The Trouble with Love (Sex, Love & Stiletto 4)

And there it was. Emma.

He rapped a fist against his forehead. It had been a mistake to request that song. A mistake to ask her to dance.

But, hell, the mistake had started long before that. It had started when he’d had to watch her walk down the aisle, knowing that she wasn’t walking toward him.

And the pain had only grown sharper when, through some mix of a blessing and a curse, the groomsmen had gotten out of order and he’d had to walk her back down the aisle, the same way they would have seven years ago had things not gone to hell.

And then he’d had to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening watching her flirt with other guys and dance with her girlfriends, and just all around ignore him.

So yeah. He’d asked her to dance.

And the dance had turned into something more.

Which had led to damn fine sex, which had led to . . .

Her sneaking out at the crack of dawn?

It didn’t make sense.

Except it did.

Because Emma and Alex weren’t just two sexually attracted people who’d met at a wedding and practically lit the bed on fire.

They were two people who’d spent the past year and a half trying to ignore the fact that the other was alive.

The fact that the sex was great . . . that had been a fluke.

It was just the sexiness of the night at work. In the light of day, there was still a 787’s worth of baggage between them.

She’d been right to remind them both that last night was just that: one night.

Emma was also probably right to leave before they could wake up and do the awkward morning-after thing.

So why was he in a foul mood?

Alex thought about calling Cole Sharpe, who’d been known to be game for a morning run now and then, but then he remembered that he’d spent a good part of the previous evening wanting to punch Cole after he’d danced needlessly close to Emma during that Etta James ballad that played at every damn wedding.

No, he didn’t want to call Cole. Or even see Cole.

Hell, he should fire Cole.

Maybe he should call Jake. Or Sam.

Except then he’d have to watch every damn word that came out of his mouth for fear that his state of being would be reported back to Grace and Riley, which would then be reported back to Emma . . .

Fine. He’d call no one.

Only . . . being left alone wasn’t exactly good for his mental state, either. His brain seemed to be going in circles.

This brought Alex back to square one.

He’d call Cole.

He retrieved his cellphone from the nightstand, scrolling through his contacts until he found the sports editor.

Alex’s thumb hesitated over the call button.

And then his thumb moved, scrolling to another name. He dialed before he could change his mind.