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?"

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

lan's recent wanted status, Fitch

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

getting antsy, too. "Cool.

the

who are

evasion, Fitch felt a twinge of

need to

his hair; the sash of his bathrobe cloose as a woman's soft hands climbed up his

waist.

"Tyler, you're leaving?"

glance at her, Tyler casually tossed a credit card from

woman's expression soured. "Did your little girlfriend check up on you? I heard you've been seeing, what's her name? No

hot. If Tyler liked

gently tapped her cheek

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

get out."

with embarrassment but she didn’t dare retort,

resumed his conversation with

overheard the exchange, Fitch

end up dead in a

to the window and resting his elbow on the sill; the mole

a woman's bed than to play cat and mouse like lan—or

shoulder, he lit up a cigarette with both

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

focusing instead on