. I’ve always loved you.”
One step is all it takes for him to be in front of me. He kisses me. His hands gently cup my cheeks, and my argument falls off my tongue. It’s sweet and tender and nothing like the ravenous way we attacked each other last Friday night.
Pulling slightly away, his eyes are filled with hope, and his thumbs make a constant sweeping motion along my skin. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you I was married. I never should have put you in that position.” He kisses me again, soft and tender, his lips barely grazing mine. “But Addy, I don’t regret last Friday night. I don’t regret coming here today, and I plan on fighting for you, finally fighting for us.” He clears his throat, and I find myself pushing Helen to the back of my mind as I focus on every word he says, every intonation in his voice, his devastating smile, his endless blue eyes, trying to remember a man who once consumed my every waking thought, a man who sometimes comes to me in my dreams as well.
“I filed for divorce, Addison.”
My heart takes a leap out of my chest, not sure where it wants to land. I don’t trust this man standing in front of me, and I don’t know if he can ever earn that trust again, but this admission does something to my insides, something it shouldn’t. I should be running for the nearest exit. Reminding myself of the lonely black hole I found myself in these past five years, but instead, I desperately need to hear more, I want him to still crave me.
I begin to shake my head, I shouldn’t want this, it’s not healthy . . . not going to end well for me.
He pulls me up against his chest, his arms folding me into his body. “Addison, I want you back.” Leaning in to kiss me, I step away, out of his embrace, evading the touch of his lips that my body desires.