would only make things even more awkward if she told him how she felt. And maybe, quite possibly, she was going to end up crushed at the end of this.
But there was only one way to find out.
Why on earth would I ever allow someone to be able to hurt me that way again?
Because you find someone who’s worth facing your deepest fears for.
Indeed she had.
Thirty-two
THE DRESS WAS killing him.
Not only did Victoria look incredible in it—the cream color showing off her silky, golden skin—but it looked like the kind of dress a woman would wear on a date. And he didn’t want to think about Victoria going on dates, because that got him wondering, again, where she’d been on Friday night. Or more important, who she’d been with.
His jaw tightened every time he thought about another man touching her. But what bothered him even more—if she had, in fact, been with another guy—was the fact that she’d spent the night. Because not once, during the entire time Ford had been sleeping with her, had she done that with him. Sure, she’d stayed late, but after they’d had sex every which way and were both so spent they could barely move, inevitably she’d gotten dressed and had made some excuse about sleeping better in her own bed. And he hadn’t pushed back, because on some level it made sense—her bed was only ten feet away, after all—and also because, at the time, he’d figured that her not sticking around until morning would make everything less complicated in the long run.
Yet here they were, nevertheless. With her wearing a dress that some other guy might be unzipping later tonight and Ford gripping the sink so tight at the mere thought, he was lucky he didn’t dent the stainless steel.
Still, he kept his tone light. “So, you did it, Ms. Slade. You brought your first family together.”
“We did it,” she said.
“Right.” They had made a good team, and the proof of that was in the next room over. But that was done, and now, apparently, the only thing that he and Victoria did together was make small talk. And while he could fake his way through a short conversation as they passed each other in the hallway, or at the mailboxes, he had a feeling that if he stayed in this kitchen with her for much longer, he would say something he’d regret.
Their eyes met across the room.
Did you moan his name the way you used to moan mine?
Yep. Something like that.
“So, it seems like everything’s going well here.” He pushed off from the sink, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Since you guys don’t need me, I think I’ll head out.”
Victoria pulled back in surprise. “You’re leaving?”
He shrugged this off. “You’ve got this covered, Slade. I’m not sure why Nicole even asked me to be here in the first place.”
She took a step toward him. “But . . . I was thinking we could share a cab home together.”
Good for her, that she wasn’t fazed by all this polite small-talk. But the idea of sitting next to her in a car for twenty minutes, pretending that everything was just peachy, held zero fucking appeal for him.
So he lied.
“Actually, I’m not going home. I have plans.”
“Plans. Oh.” For a moment it looked like Victoria was going to say more, but then she bit her lip and fell silent.
Right.
Moving past her, he walked into the living room and smiled at Peter and Melanie, both of whom seemed surprised by his unexpected appearance. “Peter. Melanie. Good to see you again. Don’t mind me, I’m just on my way out.”
“You’re going?” Nicole stood up from the couch, holding Zoe, and shot a look at Victoria, who’d just come out of the kitchen.
“I think you all can manage without me,” he said, with a light chuckle to underscore the fact that he was fine—of course he was—everything was cool, he just had places to be.
Then he opened the door and left, taking the stairs down and exhaling as soon as he got outside. He ran a hand over his mouth as he walked along the sidewalk in the direction of his parked car, and made it almost a block before he heard someone call him.
“Ford.”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Victoria following him, walking briskly in her dress and heels and carrying a small leather purse. The sight pissed him off, because whatever this was, whatever she wanted to talk about—his semi-terse behavior, or perhaps