I can wear polos and khakis. I can look the part too.
The thought makes my stomach twist uncomfortably because I hate the idea that Mira may only give me a real chance if I change who I am, but she’s worth it. So I Googlewhere can Ifind preppy rich guy clothes, grab my keys, and head out to buy a new wardrobe.
Maddox thinks Mira needs someoneserious? Fine. I can be serious.
Imayhave gonea little overboard. But in my defense, I didn’t realize monograms were so important to preppy rich people.
Straightening the new bath towels I bought, I grin. Maybe it’s lame, but I like them. I also like the monogrammed bathrobes that look like they came straight out of some fancy spa.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Wifey
Do you want me to pick up dinner? The girls and I are almost done hanging out.
Mira may act like she doesn’t feel this thing between us, but I know better. She thinks about me when she’s out, she comes to my games, and the other night…Fuck, the other night was everything. The sight of my wife on her knees, sucking my cock as she tried to cheer me up, will live rent free in my mind until I’m a shriveled husk of a man rotting away in a nursing home somewhere. She can’t only see me as a friend if she’s willing to do something like that, right?
Time to enact my plan to get Mira to see me as more than a friend or a fuck buddy. Time to get my wifey to see me as a husband, and that means no more takeout. I’m going to take care of my woman and show her I’m not like her shitty ex-boyfriend, Jared. I won’t ever expect her to do everything while I sit around with my thumb stuck up my ass.
Me
No need. I’m cooking dinner. What time will you be home so I can have it ready?
I grin when the ellipses that tells me she’s typing flashes on the screen right away.
Wifey
Oh! Um, I should be home in an hour. Can I pick anything up?
Me
Nah. I’ve got everything under control. Have fun with the girls and tell them I say hi.
Okay. Thanks, Griffy.
Griffy. It’s the first time she’s called me that since we got married. Who would have thought a silly nickname would make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside? Shit, it may be better than the blow job she gave me the other night. Grinning like a fool, I throw on an apron—a new, non-perverted one because I’mseriousnow. RIP,Eat My Meatapron—and gather everything I’ll need to make my wife a healthy, delicious meal. I’d rather be wearing my gray sweats than these starched and stuffy khakis, but it’s a small sacrifice to make in the effort to win over my wife.
When the door opens just over an hour later, I have the table set—with cloth napkins and everything—and I’m setting the roasted chicken and veggies on trivets.
Mira wanders into our home and stops dead in her tracks when she sees me. “Oh, wow.” Her stunning moss-colored eyes ping between the food, the fancy place settings, the candles at the center of the table, and me. They widen when she takes in my outfit. “Is there some special occasion I forgot about tonight?”
Chuckling, I pull out a chair for her as she washes her hands. “Just wanted to make sure you had a healthy, home-cooked meal.”
She eyes me speculatively as she sits down, her pretty cheeks growing pink as I push her chair in for her.
“I know I’m not around often to do stuff like this, so I want to prioritize it when I am.”
“Griffin,” she starts, chewing on her lower lip, “you don’t have to do that.”
I shrug. “You’re my wife. I want to.” I don’t break eye contact with Mira, even when she shifts in her seat, unsure how to read me or what to say.
“Griff…”
“Nuh-uh, sunshine. Save your protests. I know you have your reservations about all of this, but I’m perfect for you, and I’m going to prove it. Now, eat your chicken before it gets cold.”
She has one eyebrow cocked like she’s about to say something sarcastic. Instead, she says, “Why are you suddenly calling me sunshine?”
Warmth spreads through my chest. And that’s why. “Because you shine so damn bright, baby. You make me feel warm and happy. You’re walking, talking, sexy-as-fuck sunshine.”
