Page 14 of Him Too
“Do it.”
The door slammed behind her, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. I stared at it for a long moment before grabbing my phone. My thumb hovered over Jordin’s name, but I opened a browser instead.
It didn’t take long to find it. A grainy paparazzi shot of her on a sun lounger in Miami, the sun making her skin glow. She was laughing, a real, unforced laugh frozen in time. And next to her washim. Ciarán. Shirtless, a drink in his hand, his focus entirely on her like she was the only thing in his universe.
I told you he wanted you,I thought, the memory a fresh burn.You said you didn’t care. You said you only wanted me.
The ugly, insidious thought slithered into my brain:Was she fucking him all along?
My grip on the phone turned white-knuckled. No. Jordin wasn’t that woman. But then, I wasn’t supposed to be the man who cheated on his wife, either.
I stood so abruptly the phone clattered to the desk. My gaze swept the room, landing on the framed photos of us—the ones I couldn’t bring myself to take down.
I moved before I could think. My arm swept across the shelf, sending glass and memories crashing to the floor. The sound wasn’t enough. I snatched the stack of divorce papers and threw them like confetti. The lamp followed, then the penholder, anything I could get my hands on, until the office was a testament to my rage.
“Fuck!” I roared, my chest heaving.
I stood amidst the wreckage, nothing left to break. I thought about hurling my chair through the window, but the fight drained out of me as suddenly as it had come. I sank into it instead, my head in my hands, too exhausted for the tears that had already been spent.
Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe I was a fool.
But I wasn’t signing those papers. I wasn’t giving Jordin up.
Not yet. Not ever. She was mine, even if she didn’t want to be.
Ten-Ciarán
“So, when are you going to start cooking dinner?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, watching her scribble something down in her notebook.
Jordin glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “Who said I was cooking?” She was wearing this body-hugging dress with cut-outs in the back. She had this lil' roll I wanted to lick peeking out.
I shrugged, smirking. “I overheard you telling Andrew you were craving shrimp and grits earlier. You ain’t about to act like you didn’t mean to cook them.” Andrew was the sound guy; I didn’t like his ass anymore, even though he’d been with me for years. He was always in Jordin’s face.
Her head snapped up, and she gave me that look. The one that said I was on her last nerve, but she still found me amusing. “I thought I was your guest, not your personal chef. You’re supposed to be taking care of me.”
“You are my guest, and Iamtaking care of you mentally, baby,” I stood up, slowly walking toward her. “But you’ve been cooking every night since you got here, spoiling me. How am I supposed to go back to Uber Eats now?”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t move when I stepped into her space. She actually turned to face me. Her scent hit me. It was new. Something warm and sweet that clung to her skin, made me wanna lean in closer.
“If you’re spoiled,” she muttered, shaking her head, “that’s not my fault.”
“It is, though.” I let my hand graze her exposed skin. Just a touch. Soft and intentional. “We both know you like taking care of me. Admit it.”
She shifted back a step, her eyes narrowing at me. “Ciarán, are you trying to convince me to cook for you, or are you trying to seduce me?”
“Why can’t it be both?” I asked, taking another step forward, invading her space again.
Her laugh was low and disbelieving. “You’re full of shit.”
“I’m serious.”
Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something, but instead, she moved back again. Her hands came up, blocking me.
“I’m still married, you know,” she reminded me, her voice firm now.
I let out a slow breath, my eyes never leaving hers. “I don’t care. I’d share you if I had to. You’re the type of woman that’s worth it. But your husband fucked up, so I don’t even have to.”
She stepped back again and frowned.