Ex Appeal and Double Lives

The scent of stale ramen and regret hung heavy in the air as I stumbled out of the courthouse, the paper in my hand feeling like a death sentence. Derek. My soon-to-be-ex-husband, soon-to-be-financial-ruiner, soon-to-be-everything-I-never-wanted-to-deal-with again. The words “alimony,” “foreclosure,” and “selling my prized anime figurine collection” swam before my eyes in a terrifying aquatic ballet. I was a mess. A hot, disorganized mess, and the only thing keeping me from spontaneously combusting into a glitter bomb of despair was the sheer, unadulterated terror of what Derek would do next. He’d threatened to take everything, and judging by the smug, self-satisfied smirk he’d worn on the stand, he meant it.

I needed a drink. No, I needed a whole distillery. More importantly, I needed a distraction. A big, loud, life-altering distraction. As if summoned by my desperate plea to the universe, a familiar, low rumble vibrated through the pavement. My head snapped up. Parked just a few feet away, looking impossibly cool and completely out of place in this neighborhood of discount dentists and questionable tattoo parlors, was a sleek, black motorcycle. And leaning against it, looking like he’d stepped right out of a manga panel, was Dante Yokuzu.

My heart did a clumsy flamenco dance in my chest. Dante. The boy who’d made my teenage years a whirlwind of stolen kisses and whispered secrets. The boy with eyes that promised danger and a smile that could melt glaciers. The boy I’d run from like a frightened rabbit when I’d discovered he wasn’t just a “misunderstood bad boy” but an actual, bona fide gangster.