Filthy English

I cocked an eyebrow, feeling glad to see her. “Miss me?”

That’s right. Pretend like you didn’t tuck her in bed like a pussy last night.

She stammered. “No—I mean, yes, I didn’t see you this morning. Thanks for my breakfast—and, again, for the bracelet. I’m not sure what you did to find it, but knowing you did it for me means something. And thanks for putting me to bed last night. I guess I crashed.”

“You’re welcome.”

She smiled, and I blinked. There was something different about her.

But I got distracted as the warm scent of vanilla and sugar hit me when her arm stretched between us to pick up her book bag. Today she wore a pair of yellow skinny jeans and a low-cut flowery shirt. A small strand of pearls glistened around her neck, hanging down. She rummaged around in her bag with her head bent, giving me a clear view of her white lace bra. Her tattoo. I bit back a groan and shifted around in my seat, my jeans suffocating me. A cold shower might be necessary after class.

She sat back up. Glanced at me. “What’s wrong? You look . . . weird.”

“You’re supposed to say I look hot.” As long as we kept the banter up and nothing else, we were fine.

Her lips twitched. “Uh-huh. What were you thinking about?”

I looked at her with heavy eyes, not caring if she was Hartford’s. “Sex, vanilla cookies with sugar on top, sex, a sandwich for lunch, sex, more sex—on the kitchen table, on my couch, on my patio.” I wet my lips. “You.”

Her face flamed.

The professor walked in and immediately began calling the roll. He handed out the syllabi to the ones in the front. I took several and passed them back to the class that had slowly filled up, although I’d barely noticed.

How was I going to get through this class with Remi beside me three days a week?

HOW ON EARTH was I going to get through this class with him?

During class, I kept sneaking looks at Dax as he listened to the professor. I doodled in my notebook, completely distracted by him. Wearing a heather-gray shirt that perfectly matched his eyes and a pair of jeans with leather flip-flops, he looked drop-dead beautiful.

He glanced up and met my eyes, making my heart pound.

We were in a weird place, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

Yet we’d watched a movie together and he’d tucked me in bed.

We were a goddamn mess.

I sighed, wishing I’d stayed awake long enough last night to tell him I’d broken up with Hartford.

But . . .

Would it make a difference?

He’s a temporary guy, Remi. He wants your body but not your heart.

But . . . was that right?

The professor droned on, and my thoughts drifted to Hartford from the night before. We’d gone for coffee, and I’d told him about the pregnancy and London, leaving out the more intimate details that might hurt him needlessly. He’d listened to me with a carefulness I appreciated.

I told him we were over—which is what I should have done when he showed up in London. From the moment he’d jilted me and I saw Dax, we were done, but it had taken until last night for me to figure it out. In the end, perhaps it was good that we’d had our blow-up and hashed everything out. There were no secrets. He knew how I felt. It was closure.

The professor ended class, and I stood up and waited for Dax to get his things together. He looked up at me, and I smiled. “I was thinking of getting some pizza at the Student Center. You want to join me?”

He hesitated, but nodded, an earnest smile growing on his face. “Really?”

“I want to talk to you. It’s important.”

His eyes softened. “Yeah. Sure. I’d like that.”

I smiled, feeling shy. “Maybe we can even go to Panera if you don’t want pizza.”

He laughed, the warm sound sending tingles over my body. God, I wanted to be alone with him. Maybe after lunch we could go back to the house and—

“Remi,” a male voice called from the door. I turned to see Hartford there.

“Hey, I was just walking past—” He noticed Dax and stopped, his face tightening. “Is this a bad time?” His eyes swept over me, assessing.

Dax exhaled, a muscle popping in his cheek. “Nope. I was just leaving.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I was in completely strange territory.

Dax bolted from the room, keeping his face averted from me.

I walked over to Hartford, who grimaced.

“I had no clue you guys were talking. I just saw you and wondered how you were today. We had a late night . . .”

I smiled tentatively. “It’s fine. What’s going on today? How are classes?”

We made small talk for a few moments, neither of us sure about what to say.

It hit me. I rummaged around in my purse and pulled out his ring. “I completely forgot to give this back to you last night.”

He blinked, his eyes sad. “Keep it.”

I frowned. “I can’t do that.”

He met my eyes. “I don’t want it. Toss it away or at least sell it and get some of your other wedding expenses back. I’m sure your dress was nonrefundable.”

I bit my lip. “No. You keep it and trade it in for another ring when you meet the girl you’re really supposed to be with.”

Because I wasn’t that girl.

I pressed it into his palm and he grasped my fingers, taking the ring.

He nodded, and I watched him walk away.

In the end, Hartford wasn’t mine.