Return of the Jerk (Sweet Life in Seattle, Book 2) (2 page)

It’s never shifted back.

“Let’s talk inside,” Road says.

“I haven’t seen you in five years.”

He reaches down and takes the keys from her hands, somehow figuring out which one opens the main entrance. “Come on.” Road holds the door open for her, and Blair has no choice but to go over. He hands her keys back and follows her inside.

When they’re in the elevator, Blair tries to pull herself together.
I can’t believe this is happening
. She takes a deep breath, trying to recover from the shock. Her eyes find Road. He isn’t looking at her, but watching the floors light up.

“How did you know where I live?” she asks, just before the elevator arrives at her floor.

“Tori gave me your address.”

Blair decides she’s going to murder Tori. Right after she finds a new home for all Tori’s animals.

Once they’re inside Blair’s condo, Road tosses his backpack down like he owns the place and turns toward her. “Need to take a shower and crash. Want to show me the way, babe?”

“Look, you can’t stay here!” Blair tries to quell her rising panic. “You need to find someplace else. Just call Tori, or Kiki, or even your mom.”

The kitchen and living area in her condo are all one open space. Her living room is tidy and comfortable with a white couch and wingback chair, a flat-screen television on one wall above a gas fireplace. She loves her condo, loves the perfection of it. It’s small, but always clean, with everything where it’s supposed to be. Her peaceful sanctuary. On the wall opposite the television are floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books flawlessly organized by the Dewey Decimal System, which Blair prefers over the Library of Congress Classification. She’s heard all the arguments and still considers LOC inferior to the purity of Dewey.

Books and baking. The two loves of Blair’s life. There used to be three, but she’s over Road.

So
over him.

Standing there, he takes this all in before walking over to her kitchen’s island, pulling out a white wooden chair to sit down. His intelligent green eyes take her in next, traveling the length of her body. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be under Road’s laser focus and she squirms a little. His eyes go back to her face.

“You look good, princess.”

Blair knows she doesn’t. She’s sweaty from her run. It figures the first time she sees Road again she’s wearing track pants and no makeup.

“Can’t stay with Tori and her menagerie,” Road tells her, yawning. “I’ll never get any sleep. Kiki’s all frantic planning her wedding. And my mom . . .” Road just shakes his head. He doesn’t have to say anything more. Blair already knows his mom’s house is full of people partying around the clock.

“What about all your cousins or friends? There must be
someone
.”

He closes his eyes for a long moment. She studies his face and notices the dark shadows under his eyes, the strain around his mouth. Road does look tired. Despite that, he’s as appealing as ever. What’s more, she recognizes that quivery sensation in her stomach he’s always evoked.

“Babe,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m too exhausted to have this conversation right now. Shower. Sleep. Then we’ll talk.” He unfolds himself from the chair, grabs his backpack and heads down the hall without another word.

A few moments later, Blair hears the shower running.
The nerve of him!
She immediately grabs her phone and texts Tori.

Road is here. You are a dead woman.

Blair is pacing her small kitchen, trying to calm herself, when her phone chirps.

He’s there?!
Tori texts back.

Yes. Why did you give him my address?

He asked. How is he?

Blair grits her teeth.
Did you hear me? You. Are. Dead.
And then adds,
He’s fine. Tired.

Don’t be angry. I didn’t know he was coming to you.

I don’t want him to stay here. He has to go!

I’m sure it’s only temporary.

It better be.

Come on, you owe him this much.

And there it is.

Blair stares at that text for a long moment. Bites her lip. Tori is the only person in the world who knows the truth about her marriage to Road. Even Road doesn’t know the whole truth.

A couple days.
She texts Tori.
That’s all he can stay.

Tell him to call me!

Blair puts her phone down, taking a deep breath as she tries to figure out how she’s going to handle this. She’s surprised he doesn’t have a woman lined up somewhere, some girlfriend to take him in. In truth, Road could walk into any bar in the city and women would be tripping over themselves to take him home.

She hears the shower go off. He was never one for long showers. All the details about him are coming back now, the running list she always kept of his likes and dislikes. His favorite food is Mexican, his favorite dessert carrot cake. Road is one of the few people she’s met who doesn’t like chocolate. She studied him for years, greedily cataloging every habit and nuance, hoping for the day when he’d finally notice her.

That day never came.

Blair snorts softly.
I probably know him better than he knows himself.

By the time he comes out of the bathroom, Blair is in the kitchen making herself a latte. She turns but freezes when she sees him.

Road is standing by the island, naked except for the white towel wrapped around his waist. His blond hair is wet and parted down the center. He’s studying his phone again, and Blair can’t pull her eyes away from all that lean, hard muscle. Road looks like a surfer taking a break from the waves, except he isn’t tan. Whatever he’s been doing these past five years, it hasn’t been sitting around eating candy. He’s in phenomenal shape.

“Babe.”

Blair’s eyes flash to his face. Embarrassed to have been caught staring at his body, she gives him a haughty look. “My name is Blair. Not ‘babe,’ not ‘princess.’ Blair. Got it?”

A smile plays around his mouth. “Was just going to ask if you have a washer and dryer I could use for my clothes.”

