Page 36 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
I turn to face him, and the visceral punch to my system is staggering. His dark hair is in his signature messy disarray. His eyes are brown and unrelenting as they stare into mine. And then there’s that mouth of his. One side is curled in a cocky, you-know-you-still-want-me smirk.
It feels like months since I’ve seen him—smelled his cologne, heard the rumble of his voice as I lay my head on his chest, get that nod that he used to give me from the stage to let me know he knew I was there. At the same time, it feels just like yesterday—the hurt, the anger, and the disbelief all like a fresh wound bleeding inside me.
“How’s Tara?” It’s my only defense against the tumultuous feelings rioting around inside me.
He half laughs, half smirks. “I told you, there wasn’t anything there.”
I chew my tongue as I stare at him. Disgusted. Hurt. Confounded. “That’s comforting. So you threw away a two-year relationship with me for something where there wasn’t anything there?”
“That’s not what I meant. You know how it goes—”
“Actually, I don’t know. How does it go?”
His eyes harden at being questioned. At not having an answer on the ready. “C’mon, babe.”
“If she was nothing, then the picture in People Magazine of you two at Starbucks was . . .?” I need to stay on the defensive because the longer he stands there, reminding me of everything that has been familiar for so long, the more my heart hurts.
And the angrier I become.
“Nothing.” He shifts his feet and folds his sunglasses to hang from the top of his shirt. “It was an old photo from an innocent lunch meeting. The tabloids recycled it.”
“Innocent, my ass.” I lift my eyebrows. “And the Rolling Stone article?”
“You saw that?” Confidence returns to his expression in that one simple phrase.
“Yep. Sure did.” I cross my arms over my chest and rest my hip against the counter as it dawns on me that Jett thought I would read that and all would be forgiven.
“You read that part about—”
“Yep,” I reply without even knowing which part he is referring to, because it doesn’t matter. None of this does. What he did with Tara is what matters. Not his words after the fact. “Too little. Too late.”
He shifts his feet and looks around when I don’t budge on my glare. “Look at that, all the fixings for a real Italian meal. You did know I was coming, didn’t you? Ava promised she wouldn’t—”
“It isn’t for you,” I say to stop him while silently cursing my agent for letting him know my whereabouts.
“You always did like a good fight. Is that what we should do here to fix things? You yell and rage. Tell me what a cocksucker I was. Then I shout back and tell you I’m sorry and that I made a mistake but I know you still love me. Then we meet in the middle and have some of that earth-shattering sex I know you like to have when we make up.”
I remember that sex all too well. The odd places we’d find ourselves with our clothes pulled up and shoved down, our breaths heaving, our anger spent into passion.
Putting my hands on my hips, I steel myself against the memories that the hurt can’t wash away with so little time. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to take you back home.”
My laugh is instantaneous and strained. “Nice try. I’m not one to be taken. Besides, there’s no home anymore. You ruined that. That one is on you.”
“C’mon, babe. Don’t be such a hard-ass. I made a mistake. I was caught. Now I’m here to apologize.”
“Seems to me like you’re only apologizing because you got caught. Dare I ask how many other times you made the same mistake and didn’t get caught? Or do I not want to know?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Oh, God. There were more women than just Tara.
“And you should leave.”
He takes a few steps toward me, that soft smile he knows always wins me over on his lips. “Let’s just stop this charade and get back to our life.”
His hands are on my hips and mine are pushing against his chest. I revolt against the familiarity of him and the natural inclination to sag into him. “It isn’t going to work this time. I put up with a lot of your shit—your ego, your need to always come first, your mood swings. What I won’t put up with is being cheated on.”
