I manage to focus enough to help Brinley sink the three, but she misses her next try. We go back and forth a couple of times before Stella’s cleared the table of stripes and sunk the eight ball.
“That was fun,” Brinley says. She turns to me. “Thank you for your help.”
I duck down and put my mouth close to her ear before whispering, “I think your friend is trying to get me to touch you.”
When she steps back to meet my gaze, she’s smiling, and I feel like I won the lottery. “I think it worked.”
“I’m gonna go grab another drink,” Stella says. “Why don’t you two play again?”
Brinley doesn’t bother to stifle her laugh. She shakes her head and watches her friend walk away. “She’s shameless.”
“A little,” I agree, “but not in a bad way.”
“She only acts like she’s still the party girl she was in high school and college. The truth is, she’s grown up a lot. Kace can’t stand her, but I think he’s too tough on her.”
Kace definitely wasn’t looking at Stella like he couldn’t stand her, but I’m not sure even he knows that. “Why doesn’t he like her?”
“He still thinks of her as the high-school girl who crashed his college party and tried to seduce him when he was drunk.”
“Oh. Shit.”
She sighs. “I know, but like I said, she’s grown up a lot since then.”
“Right. I can totally tell.” I nod solemnly, and she laughs.
“You’re lucky she hasn’t caught us together at The Orchid. She’d probably lock us in a room until we consummated our marriage.” She seems to realize what she’s said and looks up at me with wide eyes. “I mean . . . maybe consummate again or . . .”
I search her face, my chest aching at the reminder that she has no memory of a night that was so fucking important—so fucking everything—to me. “What do you remember?”
She draws in a shaky breath but keeps her eyes locked on mine. “I remember the nightclub, dancing with you, and . . . the booth?”
The memory of sliding my hand beneath her skirt in the crowded club sends blood pumping hard and fast to my dick. “Is that a question?”
“No, I definitely remember the booth. It . . .” Her cheeks flare pink, and she bows her head. “I don’t have questions about that part.”
“What else do you remember?”
* * *
Brinley
Does Marston hear the huskiness in his own voice on that question?
I swallow. “Shopping for shoes and lingerie, the booth . . .” I don’t know what’s crazier—that we’re having this conversation or that we didn’t have it sooner. In truth, I’m a little scared to remember the events of a night that led me to the altar. “And I remember the limo ride after.”
Marston’s nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. “Do you remember the next club? With Savvy and Alec?”
I close my eyes. This is where things start to get sketchy. “I have blips. Moments. I remember taking shots and laughing while Alec drooled over Savvy working the pole.” I laugh then swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut for a long beat. “I want to remember, Marston.”
He slides his hand to the back of my neck and strokes his thumb along my jaw. “I wish you could. I want to plug you into my brain and show you everything. I want . . .” He swallows.
I don’t need him to finish that sentence to be sure I want that too. Whatever it is. “This is crazy.”
“I like crazy.” He grazes his thumb across my bottom lip, and his eyes are pleading when he says, “Are you free tomorrow night?”
“Cami’s with her dad all week. Disney World.” I sound as breathless—and possibly as desperate—as I feel. But then I come to my senses and blink at him. “Why?”
He smiles down at me. “Is it so strange to want to take my wife on a date?”
I take a step back without realizing it, but he grabs my hand before I can get far.
“Just give me a chance, Brinley. Give us a chance.”
“You live in L.A. and I live here.” I shake my head. “I won’t let you give up the life you’ve worked so hard for—the success you’ve found—to move back to Orchid Valley.”
“That’s where we got this wrong,” he says softly. “We did everything backward, and now you’re giving me all the reasons this marriage can’t work when all I’m asking for is a date. I want to take you out. Dinner, maybe a walk if the weather’s nice. No expectations, just time together . . . for us.”
For us. No expectations. When I think of saying goodbye to him next week without getting that, when I think of sending in those divorce papers and never seeing him again . . . “I want to,” I whisper. His smile turns big and broad, and warmth floods my chest.