Maybe Next Time - Christina C. Jones Page 0,1

me to finish that statement. I didn’t, but shook my head. “Again, you aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Where should I be then, huh?”

“Hell, maybe? I’m sure they’re looking for you.” I shrugged, then turned back for my original destination.

“Funny.”

“Not trying to be funny,” I told him, pulling the refrigerator open so I could survey the contents. “I’m dead serious.”

Behind me, Denver chuckled. “Nah, sweetheart. I definitely think you’re trying to be funny. Because why else would I have gotten the visit I got in the middle of the fuckin’ day, at my fuckin’ office?!” he demanded, his volume lifting with every word.

I turned to him, schooling my features into as neutral of an expression as I could, refusing to give away the fact that my heart was racing.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, like I’m some random bitch you can throw your weight around with.”

“And why the fuck would that be, Kensa, huh?” he asked, pushing away from where he’d perched against the counter to get in my face. “What privilege do you think you have with me?!”

“I’m your—”

Shit.

I stopped just short, but a smirk had already spread over Denver’s face, and he shook his head. “You’re my what? Huh? Say it nice and loud.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, fuck me?” he chuckled. “That’s where we are now?”

“That’s where you put us,” I countered, words that made his nostrils flare with anger.

“I’m not the one who served goddamn divorce papers!” he snapped, backing me practically into the open fridge behind me. “In my fucking office. In front of my employees. You did that shit–not me.”

“Because you said you weren’t going to chase me,” I reminded him. “You said you weren’t about to bend over backwards for anybody, remember that? Remember why?”

I clocked the exact moment he recalled exactly what I was talking about. His face relaxed, and for the briefest of moments, there was genuine remorse in his eyes. But then, his brows furrowed again, jaw tightened.

“So this is what… some kind of fucking game to you?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not playing in the slightest.”

“This is how it is then?”

“It’s how you made it,” I challenged, unwilling to let him lay the blame for this at my feet. Not solely. “You only say what you mean, right? Well… I’m holding you to what you said and acting accordingly. Or… did you think I’d sit around somewhere sad and insecure, waiting for you to decide you wanted me again? You thought wrong, love. Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not clear to everyone else that I’m that bitch.”

His eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t see it?” he tipped his head, leaning in to get right in my face. “Why does that sound like another man has been in your face?”

I smirked. “I have a better question. Why are you surprised?”

“Stop fucking with me,” Denver growled, fisting the front of my blouse to drag me up against him. The refrigerator was still hanging open, spilling golden light that cast a soft glow onto his hardened features.

Yeah.

I’d thoroughly pissed him off.

“Or. What?” I snapped right back, my defiant glare stuck on his, refusing to back down.

A slow smirk spread across his lips as his grip on my shirt tightened, and I… fuck.

I hated the traitorous arousal building between my legs. His free hand slid down my thigh and then back up under my skirt, palming my ass. The heat of his skin was a delicious contrast against the frigid air emanating from the open fridge door.

“You are still mine, Kenni,” he sneered, just inches from my face.

I reached up between us, grabbing him by his undone collar. This close, I could smell the bourbon on his breath, and wondered just how many he’d had while he waited for me in the dark.

“For now, yes. But not for long.”

I wasn’t surprised that he kissed me.

Not at all.

In fact, a sick part of me welcomed the invasion of his tongue in my mouth, the brusqueness of his hand at my throat. He edged us backward, either unaware or indifferent that he had me braced between the inner wall and door of the refrigerator.

He was too busy trying to devour my mouth, for the first time in… forever.

Fine.

Maybe not forever.

More like months, not since before the argument that had ended with his fateful declaration.

I’m not gonna fucking chase you like we’re kids, Kensa. Grow the fuck up.

I didn’t even want to be chased.

But the fact that he’d reduced the actual issue to