It had always been a one-sided type of love.
The kind of relationship that made you squirm uncomfortably and your cheeks burn with embarrassment when you recalled those lovesick days spent devoted to a complete and utter asshole of
a person. And completely devoted she had been, Jordyn Pace had been nothing short of starry-eyed, naïve and utterly enthralled with Lorne Dupree.
Lorne was such a stupid name,
now that she thought of it and she hated the way she had written it idiotically over and over on any scrap of paper nearby while she had daydreamed of her moments with him.
That had been until she had caught him in bed with the perky barista that made him his morning whatever-the-hell-spiced latté drink.
Jordyn pulled her ponytail tighter at the thought of the moans that had echoed down the marble floor of the hallway to Lorne’s bedroom. She wasn’t supposed to be there.
She had been out of town for an academic conference, but had come a day early home because she had just missed him too much to concentrate on much after she had given her presentation.
With a shaky hand she had opened the bedroom door even though she knew what she would find on the other end of it, but she had held on to some tiny irrational hope that maybe,
at just past midnight it wouldn’t be what she feared. Maybe he was watching a porn, maybe he was stuck in some kind of tantric yoga position, ANYTHING, but another woman.
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