Chapter 30
thirty
. . .
SUMMER
When I wake up, my mouth is dry and my head feels like someone shook it like a snow globe. Delighting in thrashing it about just to see tiny pieces of white plastic flutter to the bottom.
Slowly, my eyes open to find I’m sprawled horizontally across my bed.
Scratch that. Rory’s bed. It’s technically his and I’m just crashing in it.
His California King is the size of a small island, yet I managed to take up the entire thing last night.
Either I shifted into this position after he left, or he never slept here at all. I’m not certain because it takes me a moment to piece together everything that happened last night.
Ladies’ night. Too many drinks.
Bumping my knee and Rory leaning against the kitchen counter, shirtless and smiling.
The details of it all are fuzzy. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but from the way my heart starts racing with hangxiety—the anxiety of being hung over due to uncertainty of one’s actions from the night before—I’ve got an inkling it was more than I’d ever planned on divulging.
My fingertips trace over my dry, puffy lips and I get the vague sense that they were used for more than just spilling secrets.
My stomach clenches as the memory crashes in.
Oh god. I kissed Rory.
I close my eyes and recall the moment his lips were pressed to mine. My tongue exploring his mouth as I held him to me, my limbs wrapped around his body like I was holding on for dear life.
And it was even better than I’d remembered from the courthouse. And the kiss I’d been thinking about at the bar all night.
Damn it. And damn that tequila.
“Morning, Wildflower.”
My heart leaps to my throat as I whip my head up to find Rory leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom.
Keeping my aching head in mind, I slowly lift to a seated position on the bed and turn to face him.
I hadn’t heard him but it’s clear he just got out of the shower. His hair is damp and his naked torso is brilliantly displayed with only a white cotton towel wrapped low on his waist. My eyes take in every inch of his bare skin. And there are lots of inches.
Rory’s standing there shirtless, looking like a fucking thirst trap and it sends a spike of irritation into my blood. If he wasn’t so damn gorgeous and flaunting himself all the time then I wouldn’t have the very complicated issue of wanting him.
When my gaze finally reaches Rory’s, he pins me with an infuriatingly knowing look in his eyes.
I’m so screwed.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks.
“Good.” It’s a stretch but telling him I’m anxious makes the situation even more difficult. “How was practice?”
“Hard, but it felt good to push myself.”
This is good. Small talk is good. If only we could stick to that for the next few months, we’d never have to discuss what happened last night.
“Summer—”
“I gotta pee.”
I flip the covers off and rush toward the bathroom. When I pass by Rory, I get a whiff of his clean scent which causes my heart to race even more.
He moves aside so I can pass, and I shut the door behind me.
It wasn’t a lie; I do have to pee. But now that I’m in the safety of the bathroom, away from Rory’s perceptive gaze, I think I might never leave. It’s either take up residence here or face Rory. I’m thinking I could make it a few days at least. I’ve got running water and a toilet.
After I finish my business, I down a gallon of water, then brush my teeth.
I’m about to dive into an All Sports magazine that’s sitting on the counter to lay low when the smell of bacon infiltrates the space. My stomach growls at the heavenly scent and I realize Rory is luring me out of hiding with the promise of breakfast.
Damn. He knows all the tricks.
I crack the bathroom door and find the bed is made but no Rory in sight. In the distance, the sound of bacon sizzling on a frying pan can be heard.
Rory’s so damn domestic; it makes my nipples hard. I glance down at my t-shirt and sure enough, my nipples are waging war against the worn cotton. I grab the nearest hoodie and yank it on before padding out to the kitchen.
As I’d presumed, Rory’s there in the kitchen cooking. He’s got a t-shirt and shorts on now. Thank god he’s not a weirdo who fries bacon without a shirt on. Still, the visual of his muscular arms pressing against the sleeves of his shirt is enough to make my heart trip over itself.
“New marriage rule,” I say, trying for casual as I walk past him. “You have to wear a shirt at all times. Preferably a turtleneck.”
Rory’s lips quirk into an exaggerated smile. “All times, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I recall a similar conversation last night.”
“About last night—” I begin.
He lifts a brow. “Which part?”
“I don’t need a recap.”
“You sure? Because you were very talkative.”
At his teasing grin, my stomach drops, but I refuse to offer up information he doesn’t have. I need to know what Rory knows so I can do damage control. Get this fake marriage back on track.
“Yeah? What did I say?” I ask defiantly.
