Page 12 of The Most Perfect Wrong

He puts his hands on the counter, leaning against them, his arm muscles rippling up to his chest. He’s sexy, I guess, but itdoesn’t do much for me anymore. For some reason, the sight of Brad flexing his muscles sends a flash of Ryan into my mind. Now there’s a man who could do something for me—the way his body had moved against mine, how his touch burned into my skin. I shift in my seat, trying to focus, but my body remembers too well.God, Ryan.It was hot—he was hot. And Jesus, the way he made me feel… it nearly scared the hell out of me. It still does. The things I felt with a stranger are things I hardly ever feel with Brad.

I’d wanted to stay in his bed that night, to wake up with him, share coffee, talk about anything, everything. But it was pointless—a fleeting distraction. What would’ve been the point of chasing something with a guy I’d never see again? Besides, Brad was waiting when I got back. He apologized like he always does, saying and doing all the right things. And I eat it up because it’s easier than dealing with the consequences andwhat-ifsof leaving.

I never told Brad about my night with Ryan. The thought of him finding out sends a chill down my spine. I know exactly how he’d spin it—yeah, no thanks.

I can feel his eyes boring into me, bringing me back to my current dilemma. “That’s not fair,” I say quietly. Then, because pursuing this conversation further is pointless, I look him in the eyes with a slight smile. “I’ll think about what you said.”

A job like this could be my escape route. I’d have the pay raise to finally afford my own place downtown. It might not be as nice as this apartment, but it would be mine. I swallow, feeling the weight of that thought settling in. I need the power to stand on my own—I need options. Just in case.

Brad leaves the kitchen to get dressed, and I follow suit, changing into my running clothes.

I pass Brad in the living room on my way out for my walk. He’s in a suit, looking every bit the handsome successful lawyerthat he is. I press a hand against his chest, trying to smooth things over. “Hey,” I say apologetically. “I don’t want you to leave for work upset with me. I love you. Let’s have a date this weekend.”

I kiss him, letting my lips linger longer than usual. The kiss is meant to be an apology, but it feels like a band-aid over a wound that keeps reopening. I pull away, forcing a smile. “Have a good day.”

He wraps his free arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “I love you too,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to fight, baby.”

I pull back and pat his chest. “I don’t either. You look handsome. Go kill it.”

He grins. “You too.” He gives me one last peck and a playful smack on the ass as I head out.

I turn right instead of left like I normally do, deciding to walk past the building where I might be working if I get the job. I want to get a feel for it, familiarize myself with the area—check out the vibes.

The address Genevieve gave me is one-point-two miles away. I sprint the last quarter mile, slowing to a walk as I catch my breath, taking in the surroundings. It’s close to the financial district, not far from Brad’s office. I usually only come to this area when I’m seeing him at work or meeting him for lunch. Occasionally, I’ll bring him dinner when he’s working late.

I pull up my maps, checking for restaurants and coffee shops near the office building. A few good ones pop up, and I feel a rush of excitement—though I know I’m getting ahead of myself. Still, it’s a great location, just a few blocks from Millennium Park.

The building is cool—modern and chic. I can already picture myself walking through those glass doors. I’m looking forward to finally seeing the inside tomorrow for my interview.

On my way home, I redirect, plugging a nearby coffee shop into my phone. A few minutes later, I’m sitting insideRoasted Perks,sipping on my latte and people-watching by the window. The steady hum of conversation and clinking coffee cups fills the air. My attention shifts to two men on the other side of the street, coffees in hand. One of them catches my eye. He’s hot. I can’t help but fix my gaze on him as he draws nearer. Chicago definitely has its fair share of good-looking, successful men.

I watch the guy walk down the street, wondering if he’s single.God, what’s wrong with me?I toy with my engagement ring.Ugh. I’m a terrible fiancée. I’m not any better than Brad—though I’m not acting on my feelings… except for that one time, with Ryan.

I let out a quiet sigh, Brad’s earlier words lingering in my mind. I hate how easily he can brush off something so important to me. I guess I could try harder.

I pull out my phone and stare at the blank message screen, mustering up something fun to say.

Cooper:Hey babe. I keep thinking about how good you looked this morning. Do you think you could get home early enough to spend some time together? Take a test drive out on those new abs you’re rocking?

I add a winky emoji and stare at the screen for a second, wondering if the message feels as forced as it does in my head.

I grab what’s left of my coffee and head out.

By the time I get home, I only have thirty minutes before I have to leave. My phone buzzes with a text from Brad.

Brad:I won’t be home for dinner… but I’ll try my best to be home before you’re in bed. Nothing I’d love more than to do things to your naked body that make you moan tonight.

I smile at his message. Thisalmostmakes up for him being a dick earlier.

* * * * * ?* * * * *

It’s ten thirty, and I’ve all but given up on seeing Brad tonight. I just wish he’d text me when he knows he won’t make it before I fall asleep. I hate the hoping, the waiting. I was actually looking forward to connecting with him physically tonight. Sometimes I feel like that’s the only healthy part of our relationship—the one thing that still works. We’ve always clicked in the bedroom. I stand in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth, glancing at my reflection. I even put on a sexy little pajama set for him—a lace cami with matching cheeky shorts. Brad’s a sucker for a tank and short pajama set. He says it’s better than lingerie because of the element of surprise—sexy without trying too hard.

I hear the apartment door open. I spit out the toothpaste just as Brad walks into the bathroom.

“Hey, you,” I say, eyeing him through the mirror.

He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close. His lips nuzzle against my neck, soft kisses trailing down. “Hey, baby. You look super sexy,” he murmurs. His hand glides up from my stomach, cupping my breast, and I already feel myself getting turned on. “God, it’s been a long day. I just want to forget about work for a while and get lost in these boobs of yours.”

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