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Sammy had been in high spirits all week—except for when he saw what she did to his spice rack—which meant they couldn’t have broken up since then. You don’t end a three-year relationship and walk around looking all hot and happy afterward.
“We were there as friends.” He’d composed himself and returned to wolfing down his curry. He continued between bites, “She and I broke up, uh, awhile ago.”
What’s “awhile”? Weeks? Months?Years?
He’d brought Jessica to Farrah’s wedding, so their breakup couldn’t have beenthatlong ago.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Olivia demanded.
He looked at her like she was crazy. “Why would I tell you?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Whywouldhe tell her? His love life had nothing to do with her. Until a week ago, they’d barely acknowledged each other when they were in the same room, much less update each other on their relationship statuses.
Olivia switched subjects. “So? Is your mom one step further to gaining a daughter-in-law?”
Sammy’s dark eyes glittered. “Fishing, Olivia?”
“You wish. Merely worried for the poor woman who might have to put up with your appalling organizational skills.”
“I have other talents that would make that a non-issue, as you well know,” he said silkily.
A host of unwanted erotic images invaded Olivia’s mind.Strong hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her from behind. Her legs wrapped around his waist as they fucked against a wall. Waves of bliss punctuated by throaty screams of pleasure.
Olivia’s body reacted instantly. Her nipples puckered, her thighs clenched, and moisture pooled between her legs, warm and honeyed.
She was so stunned by the unexpected onslaught of arousal that she couldn’t come up with a response.
“To answer your question, no, Lucy and I are not rekindling our relationship,” Sammy said. “We’re exes for a reason.”
His words cooled her ardor faster than a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.
Olivia forced a smile, her skin feeling too tight for her body. “True. It’s a bad idea to get involved with exes again.”
“Exactly.” Sammy played with his chopsticks while keeping his gaze locked on Olivia. “How are things with you and Stripper Boy? Have another fun date on the town planned?”
Stripper—oh. Wesley.
She hadn’t heard from him since she’d ditched him at Ishikawa, thank God.
“He’s not my type.” Olivia shrugged. “But I have other dates planned.”
The only upcoming date she had was with her trusty vibrator, but he didn’t need to know that. Pride prevented her from telling the truth: that her string of mediocre dates over the past few years was more unsatisfying than not dating at all. Dating in New York had sucked—gorgeous, successful people abounded, but they were all too busy, too flakey, and/or too self-absorbed to commit to a real relationship—and while single men outnumbered single women in San Francisco, quality counted more than quantity.
Something dark flickered in Sammy’s eyes. “I’m sure you do. Let me guess—all Ivy League-educated, upwardly mobile finance types you can bring home to mom?”
Olivia suppressed a flinch. “You know my type,” she said with forced lightness.
His smile was devoid of humor. “That I do.”
They ate the rest of their meal in silence.
Olivia poked at her food, trying to relish what was objectively a great dinner, but it was too late. She’d lost her appetite.
