Snarling, I give my hands a few seconds of freedom, letting them explore.
Her back, her sides, down to her hips.
That lush ass spills into my hands, so real I can just picture her bent over. For a runaway second, I squeeze her ass cheek. Hard.
But a voice growls up in the back of my mind. What the fuck are you doing?
Naturally, it sounds too much like Cash.
Before the brink of no return, I break the kiss and pull back. “We shouldn’t do this. Not yet, I mean.”
She frowns. “Do what? We’re married, Flint.”
Yeah. About that…
I take a long second to catch my breath and let common sense win. “You’re not wrong. Thing is, babe—”
“Oh. I don’t remember,” she says quietly. “I get it now.”
Guilt hits me like a crossbow arrow, straight through the chest. “No, you don’t get it.”
She stares at me, her eyes full of wonder as I cup her face with both hands.
“I don’t care that you don’t remember, I just don’t want you fucking pressured into anything you’ll regret. Your next time should be special. Not a couple days after bashing your head so bad you’re still trying to sort up from down.” I kiss her forehead, cringing as I force out the next words. “Give it time to heal, Val. Give us time, and then I’ll rock your world.”
“Flint,” she almost moans my name. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound.
Her head falls to my chest again and her hand skims up, molding to my abs, my pecs, my shoulders. “You’re a good man. Almost too good to be true.”
“Not as good as you’d believe.” Raw guilt pushes it off my tongue before I can stop it, already regretting the dumpster fire ending I’m sure this catastrophe has waiting.
Stepping back, she slips her arms off my neck and looks at her ring again. “Can I wear it for a while?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s your ring, lady. We’ll take it out soon, and you’ll make the other girls jealous.”
Her eyes flick back and forth, her bashful smile slowly wilting. Then she says, “I get the feeling our marriage is sorta secret. Am I right?”
I nod like a puppet on a string.
“Is it family stuff?”
I nod again.
She sighs, smiling sadly. “That feels right. You know, as crazy as it sounds, it makes me feel better. I was starting to think it was all a weird sham of some kind.”
My back teeth clamp together.
It hurts to keep this phony-ass, reassuring smile on my face.
Damn, she once again proves she’s too smart for this, meaning I don’t have much time. The whole thing could blow up in my face any second.
“Keep working on that better part, woman. You’ll put the surreal shit behind you. It’ll be so buried under by happier times, someday you’ll just laugh. I know you will.”
She beams at me. If she had a tail plastered to that sweet ass, I’m sure it’d be wagging.
I don’t have a crystal ball. If and when she finds out the truth, it’s pretty likely she won’t be laughing for a long time to come. But the fact that she’ll be alive, able to laugh someday?
Let her hate me. So long as she’s alive with a chance to make something of her life.
That’s why I’m showering encouragement and big dreams at her feet.
That’s what I fucking hope for more than anything.
* * *
That far-off clock I hear ticking gets louder later.
While I’m grilling the steaks and throwing together some asparagus, Ma sends a text. My time’s running out on that end, too.
Hiiii. I’ll be swinging by with Bryce at eight tomorrow. He’s yours again.
Normally, I love how she piles a dozen emojis behind every text, but not today.
I fire off a response asking if he can stay with her one more day, but she says that she’s heading to Maui at ten in the morning. Apparently, a couple friends are planning to party it up like old ladies do in Lahaina, so they’ll definitely be staying for a few days.
Shit.
I text her back, saying that’s fine, and I’ll pick Bryce up by eight.
You’re fine, sweetie. Sleep in. I’ll bring him by your place!
Double shit.
I spend half the dinner trying to figure out how I can dig my way out of this with minimal damage. Needing to find a way to make sure Val sleeps late in the morning, I suggest we watch a movie after we eat. I let her pick, hoping she’ll find one to keep her awake for a few hours.
She does.
Two movies, actually.
Both chick flicks, love stories, one with Luke Shaw, this ripped billionaire guy all the ladies adore on the big screen. One of those films has some scenes that leave every part of me throbbing by the time we go to bed after midnight.
Blue balls doesn’t begin to describe what it’s like when I have to watch sex scenes with Little Miss Forgetful way too close for comfort.