My eyes narrow as I watch him turn off the burner then slowly make his way over to me.
His proximity is making me twitchy with nerves, but I can’t show him my weakness.
“Something about me being too gorgeous and how it was annoying for you to deal with having a hot, fake husband.”
“Right. That.” I clear my throat, hoping that’s the worst of it. “That was the alcohol talking. I wasn’t in my right mind, so anything I said should be disregarded.”
He studies me a moment.
“Isn’t it usually the opposite? Anything said under the influence tends to be closer to the truth? Drunk words are sober thoughts. That sort of thing.”
I know what he’s getting at. Alcohol lowered my inhibitions enough to be honest.
I am attracted to Rory, but I’m the one who came up with the rules for our marriage so, attraction or not, I need to enforce them.
“It was a mistake,” I blurt out. Kissing Rory wasn’t a mistake but it’s all I can think of right now.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch at my words. Either he knows I’m full of shit or he agrees. I’m not sure which one is more terrifying.
“Hmm.” Rory leans against the built-in cabinet on the opposite side of me. “What about my rules?”
“What rules?” I ask slowly, buying myself time to remember if we discussed any other rules last night.
“You’re not the only one who can make rules.”
I’m guessing we didn’t and he’s trying to assert his authority now.
My eyes narrow at his mischievous smirk. “Fine. What?”
“You can’t wear those little shorts anymore.” He motions to my overly worn, softer than a cloud sleep shorts.
I gasp in outrage. “What do my sleep shorts have to do with anything?”
“I think it’s only fair.”
“Fine. Then you can’t stretch in front of me. No more of that lunging thing with all the pelvic thrusting.”
“I have to stretch or my hip flexors get tight.”
“Then you’ll have to do it in private.”
His eyes narrow with suspicion. “You know you’re only admitting to watching me.”
“It’s hard not to notice.” I lunge forward in an exaggerated movement to show him how obnoxious it really is. My head spins, and I have to reach out to the counter for balance.
Once I’m upright again, Rory stalks closer, pining me with a fierce look.
“You can’t wear that perfume anymore.” He dips his head closer to me. His nostrils flare, as if he’s smelling it right now. “The one that smells like sun-warmed skin after a day at the beach, and jasmine, and honey.”
“I don’t wear perfume. That’s just how I smell.”
His brows drop. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”
I glance around for some idea for another rule that will make him think again.
“You can’t stand close to me.”
Rory takes another step toward me. “Define close.”
When I step back, my butt hits the counter. “This.” I point a finger at his chest. “This is too close.”
Edgar appears at our feet, looking back and forth between us, like he’s the referee to our sparring match.
“Do these rules happen to be because of what you said last night?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.
“No.” I’m quick to respond, but the reality is I’m losing control of the situation.
“Hmm. Okay.” He nods contemplatively, then pins me with a heated look. “I have a confession, but I wanted to tell you when I knew you’d remember.”
“Tell me what?” I swallow hard.
He moves closer, completely ignoring my proximity rule.
“This was supposed to be simple. An arrangement. Fake. But when you smile at me, I feel it in my chest. And every day, it gets worse. I notice everything about you. How you chew your lip when you’re thinking.”
At his words, I release my lower lip from between my teeth.
“How you sigh when you’re falling asleep. And I sure as hell can’t sleep next to you without wanting to touch you. And god, Summer, I want you. In every way. I don’t know how to turn it off.
“Before we got married, you made it clear you didn’t want anything to happen between us, and if that’s still what you want, I’ll have to live with it. But fuck, that’s not what I want.” His gaze drags over my face, slow and deliberate. “I want you, Summer. Nothing has ever felt simpler. And last night wasn’t a mistake. It was the furthest thing from it.”
My pulse pounds at Rory’s words.
He wants me.
He says it like it’s a fact. Like it’s inevitable.
I scowl in disbelief. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.
“You can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Why not? Because you don’t want to hear it? Or because you do?”
His prodding has my defenses sounding the alarm.
“This was never part of the deal, Rory.”
“Things change.”
“Not this. Not us.” I force myself to hold his gaze, even as my chest begins to tighten and my breathing becomes shaky. “You don’t actually want me. You’re just caught up in whatever this is.” I motion between us. I’m realizing it’s easy to start to feel things for someone you’re living with and married to, and who looks at you like they want to know every part of your soul. But it’s not real, right?
