I push off from the wall and make my way toward the fridge. I open it up, grab the apple juice, and walk over to her. Instead of touching her, I lean my back against the counter and open the cap. “I heard enough,” I admit.
As much as I want to know everything that’s happened when it comes to her ex, I won’t push. I think she’s had enough of that over the last year.
I decide to change the subject instead. “So what dress did you pick?”
Reese pulls her hands away from her face to peer up at me from leaning against the counter. “You’re asking me what dress I chose?” She drops her gaze to the jug of apple juice in my hand.
I hand it to her. “You look like you need a drink.”
One of her dimples catches my eye, but instead of letting me see her smile, she looks at her feet. Her hair comes forward, hiding most of her face from me, and I involuntarily reach forward to push the long waves over her shoulder.
I inch the jug of juice closer.
She laughs, and my mouth curves.
Eventually, she takes it from me and tips her head back to take a drink.
When she’s finished, she runs her tongue along the seam of her lips.
There’s a pull in my groin, like I’m a fucking puppet.
I’m a grown-ass man with a career, investments, a mortgage, and yet…I’m turned on by a pretty woman drinking apple juice?
Jesus.
I take the juice from her, twist the cap on, and shove it back into the fridge. I hold my hand out to her, and she looks at it like it’s a trap.
“Come on, let’s go.” I inch my chin toward the hall leading to the stairs.
She’s about to protest, but I don’t give her the option.
“You know I can’t show up to this event without you,” I say. “I’d be the world’s worst fiancé if I didn’t have you by my side.”
She’s hesitant, eyeing my hand like I’m taking her to the pits of Hell instead of a fancy event.
“Don’t make me do it,” I threaten playfully.
Reese narrows her eyes. “Do what?”
“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs right now if I have to.”
The energy shifts around us. Reese pops a hip, crosses her arms, and narrows those pretty eyes. “And then what?” she questions. “Are you going to strip me out of these clothes and force me into a dress?”
I step forward. “Wanna test me?”
Twenty-Six
REESE
Malaki’s grinchallenges every excuse I’ve come up with to put space between us.
I know I shouldn’t, but I do exactly what he says and test him.
“You wouldn’t do that,” I say teasingly.
God, what am I doing?
The more time I spend with him, the more I slip up. I need to stick by the book or, at the very least, reflect on that list of boundaries I’d given him.
