Chapter 23
chapter twenty-three
Ryan
Today’s Learning Objective:
Students will reevaluate information once considered fact.
Emme dozed most of the drive home which gave me plenty of time to tear apart everything I knew about the woman I’d spent fifteen years telling myself never wanted me as more than a friend.
I always hoped he’d slip up so I could make him admit he’d noticed me like that.
I glanced over as a snore trilled out of her. “I noticed. I always noticed.”
All this time. All those years I’d told myself to push it down and shove it aside so I could be a true, decent friend to her and not some entitled dude waiting for any sign of an opening. All those years and she’d been waiting too?
I almost couldn’t believe it.
If she’d said this two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed it. Would’ve shrugged it off as the silly ramblings of a woman who liked to forget she couldn’t hold her liquor.
But after what happened on the plane last weekend, after everything last night—I saw those moments in a bright new light.
Maybe this plan—this marriage —wasn’t going to end in the ruin I’d imagined after all. There was a chance we could figure this out. Together.
I wanted to dive into the deep end right now. Wanted to tell her everything, even if it broke me, and I wanted her to promise we’d figure it out together.
But then she started snoring again.
I laughed to myself and skimmed a finger down her cheek, and told myself there was time. There’d always be time for us.
Now that there was an us.
A strange level of vindication came with hearing it hadn’t been entirely one-sided. All the time I’d spent hating the guys she went out with, the agony I’d experienced from seeing her with them—maybe she’d shared a bit of that.
I wanted to go back in time and rewrite our history but I knew that if this part—this huge fucking fundamental part—had been different for us, it wouldn’t change the rest of it.
Even if she hadn’t laid down her no-players law from the start, I wouldn’t have lasted more than a few weeks with her. A month or two if I’d respected the rules she never thought to share with her boyfriends. And that was assuming I’d had the time and mental bandwidth to do anything more than go to school, play football, and help keep my family from going off the rails before and after my dad died.
Most days I’d only had the bandwidth to watch Emme peel her tangerines and carefully pick bits of pith off the segments. I would’ve been another one of her worthless boyfriends who couldn’t get it together to be the guy she deserved.
Goddamn. If I’d known…
But I knew now.
And if that was what she wanted—what she’d wanted since the start—then we could finally stop telling each other this arrangement was temporary. That it had anything to do with her ex or my business deals or even our pact. And we wouldn’t have to act like last night had been a mistake or whatever the fuck was happening there.
Traffic was heavy for no apparent reason so when I took a break from dismantling the belief system underpinning our entire fucking relationship, I switched gears and freaked the fuck out about her asking if we were exclusive. What the fuck was that about?
When I was done with that, I spent ten minutes in standstill traffic shooting off emails to see whether I could cancel my West Coast meetings or any of the endorsement appearances scheduled for me this week because I wanted to stay in bed with my wife.
Very productive night for me.
It only improved when we returned home and, instead of insisting my half-conscious wife explain herself and the past decade and a half of our history, I steered her toward my room. It was closer to the front door and she was enough of a fall risk tonight without adding a whole staircase to the equation. We’d figure out which one would be our room later.
I steadied her in front of a dresser and dropped to my knees to handle the lace-up shoes that I was convinced had manifested themselves from a dark, filthy corner of my mind. She held her dress to her knees while I took my time trailing my fingers up the back of each calf and slowly unwrapping the ribbons from her legs.
Save for the city lights flowing in through the windows, it was dark in here though I could still see faint lines where the ribbons had pressed into her skin. I rubbed small circles into her calves and told myself it was probably the wrong time to duck my head under her skirt and lick my way up her thighs.
If there was one thing I could do for this woman, it was wait.
“I need to take this off,” she grumbled, her fingers reaching for the zipper at the back of her dress.
I gained my feet and nudged her hand away when she missed a second, then third, time. “Let me.” She dropped her head to the side like it was too heavy to hold up while I drew the zipper down. “Did you get everything you wanted from tonight?”
“Not really. I think I grabbed the nighttime allergy meds instead of the non-drowsy stuff,” she said around a yawn. “I blame the bleary eye situation. Grace also takes everything out of its packaging and organizes it into little containers with dainty labels which actually makes things much more complicated so she gets some blame too.”