She sniffs haughtily. “There’s a washer and dryer in the closet next to my bedroom.”

“Thanks.”

Blair goes back to making coffee, grinding the beans then loading the espresso machine. After making a few shots, she looks up and startles. Road is standing right behind her.

He’s leaning against the counter, still wearing the towel.

“I assume you want coffee?” she asks, not looking at him.

“Sure.”

“Do you want it iced or hot?”

“Whatever you’re having is good.”

She reaches into the cabinet next to him to get a couple of glasses down. His freshly showered skin smells like the citrus body wash she keeps in her bath. There’s something else, though, the delicious scent that’s all his own. She’d recognize it anywhere—the smoky hint of autumn leaves burning.

Ohmigod.

That smell. It goes straight to her head like a drug. Like crack cocaine. She’s dizzy as all the emotions she once felt for Road come crashing over her. Blair’s hands shake and she tries to hide it, quickly turning away from him.

She grits her teeth.
I’ve moved on. I’m not a lovesick idiot anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.

Luckily, his eyes aren’t on her, but studying his phone as he thumbs in something. She makes an iced latte for each of them and nearly adds sugar to his because she remembers that’s how he takes it, but stops herself.

“Here,” she says, shoving his coffee toward him on the counter.

“Thanks.” He puts his phone down and picks up his latte.

She watches him take a drink. “There’s a sugar bowl next to the espresso machine.”

“Don’t need it.”

She almost corrects him. Since when doesn’t Road take sugar in his coffee? But she realizes in time how stupid she’d sound.

“Thank you, Blair.”

She turns her head to look out the kitchen window at the apartment building across the street. “It’s just a latte.”

“No, I mean thank you for letting me invade your space like this.”

Blair struggles not to be rude. “Tori wants you to call her.”

“Will do.”

Neither of them speaks for a few seconds and finally Blair can’t resist. “Why did you come here?”

He watches her, but doesn’t reply.

“I’m sure there are plenty of women you could stay with in Seattle.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Don’t need that kind of complication right now.”

Blair stares down into her milky drink.
Because, of course, I’m not a complication.
Suddenly, she’s pissed. Seriously pissed.
How dare he show up here after all this time! What gall!

“And besides,” he puts his glass on the counter, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I’m still your husband.”

She scoffs. “No, you’re not.”
And you never really were.

“The law says otherwise.”

Blair glares at him.

“Why is it you never filed for divorce?” He studies her curiously. “All these years, I kept waiting for papers to arrive, but they never did.”

“How could I? I had no idea where you were! One day, you were gone, and all I knew was you were somewhere in Asia.”

Road looks over her shoulder, taking in her condo again, and it’s like he’s not even listening.

She tries hard not to stare at his body, though it’s difficult when he’s standing in front of her in nothing but a towel. Without thinking, she starts cataloging his tattoos. The ship in a bottle on his upper right arm. The black tribal arm band on his left bicep. He has some new ones, she notices. There’s some kind of writing—Sanskrit, she guesses—above his heart. Some Chinese characters running down his side. She imagines running her fingers over them, touching his smooth skin.

Blair closes her eyes.

“Why don’t you put some clothes on?” she says, annoyed that she still feels any desire for him.

His green eyes flash back to her. “What’s the problem? There’s nothing here you haven’t seen before.”

Guilt washes over her, but she pushes it aside.
We should be even. He left me without a backward glance, so we’re even.
But she knows that isn’t true.

“Humor me and put some clothes on.”

“Can’t. They’re all in the wash.”

She lets out her breath.

One night. That’s all they ever had together. The only time she ever saw Road without the towel, without anything. For one night, he was finally hers, and she took it greedily.

But that one night ruined everything.

“YOU’D MAKE A
great Buddhist.” Road is drinking his iced coffee as he studies all the lists she has neatly stuck to her refrigerator.

“Why is that?”

“All your lists.” He leans closer to read some of them, and she can hear him chuckling. “You really made a list of the top five things you’d save if your condo catches fire?”

“I like to be prepared,” Blair mutters.

“Who’s Mr. Maurice?”

“My cat.”

Road turns to her and is looking around. “You have a cat?”

“Yes, I do. He’s not friendly with strangers, though.”

“What the hell kind of name is Mr. Maurice?”

“A perfectly good name.”

Road shakes his head and goes back to reading the list. “Jimmy Choos? What’s that? Another cat?”

“Shoes.”

“Seriously? The second thing you’d save in a fire is a pair of shoes?”

“They’re champagne crystal, peep-toe platform pumps.”

“Ah, course. That explains everything.”

What she doesn’t mention is that they cost a fortune—more than her monthly mortgage. She bought them as a gift to herself after their bakery, La Dolce Vita, had its one year anniversary. She works hard and those shoes were a reward. A symbol.

As he’s grinning at her list, she studies Road’s profile. There’s a small bump on the bridge of his nose from where he broke it as a kid, falling off his bike, and it gives him a slightly hawkish appearance from the side. It doesn’t detract from his good looks, though. In a way, it adds to them, since he’d be almost too pretty otherwise. Her eyes drift lower to the towel then up again. His back has more new ink, but she can’t tell what it is.

“Hermes scarves?” Road looks over at her. “Scarves?”