Someone stole all of my things! Rushing to the closet, I fling the doors open and instead of my clothes, I find an empty space. Not even a single solitary hanger to be found.
What. The. Hell?
Pissed and panicking, I rush to my bathroom and find all my towels, toiletries, and makeup gone. I know I have decent taste, but I’m broke, so it’s not like anything I own has any real value. Why would someone steal my stuff?
“Griffin!” I shout from the bathroom. My hands press against the vanity as I lean forward and drag air into my lungs. The weight of everything is pressing down on me—the marriage, thelies, the feeling of control slipping through my wedding band-clad fingers—and I’m dangerously close to losing my cool.
The door to my room opens and Griffin’s footsteps grow closer. “Yes, my wife?”
“Someone stole my stuff!” I shout, turning to face him. And completely forgetting that I’m wearing nothing but a simple cotton bra and panty set. Griffin’s eyes take me in hungrily, and I try not to notice his thick cock as it rises to greet me, but I’m only human, and he’s clearly free-balling it.
Damn him. Damn gray sweatpants.
“No one stole your stuff,” he says, chuckling.
I’m going to punch him in the dick. Throwing my hands out to the sides, I say, “Obviously they did, because everything’s missing!”
“It’s not missing. It’s in our room.”
Our room.
Our. Room.
“Excuse me?” I’m two seconds away from exploding. From epically losing my shit. He better not have done what I think he did.
“I didn’t want you to have to move everything when we got home. I knew you’d be tired, so I asked the housekeeper to move everything for you.” He says it all so matter-of-factly. Like it’s not crazy and invasive to ask the woman who deep cleans his apartment twice a month to move my goddamn underwear. He turns, walks out of the bathroom, and makes his way to his room. I silently follow because I’m too pissed for words.
Ignoring the calming dark green walls and the massive bed in the center of the room, I trail Griffin to a walk-in closet that’s twice the size of mine. He waves his hand toward the right wall where I find all my clothes hanging neatly, my shoes in individual cubbies, and my intimates folded in a small dresser.
My breathing grows shallow and comes in quick bursts as I stare at my clothes hanging across from his. I don’t know why this is the thing that’s going to push me over the edge, but it is.
“This is too far, Griffin.” I turn to face him. His eyes twinkle with mirth. The smug bastard. “Why would you do this?”
“Because you agreed to give us a chance, remember? For the next six months, you agreed to give this marriage a real chance. Which means, this”—he sweeps his arms out to indicate the closet and the bedroom—“is your bedroom too.”
No, no, no. I didn’t think he’d actually try to enforce sharing a bedroom. It’s crazy. And a recipe for disaster. Because as much as I can deny my attraction to Griffin until I’m blue in the face, I know my damn body will betray me at every turn.
“I’ll let you get ready for bed.” He presses a kiss to my forehead while my mouth flaps open and shut like one of those stupid, singing fish people hang on their walls, then walks out of the closest. “I’ve got a few things to do to get ready for practice tomorrow. I’ll be in soon.”
Ha. Joke’s on him. I’m still going to sleep in my own bed.
“Oh, and Mira?” Griffin turns and levels me with a dangerous smirk. “Don’t even bother trying to sleep in your old bed. I’ll just carry you back to ours.”
He would, too, the jerk. It’s becoming all too clear that Griffin Wright was completely serious about giving this marriage a go for six months.
I’ll think of a way out of it tomorrow. For tonight, I’m far too exhausted to play these games.
I take a shower, get ready, and crawl into his unfamiliar bed. Right in the middle. And then I starfish my arms and legs.
If I won’t be comfortable tonight, neither will he.
eleven
MIRA
I wakeup with my back plastered to Griffin’s chest, his hand cupping my breast, and his hard-on pressing against my ass. I don’t remember snuggling up to him, but apparently my plan to make him uncomfortable failed miserably. Instead, I’m the one who’s uncomfortable because I’m sweaty and horny from being pressed against his naked body all night. Seriously, how can you wake up horny?
As quietly as I can, I slip out of Griffin’s hold, grab some clean clothes, and tiptoe into his bathroom. I lock the door and stare at myself in the mirror before starting the shower.
