And true to his word, the second my feet hit the dying grass of the playground, Corbin lets me go.
The loss of his warmth is immediate. A sharp, unwelcome contrast.
And for some reason, it makes my heart drop all the way to my toes.
Chapter Twelve
Corbin
This meeting is mind-numbing.
I don’t know why my dad insists on dragging us all in every Friday like we don’t have a thousand better things to do. Most of the team is already half-checked out, eyes glazing over, mentally punching out for the weekend.
I should be paying attention. I should be reviewing the numbers or nodding along like a good little employee. Instead, I’m staring at the PowerPoint from hell while my mind is miles away back at the park yesterday, back with Jules.
Susan sits across from me, arms crossed, a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t have time for whatever it is she’s trying to do.
Because the truth is? I’m in too deep.
I’ve been in too deep for years, even after the divorce, even after we signed the papers, even after I told myself it was over.
I didn’t date. Not really. I had drinks with women, let them flirt, let them think they had a shot. But I never took it further. Never wanted to.
Not because I was being noble. Not because I didn’t have opportunities.
But because it always felt wrong.
Because I didn’t wantthem. I wanted her.
Hell, I still do.
When I held Jules’ hand yesterday, even just for those few minutes, I wanted to hold on and never let go.
But she can barely admit to herself that she kissed me first. And she climbed into my lap, tangled her fingers in my hair, pressed her lips to mine like she needed me just as much as I needed her.
And if she can’t even admit that, then I have no right to push her toward something she isn’t ready for.
I shouldn’t have even helped her into her coat. Shouldn’t have let my hands linger.
But there’s this constant, driving need to touch her. Even if it’s just for a second.
Never thought I’d see the day I’d live for innocent touches.
The brush of her curls against my fingers. The curve of her back beneath my palm. The way her body tilts toward mine, like muscle memory, like home.
I exhale slowly, gripping the edge of the conference table.
I’ve got it bad.
So bad.
“Any big wins this week?” Dad kicks off the conversation, his voice carrying that sharp, impatient edge it always does.
I don’t bother looking up. My phone sits in my palm, the screen dark, but I keep checking it anyway, like somehow that’ll make a message from Jules appear. She had Tate last night. Dropped him off at school this morning. I’m picking him up this afternoon. There’s no reason for her to text me.
But damn, I wish she would.