Rory exhales through his nose, his gaze darkens. Then, he reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. Slow. Gentle. His fingers graze my skin, and my breath catches at the contact.
“You really don’t think I want you?” he murmurs.
I can’t answer, my throat is starting to close.
My breaths are becoming more ragged.
Suddenly, the only sound between us is my wheezing.
Rory steps back and rushes toward the front door where my purse is sitting on the console table. A moment later, he returns with my rescue inhaler. He hands it to me and watches as I slowly inhale the medication.
We stand there for what feels like forever. Rory monitoring my breathing while I focus on keeping my guard up.
With my asthma triggered, I expect him to back off the conversation. It’s what my ex would have done. No, that’s not true. Tripp wouldn’t have even bothered to start the conversation in the first place.
Once my breathing has evened out, Rory moves in closer again.
“You’re running.”
I inhale deeply, then give him my best glare. “I am not.”
“Yeah?” He shifts closer to me, to where he was before he’d given me space to take my inhaler. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me, too.”
This conversation has taken a turn I can’t handle.
“I want—” My stomach lets out a vicious growl. “Bacon.”
Rory grabs a piece from the pan and hands it to me. It’s cooked perfectly, deep golden brown with crisped edges and a slight glossy sheen from the rendered fat.
“Summer.” His voice is softer now. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”
Because I know what it feels like to be wanted for the wrong reasons.
The thought is so loud in my head, I wonder if I’ve said it out loud.
I glance up to find Rory looking at me. Steady. Patient. Like he’d stand here all day if he had to.
And something in me cracks open.
“My ex didn’t want me. I mean, he wanted me as a girlfriend. He liked having me around, liked showing me off, liked that I fit into the life he wanted.” I pause to finish the piece of bacon. “But when it came to other things, he just wasn’t into it. Into me.
“I kept trying to fix it. I kept thinking maybe I just wasn’t enough, or maybe if I did something differently—” I shake my head, remembering all those feelings of rejection. “And by the time I figured out it wasn’t me, I didn’t want to try anymore.”
Rory’s shoulders are tense, his jaw tight.
“I want to kill him.”
“What?” I blink.
“I want to kill him,” Rory repeats. “For making you feel like you weren’t enough. For making you second-guess something that was never your fault.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“You are enough.” His voice is low and firm, like he’s desperate for me to believe it. “You always were.”
His words soothe a part of me that I’d thought was buried under the rubble of my past relationship.
He kisses me softly on the lips. It’s nothing like our kiss last night, but it’s confirmation of everything he just said.
He wants me.
On his wrist, Rory’s watch buzzes.
Slowly, he pulls back, checking his watch. “I have to go.”
“Go?” I blink, confused at the sudden change of events, and how much effort it’s taking trying to recover from such a soft kiss.
His mouth quirks up at the corner. “Coach wants to meet. I’ve got video analysis, then a nutrition check-in before weights at eleven.”
I’ve seen Rory’s schedule. I know it’s packed, but it always amazes me how much he accomplishes in a day.
He loads up a plate of eggs and bacon, then sets it at the counter for me.
“I’ve got to head to Charleston tomorrow for a couple days for a campaign shoot for Hydra-Fuel. I just got the details from Vivi.”
My eyes widen. “That’s huge. Congratulations.”
He nods. “Would you come with me? There are a lot of art galleries and other fun things to do.” He swallows. “I’d love it if you came.”
My heart pounds with his request.
He had me at art galleries…but there’s the small issue of spending more time alone with Rory.
At least here I’ve got my schedule and he’s got his. I can pretend I’m not losing my mind over him. But two days in Charleston, just us? That sounds terrifying.
“I don’t know. I’d have to check with Alice. See if someone can cover my shifts.” Or not mention anything to her and say I couldn’t get off work.
“Okay. We can talk later.”
Rory presses his lips to my temple. It shouldn’t light me on fire the way it does.
And when the door closes behind him, I breathe out a sigh of relief that I don’t have to answer any more of his challenging questions right now.
With Rory gone, I finish eating the breakfast he prepared for us, then Edgar and I head out to the beach to paint.
It’s a picturesque day and even with my woozy head, painting with the sunshine on my face immediately lightens my mood. Or maybe it’s the fact that even though things are unresolved between me and Rory, telling him about my ex had removed a weight from my shoulders.
Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, too.
I’d been too afraid to respond. Too afraid to find out what happens if I admit the truth.