“That’s all.” Pepperoni pizza beats the cup o’ramen I bought for us. I sit back on the bed again, thinking about what he said. Who have I become? I crossed a line when I emailed pretending to be him. But that’s just one of so many more that I’ve erased completely. I don’t recognize myself or the life I’m living anymore. Good or bad, it’s of my own doing.
He has every right to be upset. And I need to sit in this reality check for behaving so horribly. Warner is a good man. He stands his ground and protects what’s his. He’s more than made it clear that I fall into that category. I never intended to hurt him, but I have.
Returning to the living room, I sit next to him on the couch and take his hand between both of mine. When he looks at me, I say, “I’m really sorry. I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done. I don’t expect your forgiveness. I crossed lines that . . .” I drop my head forward, staring at the connection of our hands, the size difference, and how his fingers wrap around mine as soon as we touch. “I have so many excuses, but none will justify what I’ve done. All I can tell you is that I’m genuinely sorry for hurting and upsetting you.”
The moment he pulls his hand from mine, the water pooling in the corners of my eyes falls over the dams of my lower lids. His arm comes around my shoulders, and he pulls me in to cuddle against him.
He doesn’t say anything else about it, but we both know that there was more to it than just the emails. The truth always comes out, and the floodgates have been opened.
Hours later, I stare at him again while he’s sleeping. The shame from earlier still weighs heavily in my chest, but I’ve also started to feel something else—an emotion I never expected.Grateful.I reach over and tuck the sheet under his chin as he quietly slumbers next to me.
I’m so lucky and damn thankful this utterly irredeemable man survived. But more than that, he’s letting bygones be bygones when I didn’t deserve his forgiveness, or forgetfulness.
Leaning over, I kiss his lips gently, so I don’t wake him, and whisper, “I love you, Warner Landers.”
CHAPTER 26
Warner
The Day of the Wedding. . .
“DoI think it’s cruel and unusual punishment? Yes, I do. Again, I understand why, but that doesn’t make it better.” This one-handed life still gives me enough problems to swear at least once a day. I lost the right cuff link to that outburst five minutes ago. It’s yet to be found in the bedroom, but my girl came to the rescue after she heard the commotion.
I watch as Sass pushes the left cuff link through the hole of my tuxedo shirt, all the while smiling like this isn’t a state of emergency. I’ve never heard a sweeter sound than her laughter, even when it borders on hysteria like it does now and is punctuated with a snort. I ask, “Are you mocking me? It’s not funny.”
“It is funny. You’re being ridiculous, Warner.” When the cuff link is secured, she plants a kiss on the underside of my chin. Granted, the little shorty doesn’t have her shoes on yet, so that’s the highest she can reach without stretching to her tiptoes. That might get her to my lips at most. I’m not opposed to her lips on mine . . . or down there, which is how this all started. Or should I say the lack of her mouth wrapped around my cock? “The anticipation will only make it better,” she says, walking toward the closet in nothing more than strings wrapped around those deliciously sexy hips and a strapless bra making me jealous that it has the pleasure of holding her fantastic tits, and I don’t. With her hair hanging down in soft curls, the ends sway across her shoulder blades when she walks.
It’s quite a view. Almost as good as when she’s coming toward me.
That package right there—every bit of it—has brought me to life over the past few weeks, made it easier to wake up each day without an alarm, and helped me fall asleep faster with her next to me. There are still things to work out, but we’ve become pros at burying our heads in the sand. Maybe the lives we were living and the lies we were telling will eventually fade away when enough time has passed while living in the truth. I see who she is when she doesn’t wear a mask of deceit. Seeing Delaney with her family, being protective of me and making sure I felt comfortable—that’s who she really is.
This character she plays sometimes is becoming harder for her to portray. She’s more her than the unhinged version she pretended to be in the beginning. Though I still think some aspects were pulled from her own well.
The woman loves her heist movies.Odd.
She stocks the fridge with apples and carrots only to let them go bad while the box of Cheez-its is emptied and left lying on the counter. Seeing a dead pigeon makes her sad, and she always gives any spare change to someone in need. Her intentions are good, better than mine most days, and her heart is pure. That’s why the lies she’s told still don’t make sense.
I still don’t know why her being a teacher is never spoken about, and I haven’t pushed the issue since I first asked what she does for a living. The answer was flipped into something else, so I suspect she’s picking up shifts at the restaurant while I’m at work. But I haven’t verified it yet. She complains about her feet hurting and then tells me she didn’t do anything all day.
The smell of garlic perfuming her hair is the giveaway. But if she doesn’t want to talk about it, and she’s not asking me for millions of dollars, I don’t push my nose into her business.
She’s been taking care of me when no one else did, even after they found out about the accident. I haven’t heard from my mother since I last saw her, and Jimmy’s been caught up in his wedding planning.Who else is there?The assistant I pay to be in my life? Though I can’t fault her too much. She has made sure I had lunch every day and given me ibuprofen when she saw I was in pain before I even acknowledged it.
But my Sass is different. She’s here for me. I’m certain at this stage. I mean something more to her than the con I started out as. She’s fallen for me like I have her. There’s a strong chance of us making it through this storm if we can continue the path we’re on—sharing who we are on the inside and exposing our real selves to each other. It may not be a fast process, but I’m willing to give it the chance to grow at the pace we need. Slow and steady. In the meantime, the sand sure is nice and cool to be buried in . . . “Why do you torture me so?”
“We’re still talking about a blow job, right?” With her hand on the doorframe, she swings around the corner and disappears. But then her head pops back out. “I think we’ve crossed into Emmy-winning theatrics at this stage.”
I sit in the chair to wait for her to come back out. I’m happy to make myself useful by hanging around and zipping her dress up as needed. “Well, to be fair, if your mouth wasn’t so talented, we wouldn’t have this issue.”
She disappears into the closet again. “The only issue we have is we’re going to be late if you keep begging for a blow job like this.”
I grin. “So it’s working?”
My breath is stolen from my lungs when she walks out in a baby-blue dress showing off her shoulders. Her hair is pushed back, and the necklace I bought her is wrapped around her neck. I’m used to seeing her barefaced most days or the lightest touch of makeup that makes her blue eyes pop, as she calls it. When we go out, she wears more if the occasion calls for it. Tonight, she looks like a movie star.
My heart beats faster with every step she takes, coming for me as if she didn’t own my heart already. “You look . . . Wow. So gorgeous.”
She giggles, and her cheeks instantly pinken into a deeper shade that drifts down over her chest. The dress is modern in design, more architectural and bolder for her typically more casual style. It cuts in at her waist, showing off her incredible figure. The large yellow flower printed on the side of the fitted skirt reminds me of the sunshine she is in the world.
