“You know that isn’t true.”
“We’re not…” She doesn’t have to finish the fading sentence. We’re not a real couple.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t real feelings though. “Can I come in?”
Her eyes turn wary, the light from inside the room showing the glassy gaze that makes me want to kick myself.
“I can brush my teeth first,” I joke, hoping that’ll lighten the mood. She doesn’t so much as crack a smile though, so I sigh and wait until she opens the door further so I can slip inside.
Closing the door behind me, I lean against the wood with my arms crossed over my chest and study the pajamas she’s in. My eyes narrow. “Is that my shirt?”
Her hand quickly goes to the white tee covering her body, looking like a dress on her short figure. “It was in my laundry when I took it out of the dryer and I just…”
I wave it off. “Looks good on you.”
Dodging my eyes, she stares at her bare feet which shift on the carpet. She rarely wears socks around here, which I find interesting considering she admitted to me she’s obsessed with collecting quirky pairs. When she showed me the ones stuffed into a side pocket of her bag, I lost count after thirty, thirty-one after I bought her a pair with kangaroos on them so she had a piece of me in the collection. Then I asked when she was going to unpack. She’d given me a quiet, “I don’t know. When I’m sure.”
I never asked her what she was waiting to be sure about because I didn’t want to know. It wouldn’t be likely that I’d like the answer.
Rylee sits on the edge of the mattress, one of her hands wrapping around the posters of the bed. “Does that happen a lot to you?”
As much as I want to lie, I don’t. “Not as much as it used to, but the women I hung around in the past would go after what they wanted without a single thought. Some don’t think twice before sitting on our laps or making moves like that.”
She doesn’t give me any reaction to that, which is worse than seeing disgust or anger.
“Rylee—”
“We’re not in a relationship,” she tells me, though it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself.
“We’re married.”
“You know what I mean.”
Dragging a palm down the side of my face, I grip the side of my neck. “What if I told you I wanted that?”
She stares.
“The relationship.”
Her brows rise.
Taking a risk, I walk over to her and stop in front of where she sits. Caution locks her body as those two-tone doe eyes rake up the front of me until they’re settled on my face.
“We’re already married,” I reason, squatting down to be closer to eye level. “Why not give it a shot? We know each other better, have the time, we made a commitment—”
“Our commitment is going to end.”
My jaw ticks. “Who says?”
She gapes. “We did.”
Reaching out, I take both her hands into mine and settle them on her lap. “How about we take it a day at a time? We don’t have to think about next week or next month or next year.”
“Or two years from now?”
“Or then,” I agree.
Staring down at her lap, she lets out a small noise that almost resembles defeat. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never had a serious relationship.”
Flipping our hands, I trace the lines on her palm with my fingertip and murmur, “How ironic, neither have I. We can pop each other’s cherries.”
The reaction I get makes it hard not to snicker when I see her eyes widen and cheeks deepen red. I’m tempted to ask her what other cherries I can pop, but I hold back from making the comment despite curiosity nipping at me.
Instead, I soak in the way she shivers when I continue tracing her palm. “You’re not going to argue? Tell me why it’s wrong?”
“I think…” Her breath is airy, choppy as she exhales and watches me trail my finger up her sleeve and along the vein of her wrist. “I think neither of us needs to say that aloud to know it’s probably the truth. We’re very different people.”
Humming, I bend and press a kiss on the center of her hand. Then another to the inside of her wrist. “Yet here we are, despite the circumstances. You going to give that up without even trying?”
Another shuddered breath. “No.”
“Mmm. Good. Might make the next two years very frustrating otherwise.” Without warning, I stand and gently lay her back until her eyes widen in sudden fear. It takes one look between us for her to ease as I crawl onto the bed and kneel with her body spread out between my legs. “Relax,” I command lightly, pressing a kiss against one corner of her lips and then the other. Her hands bolt to my chest, resting her shaky palms flat against my racing heart.
One of my free hands trails between us until it settles between her legs, cupping her over the cotton pajama pants she has on. Her body squirms, thighs closing to trap my hand exactly where her body wants me.
“Garrick…” The single word is barely audible, her eyes fluttering as I apply the right amount of pressure. Her head tilts back, giving me perfect access to her neck.
My lips pepper kisses along her skin, stopping at her collarbone and inhaling. When her hips arch into my hand, I know my efforts aren’t in vain. I give her what she needs, feeling the heat through the cotton.
The noises she makes fuels me. I lift her shirt and pay attention to every inch of skin on her torso, trailing my lips up to the valley between her bare breasts and hover over one of the puckered nipples. “I’ve got you, baby girl.”
Within minutes, she’s writhing under me and gasping out choked noises as I slide my hand under her waistband and
