Chapter 28
Fact or Fiction?
I love my best friend.
Addison
Luke’s jaw is on the floor when I walk out of my bedroom for our big night out with his brothers and the ladies. I want to
roll my eyes and laugh at his reaction, but I suppose he hasn’t seen me dressed up since . . . well . . . since our wedding
day. And even that was an outfit I just tossed on. I didn’t have time to do my hair and makeup, so this is a bit of a glow-up
moment for me.
I’m wearing a rust-colored cropped sweater with a black leather miniskirt and knee-high black boots. I’ve curled my long dark
hair into loose waves, which is something I rarely make time for because I always end up tying it up anyways. And my makeup
is dark and more dramatic than I usually wear it. I’m a tomboy for sure, usually choosing a pair of my well-worn Converse
sneakers over a pair of heels, but after the fight I had with my dad yesterday, tonight I wanted to walk out of my bedroom
and feel beautiful for my husband.
And Luke’s reaction does not disappoint.
His eyes unabashedly move up and down my body as he gets a desperate, frantic look on his face like a person drowning and
grasping at the surface for something, anything to hold on to. I’ve been seeing that expression on him more and more lately.
He usually tries to hide it, but I clock it. It used to make me uncomfortable, but lately, I seek it out. Crave it. Feeling
his eyes on me causes my entire body to hum with appreciation.
As desire settles in the pit of my belly, I bite my lip and look away from him. I need to remember this marriage isn’t real. It’s just convenient. Temporary. We’re friends.
But sleeping with Luke every night this week has made that reality feel a bit less . . . real. And I’m still working through
how I feel about that.
I push those anxious thoughts to the back of my mind and smile at my husband. “Did I overdo it for the Merc?”
He shakes his head and stutters out a labored breath. “Not at all. You look beautiful, babe.”
There’s that babe word again. He’s using it more and more and I hate how much I love it. It shifts Luke from friend category into boyfriend
category, which is weird because he’s already in husband category. Things are getting complicated.
“Did you talk to your dad?” Luke asks, eyeing me thoughtfully.
I shrug. “I texted him and asked how the meeting went. He said fine. That was it.”
My mood shifts with this change in topic. I was looking forward to a night of forgetting and now he’s dredged it all back
up again. But I love Luke for caring. It feels nice having someone to offload this stuff to.
Luke chucks me under the chin. “He’s not going to make you go through the act of planning a whole wedding and sell it out
from under you, Roe. He’s not that big of a dick.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, eyeing him warily.
He laughs and shakes his head. “Let’s forget about it for tonight. That can be tomorrow’s problem.”
“And what will be tonight’s problem?”
“My family,” he replies with a grin, walking toward me, dressed in a green flannel and jeans, looking like some sort of sexy mountain man postcard.
He’s left his hat off for tonight, so his shaggy dirty blond hair is loose around his face and tucked haphazardly behind his ears.
His beard has started to grow back the past couple of weeks, so it’s finally just about caught up to the length of his mustache, but there’s a tiny little spot on his chin where the hair won’t grow because of his scar.
I fight the urge to reach out and touch it nearly every day.
“Roe . . . did you hear me?” he asks, and I blink rapidly and refocus on him.
“No, sorry, what did you say?” I look up at him, liking how these heels bring me a bit closer to his handsome face. His brown
eyes look greener in that flannel.
“I said I might have to touch you a bit more tonight to really play this off in front of everyone. I mean . . . we’re still
in our honeymoon phase so my family will probably expect some level of affection between us.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I sleep in your arms every single night, Luke.”
“This is true.” He purses his lips, his eyes dropping to my mouth and I shiver when my nipples pebble at just that subtle
shift in his gaze.
“I can handle a bit of touching.” I wink at him and pat my hand on his chest, my palm staying there for a moment, noticing
how fast his heart is racing.
“What about kissing?” he asks, his voice deep and gravelly.
“Kissing?” I whisper, feeling an ache bloom between my legs.
He shrugs as his eyes rake over my whole face. “We might have to kiss just a little.”
I nod slowly, feeling drunk on his close proximity. “I can handle that.”
He leans in close like he wants to test that theory and just before our lips touch, a horn honks from outside, drawing both
of our attention to the door. Luke looks back at me, our faces dangerously close together. “You ready for this, wife?”
I lean my head up and press my lips to his cheek. “Very ready.”
He hits me with a suspicious look, still not making a move.
“Why do you look so nervous?”
He inhales a deep breath. “It’s my brothers. There’s always a reason to be nervous when it comes to going out with my brothers.”
I laugh and grab his hand, threading my fingers through his and pulling him behind me toward the door, saying goodbye to Rufus
on our way. Luke is worrying about nothing. His family is child’s play compared to John Monroe. Plus, we’re all adults. What’s
the worst that could happen?
One thing I’ve learned about myself after spending two hours in the local Jamestown bar with my husband and his family?
I like to play make-believe.
I might even love it.
I love the feel of Luke’s hand on my lower back as he holds the door open for me and walks me inside.
I love the way he drapes his arm behind my chair all night, blanketing me in his body heat.
I love the way he leans in and I can feel his warm breath all over my neck when he asks me what I want to drink next.
