Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 31: The Painted Toes

Chapter 31: The Painted Toes

Jared ended the call, his gaze resting on Jerica’s peaceful face. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions churning inside him. Without thinking, he moved closer, kneeling beside the bed.

The room was bathed in a soft, muted glow, the evening light casting long shadows across the floor. He gently lifted her hand, cradling it in his, and placed it on her cheek. His larger hand covered hers, holding it in place as if he could draw strength from her even in her sleep.

He didn’t say a word, but the apology filled the space between them—an unspoken plea for forgiveness. For everything he had failed to be. For every lie, every moment of distance, every misstep that had led them to this place.

The weight of his confusion, his guilt, pressed down on him, and for a few minutes, he let himself be still as if her touch could somehow make sense of the chaos in his heart.

Five minutes passed like a lifetime, but slowly, the turmoil within him quieted. There was something about Jerica—something about the way her presence could calm him in ways he couldn’t understand.

His heart, once racing with worry, began to settle into a steady rhythm. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips, lingering longer than he should have. Her warmth, the softness of her mouth, nearly made him want to wake her, to pull her into his arms and make her listen to everything he hadn’t said. But he didn’t. She needed her sleep.

With a heavy sigh, Jared stood up, changed, and slipped out of the house. When he returned, it was four in the morning. Jerica was still deeply asleep, her body curled under the blankets. The room was cold, the air conditioning humming too loudly for his liking. He turned it off, shivering slightly as he climbed into bed beside her.

The chill of the room and the warmth of her body was a contrast that almost made him laugh—another reminder of how far apart they’d drifted, even while sharing the same space. Sleep claimed him quickly.

-----

While in the office, Jerica received a call from the salon about her pedicure appointment. Jerica’s eyes landed on her feet and she was shocked to see her painted toenails.

Her lips curved unconsciously. Jared must have done it.

Jerica’s fingers grazed over the tips of her painted toes, and a smile crept up her lips as her mind drifted back to a sultry night that had long been tucked away in the recesses of her memory.

It had been late, the house quiet save for the soft hum of a distant storm outside. The air was warm, thick with anticipation, and Jared had been sitting on the floor by the foot of their bed. The dim glow of a single lamp bathed the room in golden light, casting shadows that danced across their bare skin.

She had been lying back on the bed, her legs stretched out before him, her body fully relaxed in the bliss of the evening. Jared had knelt there, shirtless, his strong hands cradling her foot with such tenderness that it sent shivers up her spine. The nail polish bottle sat beside him, the color a deep, seductive red that mirrored the heat between them.

His touch had been slow, deliberate, and teasing. He took his time, brushing the tiny brush over her nails with precision, but his eyes kept drifting upward, tracing the curve of her calves, the softness of her thighs, and the way her body responded to his every subtle move. The coolness of the polish on her skin was a stark contrast to the warmth of his fingers, and every stroke felt like a promise of more to come.

As he painted, his fingertips occasionally slipped, grazing the sensitive skin of her ankles and the arch of her foot, sending sparks of electricity shooting through her. Jerica’s breath had caught in her throat more than once, her body awakening to the intimacy of the moment. There was something so sensual, so intoxicating, about the sight of him completely focused on her, not just on her body but on this seemingly simple act of care.

When he finished the last nail, Jared leaned forward, his lips ghosting over her ankle, and her breath hitched. Slowly, he worked his way up, kissing the inside of her leg, each touch sending molten waves of desire flooding her senses. His hands moved higher, caressing her thighs as his mouth followed the path his fingers laid out, tracing her skin with an unbearable slowness.

Jerica remembered the heat that had built between them, the tension palpable in the air, and how she had reached down, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as her body ached for his touch. Jared’s lips curved into a mischievous smile as he looked up at her, his eyes dark with hunger. He didn’t need to say anything. The way his gaze burned into hers said it all.

He had continued to kiss his way up her body, tasting her skin, and Jerica had felt herself melt beneath him. By the time his lips met hers, the polish on her toes long forgotten, they were lost in each other—no words, just the electricity that sparked between them, the heat of his hands, and the intensity of his kisses.

The memory brought a flush to Jerica’s cheeks, her heart beating a little faster as she ran her fingers over her toes once more. She hadn’t thought about that night in so long, but now the thought of losing that polish felt like losing a small piece of that intimacy they had once shared.

With a soft sigh, she whispered, "Next week," as she ended the call. Her toes curled slightly, the lingering warmth of that memory leaving her with a quiet longing.

In the evening, Jerica spotted Jared waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the car with his arms crossed. At first, her heart sank. Was he waiting for Natasha? The thought gnawed at her, still fresh and painful. But then he waved—at her.

She blinked in surprise. It wasn’t often Jared acknowledged her in public, let alone waited for her. She approached cautiously, still unsure if this was a moment of reconciliation or something else entirely.

"I’m visiting my mother. Want to join?" he asked, his voice steady, but there was something in his eyes that was harder to read—an invitation to something more than just a visit.

"Sure," she replied, though her heart was pounding in her chest. She slipped into the passenger seat, her mind buzzing with questions.

Jared’s mother, Victoria Petrovskaya, had always been a figure of respect and fear. A woman who had single-handedly raised her son after moving to the country from Eastern Europe with little more than grit and determination.

Jerica admired her, even if the older woman could be intimidating. Now, after a series of strokes, Victoria lived in a hospice, her body weakened, but her mind was as sharp as ever. Jerica visited her once a month, at least when time allowed.

There was something about the older woman’s strength, even from the confines of a wheelchair, that reminded Jerica of what true resilience looked like.

As they drove, the silence between them stretched, but Jerica didn’t mind. It was a silence that had grown familiar in their years together—a space where words weren’t necessary, but thoughts ran wild. They stopped in front of a bakery, and Jerica suddenly spoke up.

"Stop here."