Unfinished Ex by Samantha Christy

 

They’ve always wanted a second chance. Now they have one.

Unfinished Ex is an all new steamy, second chance contemporary romance from bestselling author Samantha Christy, is available now and we have the incredible book trailer and an exclusive look inside! 

Grab your copy today!

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Amazon: https://amzn.to/3whOlTB

Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/unfinishedex

He was my high school sweetheart.

My dream guy. My soul mate.

And as of yesterday... my ex-husband.

He wanted everything I couldn't give him. A doting wife, a perfect family, a white picket fence, and game nights.

It's not that I didn't want to be his wife anymore. I just wanted something more—a career. So when an opportunity came up two years ago, it was easier to make him hate me than have him think he wasn't enough.

Now, a day after our divorce is final, I find myself thrust back in the town we grew up in, down the street from the house we once owned together.

Seeing him again has me second-guessing everything. My priorities. My reason for leaving. My secrets.

When we cave, and have one explosive night of ex sex, everything changes.

Or nothing has.

And I have to decide if history is about to be repeated.

Keep reading for a look inside Unfinished Ex!

Thunder crackles behind me, shaking the porch and scaring his dog.

Jaxon rolls his eyes and opens the door further. “Your father would have my head on a platter if he knew I let you walk home in this. You can stay until it passes.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Inside?”

“No, Nicky, in the doghouse out back. Of course inside. Don’t drip all over the hardwood.”

I crane my head around the corner and peek into the living room. “You put in hardwood floors?”

“Always said I wanted to.” He gestures to the kitchen. “Wait in there. I’ll get you a towel.”

Entering the house that used to be mine is surreal. And overwhelmingly emotional. Aside from the hardwood in the living room, nothing much has changed. I peek down the hallway at the ‘picture wall’—well, except that. It’s completely bare. Not even nails remain on the wall that was once lined with pictures of us: our wedding, our graduation, our engagement, our home purchase. Our everything. And it dawns on me that Jaxon may not have a single photo of his past that doesn’t include me.

“I said stay in the kitchen,” he says, handing me a towel.

I glance at my feet, which are technically on the kitchen floor, but I don’t argue the point. Then I sit at the table that I once had coffee at every morning. The table Jaxon and I made love on after I got offered my first internship.

He stares at it, too. Then turns his back on me. “Coffee?”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

My heart races. My mind is all over the place. I’m sitting in a house I once owned, staring at a man who was once mine, touching a table that we once christened. It’s torture to the extreme.

This is a very bad idea.

So why, then, am I’m not making any attempt to leave?