Page 22 of Not Over You
“See. Why’d you have to go and say that? That just twists the knife. You could have lied and said, ‘she drowns kittens in the toilet for fun.’ Butnooooo,you had to be honest and she has to be wonderful.”
“I’m sorry,” he said after several quiet heartbeats. “I fucked up.”
“Sure did.”
“Up here on the left,” she said to the cab driver before crossing her arms over her chest and fixing Jordan with a lethal glare. “Thank you for …rescuingme and Peyton. I don’t know why you called me, but if you hadn’t …”
Why hadn’t she called 911? He wanted to ask but knew a question like that would just push her over the deep end. She was already vibrating where she sat.
“I’m just glad the cops and I got there in time,” he said, feeling like total shit.
Her anger was beginning to fade and he watched her swallow a thick lump.
“Can we grab a coffee maybe?” he asked, choosing his words very carefully. “Just to clear the air. I have the next four days off.”
The cab driver pulled the vehicle up to the curb.
She clenched her teeth and bunched her tiny fists at her sides, shaking her head just slightly. “I’m so torn right now, Jordan. Between punching you in the face for being a stupid ghosting asshole, or sucking your mouth off because of how much I’ve missed you. How much I still fucking want you. How much I’m not over you. Fuck you, Jordan. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. I hate you.”
“I—”
“But neither of us are cheaters, and Laura isvery nice. So I guess I have to go with door number one.” Then she reared back and socked him clear across the jaw.
“Hey!” The cab driver hollered. “What the hell?”
“It’s fine,” Rayma said as Jordan blinked through the threatening tears and grabbed the spot where she’d hit him. “He knew it was coming. He also knows he deserved it.”
Jordan caught the cabby’s concerned brown gaze in the rearview mirror and nodded. “I did, she’s right. It’s fine.” He turned back to Rayma. “Can I just come in so we can talk?”
“Oh hell no. I only invite friends and lovers into my house. And family. And you are none of the above.” She gripped the door handle. “Thank you for saving us from the pinky ring-wearing douchebags. I owe you a debt of gratitude, so consider me only punching you in the face, and not the nuts, our debt settled.” She turned to the cab driver. “He’ll pay you when he gets home. Thanks for the ride.” Then she opened the door, stepped out, and made her way down her driveway and into her house, not once looking back. Because that was Rayma, strong, confident, and hell on wheels.
But Jordan knew her better than most and he knew that the moment she stepped into the house and closed the door, she would cry until she had no more tears left. Because that was Rayma. She held it together until there was nobody around, she needed to be strong for appearances, then she let it go, and those tightly reined in emotions consumed her.
“Where to?” the cab driver asked. “Hospital to get that face checked out?”
Jordan shook his head, still staring at the spot where he’d last seen Rayma before she disappeared into the house. He could practically hear her sobs even though he was definitely too far away. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. But he could feel her pain, feel her hurt and that gutted him.
“Cook Street Village,” he said after several agonizing heartbeats.
“You got it,” the cabby said, peeling back out onto the road.
Jordan rubbed at his tender jaw. Rayma had a mean right hook. She’d trained with her sister’s husband and his brothers after she was abducted several years ago. They made sure she knew how to defend herself and fight off a man three times her size.
Her fist would be sore though.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, having to squint from the sudden blast of blue light.
It was a text from Rayma.Sorry for punching you.
He smiled, even though it hurt his face to do it. That was Rayma. Fire in her belly, and kindness in her heart.
Maybe there was still hope for them yet.
Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Presentday…