Then she nods. “Yeah. I am choosing him.”
I pat Tim on the arm, giving him a double tap of sympathy. “Tough break, bud.”
He hates me. Detests me in that instant and probably wants to plant me a facer but knows I’d crush him. Not that I blame him; I wouldn’t confront me either.
He stares like he wants to throw the coffee at my chest and run, but instead he swallows his pride—and probably a little bile—and slinks off down the hallway with the saddest coffee in the tristate area. I watch him toss it into the trash can near the parking structure, waiting until he’s disappeared around the corner before I close the door with a soft, satisfyingclick.
I give it a beat. Two. Then turn toward her with a lazy grin. “So that went well.”
She huffs out a breath that might be a laugh or a sigh or both. “You are the most aggravating man I’ve ever met.”
“Married to me, though,” I point out.
“Stop saying that.”
“Youchoseme.” I remind her dramatically.
She rolls her eyes but laughs at the same time. “So annoying.”
“Want me to gloat a little more? I have a whole speech prepared about how he peaked in high school and then I peaked in Star Lake. Inside you.”
She narrows her eyes, but I catch the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She wants to giggle.
“You think this is funny?” she asks. “That poor man was heartbroken.”
My snort is loud. “Please—at any point this weekthat poor mancould have come out to the lake and begged you to take him back. It’s not like you flew to the fucking moon,” I point out. “You were an hour away.”
She opens her mouth, probably to protest and scold me for being an asshole, but I lift a brow.
“You gonna defend him now?” I dare. “Timmy Two Weeks Ago?”
Jeez, it’s so easy to make fun of him. Am I being a dick about this? Yes.
Do I care? No.
Annabelle is my fake wife, and Tim can fuck right off. Let him find his own damn wife; this one is mine.
“No, I’m not gonna defend him. This is just a lot.”
I nod. “Yeah. For him.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re insufferable.”
I grin. “But married.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Married,” I repeat, walking toward her with deliberate, heavy steps. “Husband. Groom. Newlywed.”
She spins around. “‘Newlywed’ implies we’re going on a honeymoon.”
Does it? “My complex has a pool on the roof.”
Annabelle arches a brow, unimpressed. “Wow. Fancy. Shall I pack a sarong?”
“You own a sarong?”
“No.”
