Dear Ex-wife Marry Me by Twin Bridge

Stepping out of the lobby, Fitch lit another cigarette.

He didn't usually smoke this much, but tonight he felt restless, like there was a storm brewing in his chest.

Once in his car, he gripped the steering wheel, and the sight of his fingertips reminded him of the sensation of accidentally

brushing against Zoey's lips earlier. The memory of that warm, moist touch lingered.

He reached for a pack of wet wipes in the center console, considering wiping his fingers clean, but then he paused and dropped the

pack back down.

Right on cue, his phone buzzed with a call from Tyler.

"Scrap the plans, man. I'm not in the mood for drinks tonight. Heard lan's in sdeep trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"lI rang up Beck. lan’s vanished, and Maja—she’s pregnant, right? She's staying at the Sanders’ place and resting up. Can you

believe those two still haven't gotten their act together?"

Leaning back in the driver's seat, Fitch contemplated Tyler's words. Even if Tyler said no drinks, he wasn't keen on going back

inside.

"Tyler, how about we jet off to North America?"

Tyler squinted his eyes, skeptical. "You sure you can leave? Don't the bigwigs keep a tight leash on you?"

Haskins family was deeply entangled with the powers that be, making international travel a bureaucratic

Fitch had narrowly avoided being blacklisted

a commendation from Uncle Bernard. The warrant's been lifted. I can go after him in broad daylight now,

too. "Cool. When do

out the flights for

who are

his own evasion, Fitch felt a

need to clear my

cloose as a woman's soft hands climbed

waist.

"Tyler, you're leaving?"

a glance at her, Tyler casually tossed

expression soured. "Did your little girlfriend check up on you? I heard you've

not even hot. If Tyler liked her, she wouldn't still

gently tapped her cheek

too much. And for the record, I've got plenty of girlfriends; I don't know which one

get out."

embarrassment but she didn’t

resumed his

the exchange, Fitch couldn't help but

up dead in

his elbow on the sill;

to play

his cheek and shoulder, he lit up a cigarette with both

a waste of time. Even the prettiest face gets old. I switch it up weekly—to

focusing instead on the