I’ve never been at a loss for words around women. Around anyone. I’m confident as shit. And it’s Jordan. I’m more than comfortable around her.
“Was I supposed to knock or something?” She laughs, and it finally pulls me out of my stupor.
I blink, forcing myself to snap out of it. “Sorry. I just…” I turn my attention back to my laptop, away from the walking distraction in front of me. “I wasn’t expecting you so late. Didn’t know Pilates was four hours long.”
She plops onto the couch next to me—no, practically on top of me, hair in her hand, elbow resting on the back cushion. Her knee falls onto my thigh.
“Didn’t know I had a curfew,” she says, in that tone she uses like ammo. The one that fucks with me. She sighs, softening. “What have you been doing?”
“Um…” I swallow, sliding my laptop up a little higher to cover my hard-on. “Just watching a movie. Little bit of work. Not very exciting.”
“Not your usual Friday night, huh?” she says, grinning.
“Nope.” I keep my face neutral. And since I know exactly what she means, I roll with it. It’s one of the reasons I blurted out Jordan’s name to the lawyer in the first place.
We have fun.
“But the night’s still young, babe.” I snap my laptop shut, adjusting myself in the process. “I was thinking maybe you and I could, you know…” I shrug, nonchalant. “Consummate the marriage.”
I turn, mirroring her, elbow on the cushion, head in hand, serious as hell. “Keep traditions alive.”
She bites her bottom lip, her grin stretching wide. “Consummate?”
“Yeah.”
“Like they did back in the fifteen hundreds?”
I nod.
She lets out a laugh. “Wow. Men haven’t changed one bit, have they? Only now, I think they’re calling it…” She leans in close, whispering in my ear, “Sex.”
I chuckle. “What do you mean men haven’t changed? Because we still want sex on our wedding night?” I cock a brow. “Seems like a pretty reasonable request if you ask me.”
“No…” She nudges my arm. “Because since the beginning of time, men have said and done anything to get it.” Her eyes flick to mine. “Including usingconsummating the marriageas an excuse.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying to fuck his hot wife,” I say, unapologetically.
“No.” Her gaze holds mine, teasing, light. “I guess I can’t.” Then she adds, like she can’t help herself, “But this is coming from a guy who’s slept with, what, half of New York City?”
There it is. Deflection. The part of her that still doesn’t believe she could ever be the one I choose.
I play along, like I always do. “Well, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“A reputation? What, New York’s wealthiest and sluttiest bachelor?”
A smirk tugs at my mouth. “Nah. That I get what I want. And I don’t beg.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”
I nod once. “And yet, here I am. Married to the only woman who’s ever made me work for it.”
She laughs softly. “Sluttyandcocky.”
“Slutty’s what happens when the only woman Iwantto sleep with keeps turning me down.”
She stills, just for a second, then scoffs like that didn’t affect her at all. “Yeah, right. You’d get sick of me.”
I lean in, slow, and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t yet.”
