And I’m not sure how to thank him for that. My simplethank youdoesn’t seem like enough, but I’ve never been real good at accepting gifts or compliments from people.
I head inside and slip into another one of the gowns Milton sent up for me, and tonight I leave my hair down but add some curls. It’s weird not to have to feed a baby who, according to his birth certificate, is now seven months old, but it’s also a welcome reprieve. Babies are a heck of a lot of work.
I’m also bracing myself for tonight—for all sorts of things. This is the night, the one we planned for. There’s the possibilitythat my date could get into another fight even though he behaved at the last event. Combine that with the probability that he’s going to try to get me drunk and what sort of fool I’ll make out of myself when he does, and I’m not quite sure what to expect tonight.
I’m excited about it even though I seemed closed to the idea when he first mentioned it. What better way to get actually hammered for the first time than with an NFL star who knows how to do it right?
I’m nervous, too. I can’t pretend I’m not.
And I’m guessing that’s why he has a shot glass with some liquid in it waiting on the counter for me.
I laugh when I see it, and I glance over at him. I don’t miss the way his eyes flick down my body, branding every place they touch before they move back to mine.
“Wow, Ains. You look gorgeous.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I say, not allowing myself the same courtesy of studying every inch of his body the way he just did to me since there’s only one way that will end—and that’s with me either brokenhearted or embarrassed.
He chuckles. “This is a smooth whiskey to get you started and calm the nerves. I promise I will take care of you tonight, and if there’s ever a limit you’re even coming close to approaching, just say the word and it all stops.”
“What word?” I ask.
“Any word. Just tell me to stop, and it ends there. But if you want more, or you want me to push you to take risks, or you want to let go and sayfuck it, tell me that, too. Just be open and communicate. Okay?”
I nod a little tentatively, and it’s like he can sense my nervousness.
He walks around the counter with his little shot glass, and he holds it up. “To just saying fuck it,” he says, and I hold up my glass.
“Fuck it.”
He taps his to mine as he laughs, and I tip the glass to my lips.
He shoots his down. I, on the other hand, take tiny little ladylike sips.
He laughs again as he watches me, and once I’ve emptied the glass, my chest warms, and I already feel a little more comfortable about tonight.
It’s not going to take much to get me drunk, that’s for damn sure.
“Ready?” he asks, and I nod, grab my clutch, and follow him out the front door.
Milton greets us with a nod of his head, and it seems like he’s always here, but there are actually four different doormen who switch around shifts. Milton is just here during primetime hours, and he lives in the building, so we see him more often.
I also learned that he works in some capacity for Dex on the side. I don’t know exactly what it entails, but he’s almost like a caretaker and assistant combined into one who’s always there but stays behind the scenes.
The car is waiting out front for us, and the driver tells Dex to text him when he’s ready to head back. We pull up the driveway to the hotel where the event is taking place, and it’s another red-carpet affair.
Nerves climb up my spine as I realize this is it. We’re about to make our public debut as husband and wife.
Before Dex opens the door to get out of the car, he turns to me. “Are you ready for this?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Do I have a choice?”
“I thought the whiskey would help.”
I laugh. “It wore off.”
He twists his lips. “I probably should’ve told the rest of my family about this before we went public at an event, but honestly…I don’t think any of them will be surprised.”
“You didn’t tell them?”
