Ivy’s POV
The grocery store hums with the low murmur of carts rolling and muffled pop music overhead. The cool air bites at my bare thighs. Alexander didn’t see the need for pants today, and maybe I liked teasing the world just a little. His oversized white shirt brushes mid-thigh, sleeves rolled to my elbows, smelling like his damn cologne and sin.
I’m reaching for almond milk when it happens.
That voice.
“Ivy?”
It hits me like a slap. A chill races down my spine, curling around my ribs. My hand pauses mid-air, fingers brushing the cold carton.
No. Not today.
I turn slowly, heart thudding against my chest like a goddamn war drum.
And there he is. Jason. Same cocky smirk. Same disheveled, too-casual look. His cheap cologne floats to me like regret.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,”
