Page 204 of Back in the Saddle

A quick peck on the lips, then he said, “Be right back.”

He rolled off the bed, grabbed his cargos and was still yanking them over his superior ass as he sauntered to the door.

I scowled at the door after he disappeared through it.

I then curled thighs to tits on my ass in his bed, hoping this was just a really intent Jehovah’s Witness that Eric could send on their way, and he would indeed be right back, because we’d had dinner (Eric made spaghetti, it had some heat to it, which made it awesome). Now all I needed was a mega-Eric-induced orgasm, followed by cuddle time, and then sleep, because we had to be up at 3:15 to hit the stakeout.

On this thought, I heard a woman shriek, “You were fucking her?”

I blinked at the door.

Holy shit.

Savannah was back in town.

I scurried off the bed, grabbed my panties, yanked them on, then hit up Eric’s thermal.

Through this, I heard his low murmuring and her shouting, “Only because you gave up on us!”

I pulled on his shirt and hustled down his long-ass hall.

I hit the mouth of the hall and stopped to see they were standing by the dining room table, just in from the front door.

Eric had his back to me, but when her eyes scorched a path my way, catching me standing there in his thermal, while he was standing there without it, and we both definitely had sex hair (though, I’d bet Eric’s was better), he looked over his bare shoulder at me.

His gaze dipped down, then up, he shook his head, but his lips quirked, and she didn’t miss the last.

“You think this is funny?” she demanded. “You’re fucking some other woman and it’sfunny?”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” he said calmly. “I just like the view of my woman in my shirt.”

Although that brought back that gooey feeling I’d come to know very well, I watched it make her face turn a violent shade of red.

I then gave myself a second to take her in.

And for sure.

Eric had a type.

Tall. Dark hair. Beautiful.

I mean, I knew I wasn’t hard on the eyes, but I wouldn’t describe myself as beautiful.

Though, Eric did.

I was a little surprised about her aesthetic, though.

Both Stella and I had entirely different vibes, but they were pretty casual.

Savannah had on crisp skinny jeans, a skintight tan shell, a lightweight, overlong (to her calves) matching tan blazer-jacket with gold buttons, a gold statement necklace, chunky gold hoops and high-heeled nude pumps. She was also carrying a stuffy, structured Louis Vuitton purse in the standard brown and tan design.

Now, I’d admit to a small amount of envy she could pull off such a fantastic eyeliner wing. But in my opinion, she went a bit overboard on the highlighter, at least during an ambush of her ex (however, it’d be perfect for a night out). And I didn’t like to talk down about a sister—do you and work it—but it had to be said, her overuse of bronzer was practically criminal.

Or maybe it was fake tan since she had an orange-ish tint all over.

Eric took me out of my perusal by saying, “Savannah, it worries me I have to remind you we’ve been divorced for two years.”

“A divorce I didn’t want,” she reminded him in return.

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