I love the way he knows what food I want to order off the menu and then asks me what he should order so we can share.
I love the way his hands fold around mine every time the girls fire a million wedding questions at me, giving me that quiet
sense of support that he knows I need.
I love the way he watches me when I get dragged onto the tiny dance floor with the girls.
I love the way he pushes a water toward me when I come back to the table.
I love the way he looks at me and doesn’t look away when I catch him looking.
I . . . want him.
I want my best friend.
I want Luke.
And while I should probably be panicking about this quiet realization that I’m having smack-dab in the middle of a bar surrounded
by his family . . . I feel . . . perfectly calm.
This is my best friend, and ever since that night we talked about grief—about losing his dad and the losses we’ve both experienced—we’re
different. More bonded and connected in a way that feels effortless.
Even sleeping with him feels completely normal. Like we’ve always done it. It’s interesting because when I consider what marriage
is, isn’t it living with someone you like to spend time with? Being open and honest with someone who you trust won’t let you
down? Being attracted to the person you spend the most time with? Maybe marrying your friend can turn into something that’s
real?
All I know is tonight, I’m going to keep playing make-believe because it feels good. I’m going to enjoy this night out with
his family in the large table we’ve commandeered in the corner and not stress about the future. I have a whole year to worry
about what these newfound feelings mean.
“More Fireball!” Cozy cheers as she carries over a tray of shots to the table. Judy, the owner, eyes Cozy from her place behind
the bar, and is clearly not happy about giving a tray of shots to the drunk girl from Boulder.
“Tastes like a chick drink,” Wyatt says, wrinkling his nose after taking a sip.
“I love it.” Calder shoots it back in one go.
“Calder, I was going to do a toast!” Cozy whacks her brother-in-law on the arm before she lifts her shot glass toward me.
“To Addison and Luke. Welcome to the family, Addison!”
Everyone shoots back their drinks and suddenly I hear Calder yell, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!”
Everyone joins them and I can’t help but laugh when I realize they’re all looking at me and Luke, directing this chant to us.
“Guys, come on.” Luke waves them off and turns his head to me with a frown, the scent of cinnamon on his breath wafting over
my face and causing me to lick my lips.
They continue their chanting, the ladies joining in too and even Wyatt, the quiet one, is in on the game. If you can call
it that. Luke glowers at his family, clearly not amused but all I can do is stare at Luke’s mouth, my eyes zeroing in on that
little scar again.
The scar he got trying to get me to marry him.
“Come on, Addison!” Dakota squeals, giving me a playful shove and shaking me out of my oral fixation on my husband. “Give
that Fletcher brother a smooch!”
I turn to Luke, my lower lip sliding between my teeth as I fight the urges coursing through my body. He’s just so big and
cozy sitting there, all agitated with his family and smelling so . . . Luke-like.
He shakes his head and blinks a slow blink at me as he murmurs, “Just ignore them. They’re a bunch of ass—”
I cut Luke off by crushing my mouth to his, locking our lips tight as I grip his face and shift off my chair to slide onto
his lap for better leverage. I have to sit sideways on him because my skirt is too tight for me to spread my legs, but he
doesn’t seem to mind as his hands instantly come around me, grabbing my waist and thighs, holding me to him.
I move my hands back into his hair, my fingers raking through his tousled locks as I sweep my tongue into his mouth, swirling
the cinnamon liquor lingering between us. His chest rumbles with a growl and he tightens his hold on me, his tongue meeting
mine, dancing with it, fighting with it, claiming it with vigor that I’ve missed since our last embrace like this.
I’ve missed Luke’s mouth. I’ve missed the warm, comforted feeling that rushes through me when we connect on this elemental level.
I’ve missed the way he kisses harder than I ever would have expected.
He doesn’t kiss like a nice boy. He kisses like a man.
A bad man who could do bad things to me if I let him.
And God do I want to let him.
I want to feel his mouth all over my body. I want to lick that tiny scar on his chin and wince at the sensation of his whiskers
on my tongue. I want to know what it feels like to have his beard between my legs. I want to slice my fingers into his hair
as he ravishes my core. I want to ravish his core. His length. God, I want him.
The sound of his family cheering us on feels distant and far away as I lose myself in this moment right here, right now. With
my husband.
After what feels like seconds and an eternity, we pull apart, both panting, our eyes locked on one another, chests heaving
with awareness that we did it again. And nothing about that kiss felt like make-believe.
Luke’s rough palm reaches out and grips my neck, stealing my breath as he hauls me toward him to lock our lips one more time.
His mouth is a fierce claiming as he devours my lips and then releases me just as quickly as he took me.
I’m wrecked.
I grip his shoulders for support as my fingers and toes tingle with shock, my nipples pebbling inside my bra as a heaviness
swirls between my legs. I feel drunk, and I haven’t even had that much to drink tonight.
“Holy fuck,” Dakota deadpans.
“I’ll second that,” I hear Trista say from somewhere in the distance.
“I did not expect Luke to bust out the hand necklace!” Cozy exclaims, slapping her hand on the table. “We need to dance, ladies.”
And before I know it, I’m being dragged out onto the dance floor on shaky legs that would much rather be wrapped around my
husband.