Page 10 of Fire

Because, not too long ago, that used to be me. Constantly being dragged around like a pretty little show pony. Being introduced as the wife of Dr. Tanner Price and nothing more.

She simply nods and smiles as Edwin wraps an arm around her waist and practically drags her away.

“Lee-lee?” Tanner snorts, taking a sip of his red wine, and I realize we’re alone for the first time since he picked me up from Violet’s.

I hate the casual way he tries to strike up a conversation with me.

Like the last six months meant nothing.

Like the words he said didn’t hurt.

Like his life hasn’t changed at all.

I don’t take the bait.

An awkward silence fills the air as we stand in the corner of Edwin’s spacious living room, people watching. Edwin, or Ed Eaton as he’s known on stage, is a pretty good singer. Kind of a mix between Shawn Mendes and Niall Horan, but not nearly as hot. Maybe that’s why he’s prancing around with his fiancée as if she’s some sort of show pony. If he paid any actual attention to her, he’d notice the way she winces when she walks. Shoes too tight? Ankle injury?

Not my business…

I start to fidget. Tanner looks over at me, the annoyance clear on his face as he looks down. “Don’t pick at your nails. It’s unbecoming.”

I know. You’ve only told me a hundred times. But please. One more time should break the habit.

“I’m going to go find the restroom,” I tell Tanner the moment I see one of his other douchey friends coming toward us.

I don’t give him a chance to reply. If I have to be present for one more bro hug with another guy he knows from college, I’ll scream. Or stand there while one of them looks at meinappropriately and then says something like, “It’s so weird that we all went to school and never knew each other.”

The moment I step into the hallway, I let out an audible sigh of relief when I find myself alone. I should never have agreed to this. I hated going to events like this when we were married, and I like them even less now. And okay, my sister is right. A divorce means not having to do shit like this anymore, no matter what family you married into.

Deciding to carry through with this whole bathroom farce, I continue down the hall. At the very least, I can check my makeup. That will take a few minutes. Grabbing a drink will take a few more, and then only another couple of hours of mind-numbing conversation to go.

Fuck my life.

The massive hallway is a tribute to Edwin and his accomplishments. Awards, magazine covers, and photos with famous friends decorate the walls. I can’t blame him for feeling proud. He’s achieved a lot at his age, but that huge painting of himself? That seems a bit excessive, and it distracts me because while I’m looking at it, I don’t notice the door opening to my left.

Or the man who is stepping out.

I crash right into him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” I step back just in time to look up and…

His familiar blue eyes travel down and then back up again, pausing on my legs and the curve of my breasts. When he finally meets my gaze, I notice the recognition and the surprise.

“Cupid?”

There’s only one person in the world who’s ever called me that. The nickname brings back a flood of memories: the smell of library books and the sound of his deep, rich laugh.

The anger when he left without so much as a goodbye or a thank you.

It’s him.

“Jimi,” I reply, knowing he hates it when I call him that almost as much as I secretly love it when he calls me Cupid.

“Your last name is Valentine? Like Cupid?” he asks.

“No, like the saint, you dumbass.” I fight back a smile.

“Saint doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.” He leans back in his chair, crossing one foot casually over the other, and gives me an appraising look. I nervously push my glasses up under the weight of his stare. “Though you do look very…pure. I could help you with that, you know? As a thank you for tutoring me.”