I ran my knuckles down her bare back. She shivered, clutching the dress to her chest. “That’s not what I meant.”
A beat passed before she pulled in a wobbly breath. “You were great. Nice job on the media face. It never looked like you wanted to eat anyone’s soul simply for existing which is leaps and bounds ahead of most of your press conferences. Very nice job on whatever the hell you had those guys doing in the backyard later on. I’m sure my ex nearly broke his own neck ignoring you but also hanging on your every word, and that’s all I can ask for.”
I dropped my hand to her hip. “Was it the revenge you wanted?”
Another breath, another yawn, and, “Can I borrow a hoodie? Or a t-shirt?”
Keeping that hand on her hip, I pulled open a drawer and grabbed some options for her. “Since when do you ask? Your thieving little fingers always steal my shirts.”
“Not always.” I could hear her pouting.
She held the sweatshirt to her chest and glanced back at me, an expectation of privacy in her eyes. I didn’t think she’d need that after last night but I wasn’t going to press the issue. I knew how she operated. Just another game of inches.
I paced to the windows facing Boston Common. I heard the dress swish to the floor and the shuffle of bra straps sliding down her arms. I shoved my hands into my pockets and stared at the city lights until all I could see was bright white halos.
I realized then I should’ve walked out when I had the chance. I couldn’t just stand here with my dick hard and my head making the best and worst of everything I’d heard tonight when I knew damn well she’d be asleep within the next five minutes. And I knew this wasn’t the night for another one of our sleepovers.
Not unless she asked for it.
After all these years, I finally knew what it sounded like when she came around my cock and I knew how it tasted to call her my wife. And I wasn’t about to forget it—or cross another line until she was ready.
I needed to find some tissues and get her a big cup of water and then hit the treadmill until I couldn’t feel my legs. Instead of doing any of that, I asked, “Where are we with the revenge plot?”
“I found out he’s engaged now.”
That fucking guy. It would’ve been amusing to watch him avoid me all night if not for the fact that I wanted to sack him so hard he lived the rest of his life with the taste of soil in the back of his throat. That opportunity didn’t present itself to me though I glared so many holes through that boy he was a screen door by the time I was done with him.
“Which I discovered when I met his fiancée.” I heard the rustle of sheets and a sad, salty laugh. “Well, I met her again .”
I turned around. Discussing her ex smothered any arousal I felt real fast and I couldn’t have this conversation without seeing her face. “What does that mean?”
“He’s marrying the girl he cheated on me with.” Her words dripped with the deceptive kind of sweet that women used when they wanted you to know they were furious and teetering on the edge of psychotic. “She didn’t think it was too much of a problem. The cheating, that is. Because she never asked if he was seeing other people. Guess who else didn’t ask? If you guessed me, then you’re right! If only I’d asked, then—then what? I would’ve found out he was seeing girls on the side? No, actually, I was the girl on the side. I was the girl who put up with his shit and still cooked him dinner. That must make me the fool in this story. But don’t worry about that because his fiancée wants us to be friends now.”
That fucking guy.
There was no other option for me than to climb onto the bed and pull Emme into my arms. “You want me to send some linebackers to fuck him up?”
She made a ranty sound and pulled the hood up, tightening the strings under her chin. It was the cutest thing. I loved when she did that. She looked like a strange, beautiful doll. “That’s not going to solve anything but I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
“You proved your point tonight and believe me, he heard it loud and clear.” I rubbed a hand down her back. “You can’t let him get to you.”
“It’s not that I’m letting him get to me,” she said. “I’m just angry. About everything.” She curled her hands into tiny, angry claws and shredded some invisible demon. “I see him and all I can think about is the mess he left behind, and I’m furious . I’m furious that he took so much from me and I’m furious that I let him. That a year of my life is gone but he gave up nothing. He walked away without a scratch on him and went on to convince this girl it was actually her fault he’d cheated.”
“Then this isn’t about him getting engaged?”
If her eyes could’ve killed me, I’d already be out there haunting old houses. “I don’t give a single fuck about that. It’s that he ruined so many things—he ruined me ?—”
“No, Em, he didn’t. Not even close. This dickhead guy doesn’t have what it takes to break you. He tried and look what he got. You crushed him like a bug tonight and you probably blew off his fiancée too.”
