At my snort-giggles, his hand reaches over and slips into mine, resting on my thigh. I fight back a sigh.
Today was wonderful. Jude made sure to make me feel included and the Kingstons welcomed me into their fold without hesitation. It’s a feeling that was missing in my life for so long and now that Jude has stepped on the scene, it’s like there’s a place for me no matter which corner of his life he drags me into. His family, his friends, his career. He always makes sure I fit. It’s virtually impossible to not love him when he works so hard to make me feel valued.
There’s a slight chill in the autumn air as we emerge from the car. Jude holds open the heavy door to the Frosty Pitcher and I duck inside under his arm. It feels good to get out. And it’s even better with Jude. Even something as simple as sharing a drink and yelling into each other’s ears over the loud music sounds perfect to me.
Before I can even make it to the bar, his arm is around my waist and he’s leading me to the dance floor.
“What are you doing?!” I shriek as he spins me around in time with an upbeat club anthem.
He grins that panty-wrecking grin. “You wanted to dance, no? So, we’re dancing. The sooner we get this bug out of your system, the sooner we go home.”
I let him twist and twirl me around the dance floor. I’m panting and out of breath but I don’t want to let go of these hard-earned good vibes.
As the song is winding down, a realization pops into my head.
I freeze. Brace his shoulders. Look up into his face with wide eyes. “You’re not limping!” I yell above the music.
He blinks. “Holy fuck…I’m not limping!”
There isn’t even a trace of pain in Jude’s movements, not a trace of a wince on his face. And that feels like a victory worth celebrating.
My uproarious giggles mix with the music. He joins along, the sound happy and unbridled. I feel eyes on us. The crowd is cheering us on but I don’t care who’s watching. This man has vanquished my inhibitions and I just pray they’re gone for good. Because…
I’m in love…
I thought I’d felt love before but it was nothing like this.
Right there, in the middle of the dance floor, I take his handsome face in my hands and I kiss his sexy mouth.
Life is funny sometimes. A few weeks ago, we weren’t even friends. And now, I’m in love? I’m done trying to predict the future. I think I’m just gonna live my life and see where it takes me.
When we pull apart, breathless, he stares into my face, those dark eyes of his boring into my soul. He brings his lips to my ear. “Be my girl, Iris.”
I snap back to inspect his expression. “What?”
“I want you to be with me. Be mine.” He says it like he can’t wait one more second to utter the words.
Old insecurities sprout up like poisonous hanging vines, trying to block the pathway to this thing I want so much. But not this time, not this man. This just feels too right.
My tongue darts across my lower lip. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be your girl.”
Jude kisses me again. This time softer, sweeter, slower. And when he pulls back, he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him. Gosh, I’m happy, too.
“I’ll go grab us some drinks,” he shouts above the music and gently tucks my wild hair behind my ear. “Find us a table.”
I nod, jerking my thumb back to the corner. I watch after him as he walks away. Every part of me tingles with excited energy.
We turn in different directions. I weave my way toward the darkest corner of the room and I struggle to keep myself from melting into a lovestruck ball of goo on the dirty bar floor.
But my good mood doesn’t last long. I sense a presence following behind me. The shadow lingers just long enough that I feel an eerie chill climb up my forearms. I don’t have time to question it. Someone grips my arm. Hard.
What in the ever loving fu—?
I stagger on my feet and spin around. “Kirk.”
This is the first time I’ve seen him since our divorce became final. Standing here in front of my ex-husband right now, I don’t feel sorrow or grief or heartache. I don’t feel that overwhelming sense of longing or failure that I experienced months ago. No. I just feel…disgust.
His hands definitely don’t belong on me.
“What are you doing? Stop. Let go of my arm,” I demand in my firmest voice. Sudden, unsolicited memories—him yelling, name calling and ridiculing me in those final months—hit me harder than I expected. I grit my teeth. I narrow my gaze on his face, and I swear, red tinges the corners of my vision.
There’s something off about him today. The man standing right here, gripping my wrist hard enough that I feel the bones scrape together, this man is just...off. His eyes tell me something I’m afraid to see—Kirk Bunting is unhinged.
My pulse picks up and I am truly afraid.
I take a step back. Not a smart move because now, I’m only further into the shadows, further away from help. “Kirk. Let go. You’re hurting me,” I grit, trying to pull my sore arm free. My struggle only seems to encourage him. I twist my wrist, and my arm follows, managing to only bring me closer to him, and I smell the sickly sweet liquor on his breath. It’s enough to make my stomach flip.
“I knew you were fucking him,” he spits, and I hold my breath against the hot stench. “What a slut you are. Banging my so-called friend. Is this why you couldn’t pick up your damn phone whenever I called? Too busy whoring yourself out, just to try and hold onto
