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“Uh, not exactly. Look for the Aston Martin,” she says. “I think it has tinted windows, but I can’t be sure.”
An Aston Martin? My brows shoot up. I’m not good with cars, but I’m almost positive her husband doesn’t drive one of those. I thought he drove an Audi.
“Is Kova having a midlife crisis before the munchkin is born that he had to get himself a boujee car?”
She chuckles. “He’s got more grays now, that’s for sure.”
Headlights shine in my direction. The sports car jerks forward like it’s been shifted into another gear. The low engine revs as the car zips toward me. I squint, trying to see if it’s Kova. I can’t tell behind the glare of the windshield if it’s him, but an Aston Martin is not a common car. I step forward and raise my arm in the air. He notices.
“Nice car. I can’t see him driving it, but whatever floats your boat.” I shrug.
Adrianna delays her response as the car draws closer.
“It’s not Kova.”
A chill zips down my spine and my pulse hammers away in my neck. The way she softly says my name, like it’s an apology, scares me.
“Did you get me an Uber?” I ask.
“Not exactly.”
I frown. “Who is it?”
Dread forms in my gut. My lips part when it hits me.
I already know her answer before she says it.
The boujee car comes to a stop in front of me, and I get a glimpse of the driver. He doesn’t have little dick energy. Far from it. His balls hang too low for that. I’ve seen them. I’ve played with them.
Xavier’s head dips forward. Our gazes meet and I freeze. I can’t move.
“Please don’t be mad at me…” Adrianna’s voice fades away as I stand in stunned silence. I grip the luggage handle tighter in my palm and pull it closer.
“I could never be mad at you,” I say.
I’m not mad. I’m not sure what I am other than frozen in time.
The driver’s door opens. I mumble unintelligibly into the phone, telling Adrianna that I’ll see her soon, then shove it into my purse.
Xavier steps out and meets my gaze over the hood of his car. A cold sweat works over me. The door slams shut. He glances briefly at me, then looks away to round the rear end of the car. He feels with his hand to pop the trunk while avoiding my stare. His dirty blond hair is slicked back and the scar on his eyebrow sticks out like a sore thumb still. I remember when he got it. I wasn’t there, but it was shortly after we separated for good. His winning streak broke the next day and then it was a downhill spiral after that. I’d heard Xavier had entered fights just to get the shit beat out of him. That didn’t surprise me.
He shifts some stuff around in the trunk like he’s shoving things. The collar of his crisp lavender shirt is unbuttoned and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. My gaze takes in the new tattoo that fans out across his neck. I get lost in the feathers of ink.
The last time we spoke was at my father’s birthday celebration. Xavier told me he couldn’t stomach seeing another man put his hands on me. We were chest to chest, swaying to the music, when he told me how he resented me for the way I made him feel, that he couldn’t control his jealousy when it came to me. I relish the fact he couldn’t meet my gaze when he said how beautiful I looked. It meant it bothered him because it was true.
I chose not to bring a date to the party, and I had one dance with a guest. Some faceless guy who doesn’t matter. It was completely platonic, but not to Xavier. It made him edgy. Xavier saw the guy as a threat and made sure any dancing thereafter was with him. He was like a dog in heat that didn’t stray far. He couldn’t make it through one song without telling me how toxic I was or how I made his blood boil. He’d pull me close, but I went willingly. His fingers would dig into the thin satin material of my Sabina Musayev cocktail dress and his erection would nestle between the center of my hips. No one could see he had a hard dick every time. Xavier said my dress belonged in shreds on the floor of his hotel room. Brazen, the vodka on my lips gave me the courage I needed to tell him I was wet from thinking about how good the sex used to be between us. Because it was. No man has compared since, but I’d be damned if I told Xavier that. He growled in my ear and said he had different kinks now. I was aching for Xavier then, and I wanted him to bite any bait I threw at him. I almost said yes when he told me to come back to his hotel room once the party was over.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d never go there with him again.
Xavier isn’t a one-night stand. Maybe to someone else, but not to me. I knew deep down I couldn’t just have sex with him and walk away again. We may have been older, and things were different, but we still had unresolved issues between us that even a quick fuck would have sent me back to a place I vowed to never go again.
Right before I left for the night, alone, he said I was the same old cocktease, that I hadn’t changed.
I told him to go fuck himself like he used to.
Now I’m standing face to face with Xavier, wondering why the universe must be so cruel at times.
“Let’s go, Avery. I don’t have all fuckin’ night.”
