When Kirk and I first moved into the house, I imagined kids rolling around and laughing in that thick, green grass. A bite of agony spasms my chest. I may not miss my ex-husband, but I do miss the hopes and plans of my previous life. I exhale hard, dispersing those unwanted thoughts.
"My niece, Callie, would have a field day out here.” He’s standing way too close, looking right at me. His own smile curves his lips. This one isn’t brash or conceited. It’s genuine. Soft. And very counterproductive to the walls I’m trying to build against him. “Do you mind if I bring her by sometime?”
I blink at the question and take a step back. It’s definitely not something I’d ever expected this man to say.
“Not at all,” I tell him. “There’s lots of room to play. The tree swing is broken, though.”
That smile is in his voice again, wrapping around his words. "It should be an easy fix. I'll take care of it.”
I nod and turn back around.
He's standing right there, inches from me.
I dare to glance up into his dark eyes. Again, his male beauty strikes me like a blow. I mean, he's alarmingly pretty.
I see something brewing in his intrusive eyes. He’s going to ask about my marriage. About Kirk. About my divorce from his best friend.
If he asks, I’m prepared to tell him what a shithead he has for a friend.
I can almost see the questions at the tip of his tongue…
Then, he looks away without a word.
Of course he does. Because Jude Kingston only thinks about himself. He doesn’t care about some lonely, moneyless divorcée he used to know way back when.
Besides, I’m sure Kirk already gave his friend his version of events. Jude probably threw a whole Mardi Gras-style parade when he found out Kirk left me. Beads, boobs, the whole nine yards. I bet they both had a good laugh at me and the pitiful mess of a life I have now.
The thought stings sharper than it should.
Screw them.
Feeling oafish, I drop my gaze from his in search of something else to focus on but now, my attention is on his mouth. His plush, inviting mouth.
Averting my eyes again, I find myself staring at his chest. I silently consider taking up rock-climbing.
Oh, crap. Get it together, Iris.
Mentally, I forbid my gaze from dipping any lower. Because while I’m pretty sure that in my periphery, I can make out a subtle imprint at the crotch of his gray sweats, there’s no way I’m getting caught ‘sizing up’ this man’s package. My dignity is on the line, after all.
When Kirk moved out, I purposely limited my football watching. Years of being forced to religiously sit through Sports Center, just so my ex-husband could complain about not being drafted to the big leagues sort of soured me on the game of football after he left.
But if I hadn’t steered clear of the sports networks, I wouldn’t be so stunned right now by how remarkably Jude grew into a man.
I internally kick myself for ogling him. This man was the primary reason that Kirk was such a pisspoor boyfriend back in college. Jude was the worst kind of influence and Kirk was all too eager to serve as wing-man to the captain of the football team. Where Jude went, Kirk followed. And usually, Jude was headed somewhere dubious. Somewhere with loose girls and free flowing alcohol.
Needless to say, Jude and I weren’t friends. We warred for Kirk’s time and attention. Sometimes I felt like he made himself an obstacle on purpose. He probably enjoyed the thought of me pining away alone while my boyfriend was running around campus like a carefree bachelor.
Again, I remind myself to put my grudge aside. The money he’s paying for renting my spare bedroom will make this crazy, crazy situation more bearable.
If I have to sleep—um, live—with the enemy for a couple weeks to catch up on my bills, then so be it.
Soon, we're back in the living room. Again, when I turn around, Jude is blocking my path, standing there, seemingly in no rush to move, examining my face, making me feel like a thing under a microscope. It’s almost as if there’s something he wants to say but he’s holding back.
Needing something to do with my hands, I focus on straightening the picture frame Jude set on the mantle a few moments ago. I have to deliberately remind myself that I’m no longer that awkward college girl who felt excluded by the cool guy. Jude always did have a way of making me feel a little unsure of myself, like I didn’t measure up. But this is the adult world. I have adult responsibilities. It’s time I act accordingly.
I clear my throat. “Upstairs?” I suggest.
He budges a half-step and another bolt of agony flashes through his expression.
He grunts, blinks, nods.
Wow—this guy is in a lot more pain than I expected.
Before my sympathy can grow roots, that carefree smirk is right back on his face. He sweeps an arm through the air. “After you.”
Then, he’s following me up the stairs, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
I find myself moving slowly so Jude doesn't feel pressured to keep up with my pace and put extra strain on his knee.
In any case, I'm the one at risk of tripping and falling flat on my face. Enemy or not, my body knows there’s a delicious man in proximity, and instantly switches to self-conscious mode. I think I feel his eyes on my enormous ass, and he's probably judging me.
I know it's silly but it's hard not to feel self-conscious. I’m guessing he only dates fashion models with butt cheeks like firm, little tangerines and here I am, looking like I stuffed a keg down the back of my pants.
When we get to the landing, Foxxy Cleopatra—Foxxy, for short—makes a guilty dash out of the hall linen closet into the bathroom. “You know you’re not allowed in
