Page 120 of Booked on You
Would love to catch up over coffee and talk.
I scoff, finding this renewed interest hilarious. After everything, I can’t believe he has the audacity to make it seem like we split on amicable terms. We didn’t. He cheated. And he tried to sue for half of the royalties for a book I wrote when we were together.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say out loud.
“You’re supposed to be working.” Ezra’s voice makes me jump. He’s standing at the bottom of the deck stairs, water dripping from his hair and running down his abs.
“I am. Well, Iwas.” I try to compose myself but fail.
He climbs the stairs, leaving wet footprints on the wood as he moves toward me. He smells like the ocean and sunshine. “What’s that particular look for?”
“What look?” I ask.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ezra says.
I smile. “Oh, Jason wants to meet up with me.”
Ezra bursts into laughter. “Really? That’s very convenient, considering.”
“I thought so, too,” I admit.
He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Do you want me to meet him?”
“Hell no.” My brows furrow as a sarcastic laugh escapes my lips. “He’s the last man on this planet I want. Been there, done that, and all I got was relationship trauma.”
“Want me to tell him to fuck off, and that you’re busy falling in love?”
My heart does a little flip at the way he casually says things like that. Most men aren’t emotionally stable enough to discuss the four-letter word. Ezra owns it like love is the most natural thing in the world. I feel lucky.
“As tempting as it is to rub it in his face that I’m over him, I’ll ignore it. If I give him an inch, Jason will take a plane to see me.”
“You say that like he’s done it.”
“He has.” I glance out at the ocean, remembering what happened. “A few months before we broke up, I was at a conference in Paris. There was a photo of me having a glass of wine with a book cover model, and it was posted online. Jason got wildly jealous, so he flew there to surprise me.”
Ezra stares at me. “Did he not trust you?”
This question makes me laugh. “I asked the same question because that’s a logical response. I think he was projecting. He had been cheating at that point. You know,” I say, releasing a long breath, “I don’t think I want to talk about him anymore. Jason really doesn’t matter.”
“Agreed.” Water droplets slide down his chest, and I reach out to touch him.
Ezra’s blue eyes flutter closed when my fingertips brush against his abs. “I’d ask you to join me in the shower, but you need to writenewwords.”
“Iamwriting!” I protest.
“Really?” He leans over my shoulder, reading my screen. “Pretty sure you only wrote one new sentence since I left for my swim almost thirty minutes ago.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Okay, but I was thinking about it.”
“Uh-huh.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Write, gorgeous.”
After he disappears inside, I turn back to my laptop with a renewed sense of determination. I can do this. I only have four or five more chapters, and that’s it. In the grand scheme of the project, that’s absolutely nothing.
My fingers fly across the keyboard as Jordan’s internal monologue pours out. The push and pull between fear and desire, the vulnerability of letting someone see the broken pieces, the terrifying leap of faith that comes with sayingI love youand meaning it with your whole heart, just pours out of me. I’m writing my true feelings, all of them, without holding back. I figuratively bleed onto the page, and while sometimes it’s exhausting to dig so deep, it comes easily now, which I appreciate.
I’m so in the zone that I don’t notice the sun setting until Ezra returns, showered, and dressed in soft cotton shorts and a T-shirt that clings to his fit body.
“How’s it going?” he asks, setting a glass of wine on the table next to me. “This is for you.”
