I hadn’t told Jace what I was doing on my Saturday off, and he hadn’t asked. For once, was glad for his stubborn sealed-off ways. There was no one in the world who was less nosy than Jace Riggs, and today it worked to my benefit.

I took a cab to get my car and headed to Westlake’s north end, where they were building the new subdivisions. Maybe it was hopeful of the town to develop them, but Westlake had a nice middle-class population if you were on the right side of the tracks. That population was growing, and some of them were buying the new houses in town.

I left streets that had big old trees and drove down brand-new roads, the houses with no grass or fresh sod laid down, some of the sites still piled with machinery and dirt. These weren’t going to be mansions; they were small, modest places, mostly townhouses, for young couples to live in as they moved their way up. I knew, because until eight months ago I was going to live in one myself.

Kyle still lived in the house we’d bought. It was his house now—he’d paid me my half of the down payment and taken over the mortgage. He said he liked the place, he could afford it, and he didn’t want to leave. That was fine with me, so I’d packed my things and moved into my little rental.

I pulled into the driveway—Kyle’s SUV was there, so he was home, just like we’d arranged—and pulled some empty boxes from my trunk. Then I mounted the front porch steps and rang the doorbell.

He opened the door almost immediately; he’d probably been waiting. He was wearing jeans and a pullover sweatshirt—his day-off wear. It was rare for Kyle not to be on shift on a Saturday, and for a second I remembered how well I used to know his schedule.

“Hey,” he said. He had showered, shaved. He was a nice-looking guy, and he was strong and fit because of his job. He made good money and now had a nice house. By any definition, he was a catch.

“Hi,” I said to him. I held up the boxes. “Thanks for letting me in. I won’t take long.”

“Sure,” he said. He stepped aside to let me in, and I walked upstairs, ready to collect the last few things I hadn’t been able to grab when I moved out. I was halfway down the upstairs hall when it dawned on me that the stuff I needed was in the dresser and the closet in the bedroom. Kyle’s bedroom, formerly our bedroom. And he was following me down the hall.

I shook it off. It didn’t matter; we were over. We’d been over for a long time. I was not going back to Kyle, and nothing was going to happen in that bedroom. I just had to get this over with and go.

You’re being too nice about him, said Jace’s voice in my head. He should never have fucked you if you didn’t like it, if you had to fake it.

And then: I’ve never had sex.

I wouldn’t think about that right now. I wouldn’t.

“How have you been?” Kyle asked as I entered the bedroom and put my boxes down.

“Good, thanks,” I said, opening a drawer of the dresser that used to be mine.

“You look good.”

“Thank you,” I said again. “How is the job?” Because maybe if we were chatting, it would be easier for neither of us to look at the bed. I was definitely not looking at the bed.

“The same,” Kyle said. “It’s a mess. It always is.”

I nodded, pulling sweaters from a drawer and putting them in a box.

“I haven’t touched anything,” Kyle said.

“Okay.”

“Tara.”

I turned and looked at him, but he shook his head. “I know that look,” he said. “Your determined look. Nothing’s going to get you talking, is it?”

I shoved more sweaters in the box. Why did I have so many freaking sweaters? “There’s nothing to talk about. We did all of our talking months ago.”

“I’m on a bunch of dating sites now.”

That should have at least made me flinch, but it didn’t. I moved to the closet and pulled more clothes from a shelf.

From behind me, Kyle said, “You know what I found? It’s easy to get laid, but it’s harder to find someone to talk to.”

This I recognized. When things had fallen apart at the end, when Kyle realized he didn’t have control of the situation or of me, he’d resorted to nastiness. Things that were supposed to hurt me. His talking about sleeping with other women was supposed to hurt me. What he didn’t understand was that it only made me want to get this over with sooner.

“I don’t even need the websites, really,” Kyle continued. “You know there have always been women hanging around guys like me. We attract them like groupies. There are times I can just take my pick.”

This was terrible. Not because what he said broke my heart, but because I could feel my whole body clench. I never wanted this man to touch me again. I’d felt that way before last night, but now—after Jace Riggs had had his hands and his mouth and his tongue on me—the thought made me want to shudder. The difference between the two men could not be more clear: Kyle with his self-involved crap, and Jace with those damn eyes that saw everything.

Kyle was waiting for me to say something, so I gritted out, “That’s nice.”

“It isn’t like your job, is it?” Kyle said. “The only men you meet are John the middle-aged bore and the scum that come to your sessions. Though don’t get me wrong—I bet John would fuck you. You’d just have to ask him nicely.”

He was trying to make me angry now, trying to get me to hurl insults back at him, trying to make me fight and hurt. Provocation was one thing Kyle was very, very good at. He saw it every day in his job, just like I did.

“I’m done,” I said, stacking the boxes and carrying them toward the bedroom door. They were awkward, though not heavy, and I had to peer around them to aim for the door frame. I stopped when I felt Kyle’s hand on my arm.

I froze. In all of our arguments, in the nasty fragments of our relationship, he’d never hurt me, never even grabbed me. Even now his touch was almost tentative, not a hard grip. And still, it made me shiver.

“Seriously, Tara, what are you going to do?” he said. “Become an old spinster? Maybe find some ugly loser ex-con to service you?”

He knew nothing about Jace Riggs. Nothing. But this was Kyle’s superpower: shooting enough ugly barbs at you until one of them hit. No wonder the divorce rate in men of his profession was sky-high.

“What I do is none of your business,” I said, “and leave my clients out of it.”

He was quiet for a second as I made my way down the hall. He didn’t offer to help, of course. As I started down the stairs he said, “If I hear you’re dating anyone from the force, he’s going to have a big fucking problem. And so are you.”

So that was what he was worried about. “Not a chance,” I shouted back, and walked out the front door to load my car.

I drove three blocks and pulled over at a half-built lot, dirt under my tires. My hands were shaking and I needed to see Jace so bad it almost turned my stomach. I pulled out my phone and composed a text that sounded lighthearted, not like I was desperate for a glimpse of him. Don’t even try to avoid me after that conversation last night, Riggs. I have questions.

You think you can analyze me? he texted back.

I plan to try.

I stared out the window and felt the burn in my chest. And I wondered how I was going to tell the man I was falling for that my ex-boyfriend was a cop on the Westlake PD.