Chapter 2: Ex-husband

Out of all the gorgeous men in the world, it had to be him—the one who caught me, held me, and freaking stared at my beauty like it was his personal property.

“Ricochet?” I uttered his name for the first time in ten years, and it tasted like poison on my tongue instead of sugar. It was like cursing after swearing an oath never to do it again.

“Hi,” he greeted, with the audacity to sound flirty, as if he hadn’t committed every possible crime against my ego.

“Get your hands off me, or I swear to all saints I will crush your balls, fry them, and make you swallow them,” I threatened, wide-eyed and dead serious, just exactly how I intended.

“As you wish,” he said... then let go.

I fell flat on the floor.

Butt slammed on the ground. I thought I broke my spine. Lungs suffered a magnitude-twelve earthquake. And a concussion pending.

This jerk!

“Ouch!” I whined, unsure which part of my body to clutch as I lay there like a crying corpse, with my pride in shambles. “You bastard! Why did you drop me?”

He just stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, staring down at me like a freaking psycho observing his handiwork, watching me suffer with detached amusement.

After a decade of not seeing that face in person, he hadn’t changed one bit. Still an ass—no, worse, he mutated into an ultra-ass. A handsome, mother-freaking sexy ass.

“What?” he uttered casually. “You told me to let go, right? I was only trying to help. You declined. I simply obeyed what you asked. I was just being nice.” His grin stretched wider as he leaned in, openly checking me out. “I missed seeing you sprawled like that just for me. But what’s with the desperation, Diana? We’re not even in bed.”

That bastard wore his grin proudly. Those biteable cheeks were right in my line of sight, and his sparkly emerald eyes roamed over me like they already had me naked.

I tried to sit up too fast. But the stupid heel betrayed me. It snapped, sending me straight down to my knees. And perfectly, horribly aligned—my face collided with his crotch.

“You really did miss me, huh?” he chortled, steadying me with a hand on my temple, brushing my hair back like the action came naturally to him.

A sharp, humiliating reminder slammed into my brain. What I did to him back then. Swallowing kids for him.

Triple shit!

My face burned. My brain fried. My stomach twisted in all directions. Shame and fury went along so well, I almost couldn’t breathe.

I was on the brink of exploding from shame and anger when a sharp gasp stole both our attention.

Our heads whipped toward the sound.

There stood the saleslady I’d been searching for, unmoving, eyes wide, hands clamped over her mouth as she horrifically gawked at the scene.

Then, as if her brain finally rebooted, she spun on her heel and vanished behind the shelves.

What a day.

What a freaking day!

“Unh!” I grunted, smacking his hand off my head and scrambling to stand.

My fingers latched onto the shelf for balance, my knees trembled as humiliation crawled up my spine. I stepped back, forcing great space between us.

“Don’t you ever touch me again. You disgust me.” A shiver ran through me, part rage, part something I refused to acknowledge.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I wasn’t,” he said smoothly. “You were the one insisting on giving me head in public.” He chuckled, glancing around. “I didn’t realize you liked an audience.”

I narrowed my eyes, fists clenching so hard my nails bit into my palms. “My day was supposed to be fun, okay? I’ve been stressed all week, and if I’m being honest, the past few months have been one long bridge waiting to collapse. Seeing you is more than enough reason for a full-blown breakdown, so before I completely lose my mind—get the heck out of my sight.”

“You’re so sweet.” His tone softened in a way that made my skin crawl. “I missed that mouth.” His gaze dropped to my lips, before he licked his own like he was already tasting me.

I swallowed hard, and shoved away whatever disgusting effect he was trying to have on me.

“The feeling isn’t mutual. Now, can you please move? I have shoes to buy, and I’m already late for 'my' daughter’s party.”

“Sure,” he said, stepping aside yet not leaving. His eyes stayed locked on me. “I’m heading to 'my' daughter’s party too.”

My eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

“Adriana Rosewood. My daughter. Flesh and blood.” His voice carried smugness. “She invited me herself last week. Apparently, her mother throws tantrums every time she hears my name.” He smirked.

Me?

“I thought she was just in denial about how much she missed me… but I don’t have to wonder anymore. She practically knelt when she saw me.”

“Fuck you, Ricochet,” I snapped, flipping him off without hesitation.

“She also just told me she’s still deeply, madly in love with me.” He winked.

I gagged. “Delusional motherfucker.”

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, lips curling. “I might fuck a mother later.”

Before things could go into something I had to explain to my therapist, I marched out of the aisle and found the saleslady, my heels clicking too fast, and my pulse was louder than the store music and ordered the shoes.

“What size are you looking for, ma’am?” she asked, trying to sound professional. Her eyes flicked anywhere but my face, cheeks still flushed from whatever horror movie she thought she’d walked into earlier.

“Size?” I echoed blankly, my brain lagging.

“Seven,” that familiar, infuriating voice spoke from behind me.

The saleslady muttered an excuse and scurried off to get the stock.

“Still got that memory gap?” he teased, crossing his arms. The movement stretched his white shirt just enough to wrinkle the fabric, just enough to piss me off.

That was when I really looked at him.

He was dressed casually in a plain shirt, pants, with effortless confidence, but that pin to his chest was something that didn’t belong. An out of place small pink brooch sitting over his left pec.

And no, I wasn’t as forgetful as everyone loved to believe. I remembered exactly when my daughter made that brooch with her tongue stuck out in concentration, fingers clumsy with glue, eyes shining like she was crafting something priceless.

“Eye-raping me now?” he drawled.

“Where did you get that?” I snarked.

He followed my gaze and gently touched the brooch with his fingers. "My daughter gave it to me. She told me that her—”

“I have full custody of my child, Ricochet,” I cut in. “We both agreed that—”

“She’s my daughter too, Diana.” He enunciated. “What we agreed on was sharing expenses and her needs. I could give her anything she wanted but I respected what you demanded.” His eyes locked onto mine. “What’s the problem with seeing her on her sixteenth birthday after you kept her from me for ten years?”

“You weren’t exactly the father figure she needed.”

He scoffed. “And who do you consider a perfect father figure?” His smile turned cruel. “Those useless men you dated? The pizza delivery guy, Gary? That perverted clerk from Barclay’s—Curtis? Or the five-hundred-pound Frank?”

My mouth fell open. “How the heck—”

“Adriana told me everything,” he said calmly, but confidently. “Ivan from Moscow who stole twenty grand from your bank account. Peter Young, the college boy you paid a semester for before he knocked up someone else.” He tilted his head. “And should I even mention Bobby? A year and a half, and you were just his mistress.”

“Unbelievable,” I exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he snorted. “You are.” His gaze darkened. “You could’ve picked better than me. But I guess there was never a better man than me.”

I looked around, pinching the bridge of my nose. “God, what is that smell?” I muttered. “Is that ego? Or do you actually wear egoistic perfume now?”

“Admit it, Diana,” he uttered softly. “You wish you never divorced me.”

I sneered, the memory surfacing against my will. Those brief, shameful moments when loneliness actually made me question myself.

“You’re a beautiful man, Ricochet,” I sighed. “A damn great one in almost everything, except being a family man. You make things happen with money and power, but never with yourself. So no.”

I stepped closer, lifting my chin, showing him that my confidence was taller than me.

“I never regretted divorcing a coward like you.” My voice didn’t shake. “You’re nothing special. To me… you were never a father to my daughter. Never a man.”

I held his gaze, unflinching.

“You’re just an ex-husband.”