Arrogant Playboy(61)

A pot-bellied man with aviators stands behind her, not nearly as happy as his wife.

“I’ll take the picture.” I rise and grab her phone as the three of them pose. The camera on her phone flashes and the picture that pops up shows two of the three of them wearing grins wider than their faces. Jeremiah loves the attention.

“Thank you so much!” The woman blows him a kiss as her husband steers her away by the elbow.

“Welcome to the rest of your life,” I say as we sit down.

“Aw, Samantha, it’s fun,” he says. “Pretty cool knowing I can make someone’s day like that. Wish you’d smile that big when you see me.”

My head cocks to the side, and my eyes fall on my ring-less fingers. For the life of me, I can’t remember when I stopped smiling around him.

“I’m smiling on the inside,” I tease.

“I’m being serious here.” Jeremiah’s expression fades into worry. “I messed up. I’m not perfect. I’m asking for a chance to make it right. And if you still don’t want to marry me, I’ll leave you alone. I promise. Just give me a chance, Samantha. I’d have never asked for a break if I knew it’d make you fall out of love with me.”

“The fireworks are gone.” I pick at my nails, my head tucked. “I miss that crazy, stupid, reckless love we used to have. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Nothing could’ve come between us back then.”

“Babe, that kind of love is only temporary. After it fades, after the newness wears off, this is what’s left.” He widens his arms. “This is what’s forever. Ask your parents. Ask mine.”

If this is our forever, I don’t want it.

I smirk, rolling my eyes. “Your parents can’t keep their hands off each other. They act like they’re still newlyweds. And my parents are more friends than anything else, bound together by their five kids. We’ll never be your parents, and I don’t want to be like mine. Not in that way.”

“So you’re saying it’s the end of the road.” Jeremiah’s nostrils flare as he leans back in his seat, his bruised ego showing. “You’re saying you don’t love me. You don’t want to be with me. We’re not getting married.”

The words aren’t as hard to swallow when I hear them come from someone else’s lips. In my head they’re terrifying. Final. Nonsensical.

I take in a sharp breath, my gaze drifting into his. “I’m sorry. You’re not what I want anymore.”

“Shit, Samantha. What the hell do you want?” Jeremiah’s pointed question comes out more defensive than anything else, as if he can’t possibly fathom the thought of not being good enough for someone.

For the first time in my life, I have no idea what I want. I thought it’d be terrifying. Turns out it’s not at all. It’s sweet liberation.

Peering at Jeremiah, I feel at peace for the first time in over a month. He’s going to be fine without me. His career will take off. He’ll meet some celebrity-chef groupie or B-list actress and live happily ever after. I’ll see him on cable from time to time hocking brightly-colored cookware on QVC or catch re-runs of EAT ME, JEREMIAH!

And I’ll be perfectly at peace with my decision.





Chapter Thirty-Three




Insert part A into slot B with hexagon screw, ring washer, and spring washer, and tighten with Allen wrench.

I should’ve hired someone to put this shit together.

I’m seated on the floor of a spare bedroom in my penthouse Sunday evening, Sadie resting on her pink princess blanket next to me as I assemble her crib.

I’m tempted to call Odessa because I’m not sure what half the things are that were delivered while I was gone. But I’m not in a mood to eat crow after having scolded her for her defiant act of compassion.

Fuck. I hate that I need her right now.

Soft grunts fill the room, and I glance over to check on Sadie. She’s probably filling her diaper for the fourth time today. It’d be nice to have an extra set of hands around here, but I sent Elizabeth packing after she spent four full days with me in Utah. The woman never complains, but she deserved a break.

Putting the Allen wrench aside, I scoop Sadie in my arms and scan the room for her diaper bag. A changing table lies unassembled in one of these boxes but for now I have to change her at the foot of my bed. She passes out the second I zip up her sleeper, and I lower her delicately in her bassinet.

By the time I return, my phone buzzes in my pocket. With my heart at a standstill, I check the caller ID.

It’s Xavier.

I bet he’s wondering what the hell happened to me after the bar a couple weeks ago. He won’t fucking believe any of this, and I’ll gladly remind him that pranking isn’t my style.