“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” He chuckles, a wry twist to his lips. “I mean, I’m sorry it was messy, but not that I’m divorced. My point is I’m not looking for anything serious—”
“And I’m not looking for anything sexual,” I remind him.
“Then I guess that leaves us with a whole summer to be friends. It sounds like neither of us need complicated. We could keep it simple and see where it goes.”
The word “friends” dangles between us like a taunt, a dare. A bluff. That kiss we shared, the heat in his eyes, the spark when we touch make “friendship” an impossible lie. There’s something about this man. Simple is the last thing I think when I see him, but he’s right. Simple is what we both need.
When I don’t answer, he reaches to push the hair behind my ear, tracing my studs, and I shudder.
Simple, my ass.
4
Kenan
When Bridget and I met in college, I thought her capriciousness, her carefree approach to life would balance me out. Even then I wasn’t exactly the life of the party. Most guys on the team had two priorities: getting drafted and getting laid.
Okay. So getting laid was high on my list, too.
But even though I was a student athlete there on scholarship, I never thought I’d end up drafted into the league. My life was like Google Maps. Re-routing every so often, telling me there was a quicker or more efficient way, a better path until my future was completely unrecognizable. I was nowhere near the law student my father hoped I would be, and I wasn’t destined to be a judge like him. Things kept changing, and as flighty as Bridget could be, she was a constant. Maybe I needed that then.
Now I sit across from her in the lobby of our family counselor’s office and wonder what the hell I was thinking when I married her. She was a constant, alright. Constantly testing me. Constantly making life difficult. Ultimately humiliating me. Betraying me.
“They should be out soon,” she says, glancing at her Cartier watch, a gift from me for our fifth wedding anniversary. The diamonds, pure and priceless, mock me—mock what I tried to create with her. She also still wears her wedding ring, which annoys the hell out of me.
“Yeah.” I glance at my watch, too. One JP asked me to try out. Thinking about JP inevitably leads me to thinking about Lotus and our odd, candid conversation under the stars. She’d jokingly told everyone she was going to blow my mind before she kissed me.
She did.
She tasted wild and sweet like some exotic spice. A wildflower. The taste, her scent may have faded, but the memory hasn’t, and I want it again.
Blow my mind again, Lotus.
I should be cautious. Maybe once I thought the woman sitting across from me was a wildflower, but she turned out to be a Venus flytrap.
Bridget answers her phone on the first ring, says a few words, and then sends me a triumphant grin.