ODESSA

I smell like him.

Leather and reckless intentions.

His taste still resides on my tongue hours after the fact.

Spearmint and dangerous desires.

Every inch of my body is alive. Reeling. Buzzing. Temporarily satisfied yet hardly satiated.

Beckham made everything go away.

An indulgent distraction.

I slip my key into the lock at precisely five-thirty, and the key slips right in. A metallic scent lingers in the air as if it’s just been greased. The lock clicks, and I push the door wide, my heart pounding and rightfully so.

“Hey,” I say, planted in the doorway.

Jeremiah rises from the sofa, his lips curled enough to show off the deep dimples I used to kiss in better times.

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” He drawls, placing his arms open wide. “What kind of question is that?”

“I called you.” I take a step inside, resting my bag on a nearby console. “You didn’t call back. You didn’t text.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He points to the kitchen table where a handful of paper bags rest. “Good eats. From the test kitchen. I made them bag it up so I could have dinner with my fiancé tonight.”

His declaration sucks all the air from my lungs.

Fiancé?

Jeremiah’s eyes search mine, and I’m sure he’s wondering why the hell I’m not grinning ear to ear.

I’m sort of wondering the same thing…

“We’re engaged again?” My delivery is slow, enunciated, as if that could help me to understand what’s going on. “Did I miss something?”

“Do you want to be?”

I don’t know anymore.

My hesitation must concern him, because before I realize what’s going on, he’s rushing across the room and falling to his knees.

With my engagement ring delicately locked between his thumb and index finger and his blue eyes crinkling, he peers up at me. He must’ve found my ring by the bathroom sink, which makes me wonder how much of this was forethought and how much of it was a random-act-of-Jeremiah.

“Samantha Odessa Russo, I am a foolish man. I am an idiot, and I don’t deserve you. I may have been absent the last three weeks, but my heart was right here, with you, the whole time. There’s no one else on God’s green earth better suited for me than you. I want you to be my wife, Samantha. I need you to be mine again. Will you please make me the luckiest dumb ass in all of Manhattan and agree to marry me again?”

My throat swells shut, blocking words before they have a chance to be uttered. There’s a slack in my jaw and my stomach balls so tightly I’m certain I’m going to be sick.

This is what I wanted.

“Sam, you’re making me worried here,” Jeremiah drawls, his lips pulling into a half-cocked smirk. He’s extra tan today.

I focus on his radiant blue eyes, the only part of his exterior that’s remained the same in the last year.

“You still love me, Sam, don’t you?” Jeremiah rises. “God, I can’t believe I’m asking this question.”

“Of course.” I’m certain I do if only because love isn’t something you can shut off.

He slips the ring into his pocket, before his hands glide into mine, and he threads our fingers together.

“All this champagne and fancy food I’ve been eating lately must be going to my head,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “I don’t like me without you. That guy’s an asshole. That guy thinks he’s hot shit. I can’t do this whole fame thing without you by my side, Samantha. You keep me grounded. You keep me real.”

“So you only want me back because of what I do for you?”

“God, no. No.” Jeremiah takes my face in his hands, leaning down. For a moment, I hold my breath and purse my lips. My lips are still hot and flavored with Beckham’s kiss. He deposits a kiss on my forehead, and I exhale softly. “That came out all wrong, babe. I’m sorry.”

He pulls me in, his fingers tangled in my hair. With my cheek against his chest, I hesitate before wrapping my arms around him. He feels smaller than I remember, and I don’t recognize his new cologne.

“I let my head get a little big,” he said. “That’s all. Forgot my roots for a sec. Had a talk with Mama, and she put things into perspective for me.”

“What’d she say?” I always did like Susannah Crawford. The mother of four boys, she treated me like the cherished daughter she never had.

“She told me I was a damn fool for letting you go, and that if I wasn’t careful, someone else would come along and snatch you right out from under me.” He kisses the top of my head. “It was the thought of you with another man, Sam. It hurt in ways I never could’ve imagined. Probably ‘cause I’d never thought like that before.”

There’s a weight on my chest. I draw in a deep breath but feel no air. My entire body constricts.

“I slept with someone,” I blurt, squeezing my eyes tight. “Twice.”

Jeremiah doesn’t move despite the fact that I fully expect him to push me away. It’s only after a minute that I realize I’m snug in his arms. His desperate squeeze sends an ache to my chest no amount of words can rectify.

We stand in silence. A minute passes. And another. I breathe him in, attempting to wrap myself in his energy, his warm embrace, his familiarity.

I feel nothing.

His hold loosens after a bit, and he sucks in a ragged breath. His eyes are glassy, and he wears the expression of a man falling apart at the seams and trying desperately not to let it show.

Crawford men are raised not to cry.

“It’s okay, Sam.” He pulls his shoulders back. “We weren’t together. It wasn’t cheating. You had every right to do whatever you wanted to do. I’m not going to judge you for anything.”

Really?

Well in that case, I may as well come completely clean. “The last time was a few hours ago.”

I expect him to pull away, like I’m tainted, but he stands firm, his hands capturing mine.

“Who was it?” He breathes harder. “I have to know, Sam.”

“Just some guy I met at a bar last week.”

“That you reconvened with a second time?”

“I’m also working for him. It’s a three week contract.” I wince, though I don’t know why. I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t cheat. And we’re not back together yet, so it doesn’t matter that I’m still working for Beckham. Jeremiah’s jaw tenses. All of this is so unlike him, and I can’t resist the urge to throw another tack-strip down in the road. “I’m going to Vermont with him next week for a few days. It’s a work trip.”

His eyes shut, and his tongue drags forcefully across the inside of his mouth.

“Babe, this was all my fault. All of it.” He looks at me again, his hands sliding up my hips and resting at the curve of my waist. “I sent you running into the arms of another man. I left you all alone. I blame no one but myself.”

“You’re particularly gallant today.” I trace the buttons of his shirt and offer a smile to lighten the mood. The unsettled pit in my stomach is difficult to ignore. This isn’t like him. At all.

The Jeremiah standing before me is an imposter.

“Shouldn’t you be throwing chairs and shouting?” I tease. Kind of. Back in college, he suspected me of giving my number to another guy at a party once. I’d never seen a real life Hulk until that night. Needless to say we were permanently banned from the Kappa Theta Phi house due to his destructive outburst.

He shakes his head, his fingers digging into my hips. “From now on, I’m going to be the man you deserve. The man who makes the others pale in comparison.”

He might have that one nailed already. Literally.

“I want us back,” he continues, his eyes closing. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Just tell me I haven’t lost you, Sam.”