It wasn’t possible.

“Persephone mentioned that Nixon was having some PR troubles up there in North Carolina?” I changed the subject as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, it’s all over the fucking tabloids,” he seethed.

“Neither of us read the tabloids. We’re more general fiction or fantasy readers.” Every night we curled up in bed and read together. Was it possibly geriatric? Sure, but we enjoyed it, so who the fuck cared.

Noble and I took the path that ran between Sterling and Briggs’ yards and came out on the sidewalk. I shortened Cerberus’s leash so he didn’t run out into traffic. The dog was a hundred percent enthusiasm and zero percent common sense.

“Well, I’m the last person to gossip about my twin, but let’s just say that what happened in Vegas didn’t exactly stay there.”

“Really.” My eyebrows shot up as I thought back to Nixon’s little brunette charity auction date, Liberty. Guy could do worse, if that was who Noble was hinting at. “Guess that happened a lot on our trip.”

Noble snorted. “Right. Except you and Persephone already knew each other, wanted each other—don’t even fucking deny it—and you guys woke up married. Nix…” He sighed. “He’s a hot fucking mess with a shit ton of trust issues, and waking up married would have been easy compared to what…” He shook his head.

What the hell had happened after we left? Nixon had stayed an extra day with his date, but everything had seemed easy between the two that morning. Then again, I’d had my head so far up the what-the-fuck-did-we-do-last-night mindfuck that I wouldn’t have noticed if Liberty had been breathing fire across the table.

“So drama. Got it. Tell your brother I think he’s a solid guy, and I hope it works out.”

“We’ll see. Guy can’t seem to get the fuck over himself some days. I mean, just because you had some bad shit happen in your past, it doesn’t mean that has to be your future, right?”

I wasn’t touching that comment with a ten-foot pole, and I didn’t have to, because we’d reached my house. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Thanks for letting me vent.” He gave me the nod and then took off across the street toward his house.

“Women are trouble,” I said to Cerberus, who promptly jumped up my leg. “Hey, no. We can’t do that. Four on the floor, bud.” I set him down like the dog-training video suggested and gave him the I’m-the-alpha-pack-leader stare that was supposed to magic him into submission or some shit.

He whined at me, and I rolled my eyes as we headed into the house.

Elton John sang about a yellow brick road from the kitchen, and my smile was instant. Persephone was home. I unclipped Cerberus’s leash and urged him on. “Go find her.”

He took off like a shot, skidding on the hardwood and nearly missing the turn into the kitchen. I cringed, but he made it. Barely.

“Hi, Cerberus! Did you have a good walk with Daddy? Mommy missed you all day!”

God, I loved the sound of her voice filling the house, the feeling I got just knowing she was here. I felt…complete, at peace, even.

I turned the corner into the kitchen and saw Persephone on her knees, holding Cerberus on her lap as he tried to lick her face to death. His tail wagged at a mile a minute. Hell, if I had a tail, it would wag every time I saw my wife.

Wife. Sure, we were married now, but in eleven days, we’d be saying I do all over again in front of our friends and family, and this time we’d remember it.

“How was work?” I asked, setting the leash on the counter.

“Hey, stranger.” She smiled at me, and I swore the entire room lit up. She put Cerberus on the floor, and then rose. “You looked good against Denver. That second period goal in game three was hot.”

“You watched me?” I pulled her into my arms and felt the off-kilter pieces of me click back into place. We never talked about hockey when we called during road trips, and lately, Cerberus—and whatever he’d recently destroyed—had been the hot topic. It definitely warmed my chest to think she watched when I wasn’t home.

“Of course.” She wound her arms around my neck. “Now kiss me. I’ve missed you.”

I lowered my mouth to hers and kissed her deep. Fuck, she tasted like the little lemon candies she kept on her desk at home. Her sheath dress was too form-fitted for her to wrap her legs around my waist, so I put one forearm under her ass and lifted straight up against me. Her feet dangled as she threw herself into the kiss.

My hand tunneled into her French twist, and I pulled the long, singular pin I’d often seen her secure the hairstyle with. Her hair tumbled free, cascading down my arm, and I groaned at the feel of it, her hair, her tongue, her mouth, her skin—all of it.

Tags: Samantha Whiskey Carolina Reapers Romance
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