“For your information, I was actually very nice to her.”
“Mmm. Bet you were.”
“Stop it with the judgy mmm . You weren’t there,” she snapped.
“I didn’t have to watch it go down to know you intimidated the fuck out of her.”
“I don’t intimidate anyone. Not even my second graders. I’m five feet tall and sometimes I buy shoes from the kid’s section.”
“You have no idea”—I ran a finger along the line of her jaw and gently tipped her face up to catch her eyes—“how much power you wield just in the way you look at people.”
She shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t think?—”
“You can cut someone in half with a glance. I know because I’ve watched you do it for years. Just like I know you’re the only one who doesn’t recognize how strong you are.”
She trailed a finger over the inked waves on my forearm and the red cupping circles around my elbow where the therapists in Minnesota had manipulated the joint this week. She was quiet for a long minute and I didn’t mind because that fingertip was busy blowing up every nerve ending in my entire arm. When she made her way up to my bicep and under the sleeve of my shirt, I accepted the hard truth that I was completely powerless against her. She could turn me on with nothing more than the touch of one finger and I’d gladly beg for more.
Then, seemingly unaware of her impact on me, she yawned until her jaw clicked. “It’s hard to keep being strong when nothing lasts. I feel like I never stop putting myself back together. Always starting over. Every time I think I’m okay, something new falls apart. It’s everything, everyone. Even Grace is slipping away from me.” She tapped that finger to the center of my chest. “And someday I’ll lose you too.”
“Not in this lifetime,” I said, my voice suddenly strained. “Or the next one.”
“You say that but…” She lifted her shoulders in a small, resigned shrug. “Nothing lasts. Not for me.”
Notice me. Notice this. The way I always noticed you. The way I’ll never stop noticing.
“We’re going to last, Em.” I laced my fingers with hers, held them to my chest. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s no world where I exist without you and I don’t want there to be one.”
“It’s hard,” she said softly. “Always having to be strong. It’s exhausting.”
“Yeah. I know all about that.” I dropped a line of light kisses across her cheek. “But I’ll block the hits for you now. It’s your turn to take it easy. You can rest.”
A nod, another yawn. “I’m not an unhinged ex-girlfriend who can’t let go.”
“I know you’re not.” It was a risk but I added, “Though I need you to stop letting him have this hold over you. You don’t deserve that and he’s not worth the energy.”
“I know but?—”
“No,” I said, brushing my lips along her jaw. “The best revenge is forgetting all about him. Can you do that for me?”
She dragged her fingers up my arm, back under my shirt. I almost ripped the thing off to let her explore but then she stopped, gathering the fabric in her fist.
“I’ll forget him but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive or that I’ll stop being angry.” She must’ve read something in my expression—probably the realization that she would murder people with her eyes if she had the capacity—because she went on. “Isn’t there anyone in your life, any of your many exes?—”
“There’s not that many.”
“—who never fails to make you want to scream and smash things with a baseball bat?”
I held her tight because she kept shifting and no one had invited a hard-on to this conversation. “Not really, no.”
“It doesn’t matter how long it’s been but whenever you see them or hear about them, it’s like chewing on tree bark. It’s awful and you hate it and everything tastes terrible for the rest of the day. And you also want to smash things.”
She turned her big eyes up at me. All I could think about was staring into those eyes when I’d laid her down and pushed inside her last night. Which wasn’t useful or remotely appropriate at this moment but she was right here and she was touching me and I couldn’t help it.
She drummed her fingers on my bicep. “It’s not like that with Poppy?”
I blinked. “Who?”
“Poppy,” she said, as if enunciating would jog my memory. “Singer. Purple hair. Posh little British accent.”
“Oh, no.” I scowled. “Why would you think that?”
“The song!” she cried, shifting her knees to either side of my lap to face me. The sweatshirt rode high on her thighs, concealing very, very little. Not a great development as far as my restraint went. “The one she wrote about you! Aren’t you chewing on tree bark every time you see her?”
“No, and I’m going to explain why.” I held up a finger and tapped it to her nose. “One. I can’t remember the last time I saw her.”
“Her music is everywhere. Including that song about you.”
