“Are we talking about your big-headed babies again?” I asked. “Because I have some questions about how that’d work.”
“No one’s had the talk with you yet?” I could hear the sharp grin in his voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.”
I laughed though something stirred inside me at his words. Something that wanted—no,needed—to hear him explain how we’d fit together. The images in my head appeared all at once and I tried to blink them away but I couldn’t escape the sight of him braced over me, one hand in my hair while the other moved between my legs.
Suddenly I was hot, much too hot for this sweatshirt. I had to set the phone aside to fling it off and find something lighter.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Changing into pajamas,” I said, because I wasn’t going to explain the real issue.
“You’re—Jesus, Emme.” A groan, a ragged exhale, and then the water turned off. “I’m warning you right now I’m not in the mood for another one of your fuck-arounds.”
“You’re not in the mood? Please. Don’t you think I have better things to do?” I asked as I pulled a tank top over my head. “I mean, I’m getting married in two days and I might have to birth some giant babies bred for the backfield. Fucking with you about whether I’m wandering around my room topless?—”
“Emmeline.”
“—is theleast of my priorities.” I smiled to myself as I climbed back on the bed. I loved it when he called me that. I’d never tell him as much because pushing his very large and easy to locate buttons was my absolute favorite thing in the world and I only heard my proper name when he was fully exasperated with me.
I heard a long, muffled growl and then, “If you’re not fucking with me, switch over to video.”
Without thinking any of this through, I tapped the icon and found myself staring at Ryan. Naked. Glistening. Submerged halfway up his chest. All of which was to be expected in a bathtub.
Brighter minds might’ve caught on to this before initiating a video call.
“Hello there.” I blinked a few times too many as I drank in his wet chest, wet shoulders, wet hair. And all that ink on display. I really wanted to know about those flowers tucked in between the trees and waves and everything else. With an exaggerated gesture to my shirt, I said, “Pajamas.”
His scowl was a line of craggy granite, his brows rough peaks. He tipped his head to the side as he eyed me. “I can see that.”
I folded my legs in front of me and leaned back against the pillows. I knew this shirt was thin and, in the right light, a touch see-through. His gaze dropped to the V-neck, then lower. His eyes flared and I had to ask, “Are you happy now?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he growled.
I watched his gaze devour me and he didn’t even try to hide it. The attention turned my nipples to tight, rosy points right around the time I noticed his free hand had disappeared under the water. His shoulder shifted and there was a slight bunch and pull in his biceps.
I had a good idea where that hand had gone and what it was doing—even if I didn’t know what we were doing.
I didn’t know if it would be like this when he came home on Friday, if we’d flirt and tease and press into each other, but I hoped so. I wanted to feel this again. And I wanted to feel it with him.
And I didn’t really care what we called it or how long we had before the time ran out. Nothing in my life ever lasted very long and this arrangement could be over before the end of summer. Ihad to wrap my arms around it and hold it close while I could. That was the only way to make it through.
His lips parted on a sigh and a stray thought hit me. “Oh! What about flowers?”
His gaze narrowed but his arm didn’t stop. “Flowers for what?”
“For Friday,” I said. “For our little wedding.”
“I told you I had it under control.” At this, I shrugged, sending the V of my shirt a little deeper. His eyes snapped shut and he said with a huge exhale, “Either you trust me to do this or you don’t.”
“Okay, okay, calm down.” I snuggled deep into the blankets, grinning like crazy. There were times when I wondered if I was something of an unhinged bitch or just a lovable brat who liked to pester her deeply pester-able friend. It was probably a mashup of both. “You know I trust you.”
“Yeah.” He ran a wet hand down his face. “It’s a good thing I trust you too, Muggs.”
chapter twenty
Emme
Today’s Learning Objective:
