“Better?” she asks me.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I had an outfit for a photo shoot once that wouldn’t let me move my arms higher than this.” She holds her arms out aboutsix inches from her sides, demonstrating. “Getting itches was the worst when I was in it.”
“I would’ve scratched your itches,” Cooper tells her.
“You scratch all of my itches now.”
They’re so cute that they’re gross.
I didn’t know that was possible. I’ve definitely never thought that about any of my brothers and their wives.
If Cooper doesn’t carry an equal load in their domestic household, I will?—
Nope.
Not my marriage. Not my place to have any opinion.
I need to get out of my own head here.
“Are you offering anything tonight, Duncan?” Waverly asks.
I slide a look at her as I try not to gulp the drink like it’s liquid tolerance.
I don’t need liquidcourage. I need liquidtolerance. Patience. Something to help me resist the lull of being provoked.
Because I’m at work.
And at-work Addie doesn’t bicker with hockey players.
Even if it’s easy.
“He plays guitar,” Paisley blurts, her voice finally above a whisper.
“Acoustic or electric?” Waverly asks.
“Acoustic,” Duncan answers.
“And he sings,” Paisley says.
“Not as well as some people.”
“He’sreallygood,” she insists.
“It’s just a hobby.”
Just a hobby. He’s fucking amazing. And I say that as someone who didn’t go to see him play, but as someone who was completely blown away by how sexy he looked on that stage the first night we met.
“You’re auctioning off a private concert?” Waverly asks.
“A night out with me at one of my favorite bars while I’m playing,” he answers.
Fuck me.
I think I’m seeing red.
Or is it green?