“Two,” I went on, tapping two fingers to her top lip. I fucking loved that lip. “That song isn’t about me.” Her eyes flared and she wanted to argue but I held those fingers to her mouth. “And three, I’m not legally permitted to disclose this but we’re married so I’ll tell you that relationship consisted of carefully arranged public appearances and nothing more.”
“Oh, so, you have experience with this setup,” she said, gesturing between us. “Makes so much sense.”
“Quiet, wife.” I reached for her hand and straightened the ring perched on her finger. “You know that’s not what we’re doing.”
She tried to roll her eyes but didn’t pull off more than a lazy wink. “Why did you need a fake relationship with Poppy Hemphill, then?”
“I didn’t. She did.” I shrugged as I kissed her knuckles, her fingertips. Dragged the pad of her ring finger between my teeth and watched while her eyes widened when I bit down. “Her label needed to build her reputation up in the States. The label’s parent company also owns the luxury car company that’d just offered me a massive endorsement deal. Do the math, Muggsy.”
She shook her head like she needed to carefully sift that information into the rest of her consciousness. But she was still a little drunk and the headshake involved her entire body. “Then who’s the song about?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
“But everyone thinks it’s you!”
“And?” She waved her arms at me like I was intentionally missing the point, and what little patience I had for this topic snapped. “Is there a demographic that believes I’m a dick because some part of that song lines up with something they saw on the internet? Yeah. Aside from the issues with closing the franchise deal, I’m not losing sleep over it and neither should you.”
“But what about other exes?” she asked. “There has to be someone you’re still bitter about.”
“We’ve never once talked about a woman I was seeing. I’ve never mentioned that I’d met someone or introduced you to a girlfriend. Why do you think that is?”
“I-I just thought you didn’t want to talk to me about those things.”
“Those things?” I echoed.
She leveled a stare at me that warned me to play nice. I had no intention of doing that and when I dropped my attention to her mouth, a frustrated noise rasped in her throat.
“There’s never been a shortage of women in your life,” she said. “There’s models and actresses and singers and?—”
“Em, I love you, but you’re really fucking wrong about all of it. Those were public relations setups. Either it was a publicity event for a brand or a favor to someone. None of it was real.”
“Then…you aren’t plowing your way through all the young starlets.”
I wanted to drag her bottom lip between my teeth and just move the fuck on from this mess but I talked myself out of that. For now. “No.”
“But everyone thinks you are.”
I lifted my shoulders. “If you say so.”
“And that’s why you needed”—she wiggled her ring finger at me—“this.”
“I’ve always needed that.” I took that hand and settled it on the back of my neck. “You’ve always known it too.”
Her drowsy eyes narrowed and her lips turned down. “But what about—everything else? I know you’ve always been…active.”
My brows lifted as a smile tugged at my lips. “But I never liked any of them.”
“Why not?”
Finally, I brought my hands to her hips and pulled her in close, as close as we could get with these last few layers of clothes between us. Her gaze dropped, her nails pressed into my nape, and I knew she felt me stiff between her thighs. Even if she was only hearing half of what I was saying, I needed her to understand this. “I don’t think it matters anymore.”
She swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
I waited, wanting her to see it for herself. “I’m married now.”
She blinked several times. “Oh.”
“And it seems”—I ran my thumb over the plump line of her lips—“you’re married too. Time to leave those exes in the past where they belong. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded, her eyes growing heavier with each blink. “I think so.”
“That’s my girl.”
She tucked her head against my shoulder and murmured something I didn’t catch. The hood slipped off her head and I rubbed my face against her hair. Then, “I’m really tired.”
I kissed her temple. “Yes, you are.”
I rolled her down to the mattress and tried to pull the blankets up around her but she immediately kicked them away like the feral creature she was. The sweatshirt bunched up around her waist in the process, leaving me staring at hot pink panties with tiny white bows on either hip.
I managed to choke out, “I’ll let you rest.”
The plan was to get up, sit in the cold plunge until I calmed the fuck down, and then run flat out for an hour. Very simple, very effective. Or lock myself in the nearest bathroom and jerk off. Another straightforward solution. Either one would work.
But Emme grabbed my arm and asked, “Will you stay with me?”
She pulled my arm across her torso, tucked her backside into my lap, and nestled up into me until she found the perfect spot.
And all I could say was, “Always.”