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“Did she say what Josiah wanted?” Ayesha asked.
He swiped a towel down over his face. “No.”
She grabbed her things, tossing her bag over her shoulder. Although she removed the cap on her water bottle, she didn’t take a drink. Instead, she played with it, flicking it back and forth, opening and closing.
Joel wiped the towel through his hair, mind straying farther and farther from the studio. Sydney slipped up like that so often, calling him “babe” or “baby” when she answered the phone, he no longer believed it was a mistake. Other times, she treated him like they’d just met, and he was the guy she wasn’t sure about—as if they weren’t exes who climbed into bed with each other more often than they probably should.
The way he saw it, they were divorced, but divorce didn’t equal “no longer in love.” He wasn’t seeing anyone, and neither was she, so his gut told him they should have been on their way to reconciliation.
Sure, the issues that separated and eventually broke them up lingered, but he’d never loved anyone except Sydney. He wouldn’t know how tolove anyone else, even if he could. Not the way he loved her. And what would be the point of pursuing anything if it would always remain lukewarm when he thrived on torrid nights, heat, and passion?
“Ayesha, do you think you could love anyone else after Curtis?” The question shot out like a torpedo, and as much as he wished it hadn’t, he had no desire to take it back.
Ayesha’s eyes opened wide. “Where’d that come from?”
“Doesn’t matter. What’s your answer?”
“None of your business.”
She headed for the door.
He crossed the room in four steps and grabbed her hand. “You can’t answer that simple of a question?”
“A simple question?” She yanked her hand out of his. “If you think that’s a simple question, then that’s even more evidence you don’t need to be asking it.”
“What is your problem? We used to be…friendlier, but ever since I got here, I’ve been trying to be nice to you, start up conversations and whatnot, and you’ve blown me off every single time. Still, I must be a glutton for punishment because I keep trying.”
“Joel,” she stared into his eyes, “maybe youarea glutton for punishment.”
He narrowed his. “Well, at least there’s a possibility for me and my ex-wife to get back together.”
He was irritated.
Sometimes, when he was irritated, he transformed intoJoel Petty.Ayesha deserved none of it; she didn’t owe him friendship, never mind a conversation, and it wasn’t her fault he couldn’t move on and continually tried to close the distance Sydney kept opening up between them.
“I wasn’t referring to you and Sydney, you jackass. I was referring to me and you, right now.” Ayesha took a step closer to him. “And if Curtis was still alive, at least he’d want me.”
He gnawed on his bottom lip.
Her eyes dared him to say more.
“I asked you a question,” he protested.
“Then you lashed out in the most juvenile and insensitive display I’ve seen since Theo was six months old.” She dragged her tongue over her top lip. “Newsflash, Joel Lattimore. Not everything’s about you. People can be going through shit that has nothing to do with you, but keep trying me if you want to. I’ll take you the fuck down. Today is not the day.”
He looked from one rust-colored eye to the next. Her boys, Theo and Josiah, had the same eyes, with slight variations between the levels of green and brown. A dark, nearly black ring circled each iris, and he wondered whether it had always been there or if it manifested when people were being a complete ass to her, knowing she didn’t deserve it.
“Know what?” He tossed the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Walk back to Gage’s.”
He left the studio, heading for the elevators.
She didn’t call after him.
When the elevator opened on the bottom floor, he walked to the car, the dry West Coast air a stark difference from the humidity blanket back in the DMV area. Then he stood in front of the gleaming emblem of a horse rearing on its hind legs, faced the front doors, and waited.
Ayesha exited less than five minutes later and stopped in front of him, their gazes once again locked tighter than a bank vault.
“Give me your bag.”
