I take in his voice, not processing what he’s saying, only his vicinity. As close as I’ll ever get him, but selfishly, I take it. Letting it run through me as I stroke quicker, breath hitching, hoping he’s listening as I come.
His tone gets really low and almost growly when he continues. “I’m going to steal some.”
Pleasure washes over me, and I bask in it. Bask in his nearness.
When I can speak, I don’t even try to mask the effect of my orgasm in my tone. “I don’t think you’ll want to do that.”
“I’m doing it, anyway.” He tries the handle—thank fuck I locked it. I normally don’t. “Rude.”
“You don’t get to just see me naked,” I say, still panting as I rinse off.
“Also rude! We are dating.”
“I’m a guy with standards. You have to earn that!” I stare at the ceiling under the warm spray for a moment, wondering what I did to get myself into this situation.
“Oh, I’m gonna earn it,” Wolfe says like a threat.
We manageto make it early to the country club for the bridal shower, but only barely. Wolfe really shouldn’t have to do much. We’re only here for the day because we only have that much time to be away from school and hockey; we’re flying out early tomorrow.
I just have to get through the day, and then I’ll deal with fake dating him for the rest of the year when we need to burn that bridge.
I grab the gift out of the car while Wolfe falls out of the passenger side. “Ready?”
“I’m always ready.” Wolfe smooths a hand over his baby pink suit, and I hate him a little for how effortlessly hot he is. He loves to wear bright colors and flashy outfits before games, so I always get him clothes for Christmas.
I picked a more conservative gray, so my family didn’t throw a tantrum about dressing too “gay”, but my shirt is dyed to match his suit, and our ties coordinate, making it impossible to miss we’re here together.
It feels good, even if it’s fake.
The valet stares at Wolfe and drops my keys. I’d be upset, but since this is the reaction Wolfe draws every single day, I’m used to it.
“You look good.” Wolfe winks and takes my hand when I walk around the car.
“You look pretty fucking good yourself.” My stomach flips, and I realize I need to focus on keeping my brain out of the gutter with ten unsexy thoughts at all times.
“We make a pretty fucking sexy couple,” he goes on as we’re led to the back veranda by one of the staff.
“If only fate had been different,” I try to say without sadness, but fail miserably.
He frowns and starts to say something, but we’re cut off by my mother’s shrill voice.
“Oh, thank the Lord you are here, Wilder.”
I cringe and brace myself for the newest issue. “What’s going on?”
There is a clearly flustered event planner following at my mother’s elbow.
“Everything is all wrong.” My mother loves drama and usually manufactures her own to keep everyone around her on her toes. “Sorry, Atticus, I didn’t even see you there.” Like anyone could fucking miss Wolfe. I roll my eyes, but she keeps going. “Wilder, why did you bring him with you so early? I don’t want him to see everything like this.”
“I wasn’t going to leave him forty-five minutes away without a car, mother.”
“We could have sent a driver for him. I don’t know why you insist on driving anyway.” She huffs, but I ignore the comment.
I don’t need to explain to her for the fiftieth time why I like to drive. “He’s happy to be here.”
“Yes,” Wolfe chimes in. “I can help with whatever you need, Mrs. Archangel.”
“I would never expect you to lift a finger. Why don’t you get a mimosa?” She turns to the nervous woman next to her. “Get Atticus a drink and take this.” She takes the gift out of my hands and tosses it at the planner before stomping off toward a monstrous balloon arch.
