Chapter 26
Warner
The Day of the Wedding . . .
“Do I think it’s cruel and unusual punishment?
Yes, I do. Again, I understand why, but that doesn’t make it better.
” This one-handed life still gives me enough problems to swear at least once a day.
I lost the right cuff link to that outburst five minutes ago.
It’s yet to be found in the bedroom, but my girl came to the rescue after she heard the commotion.
I watch as Sass pushes the left cuff link through the hole of my tuxedo shirt, all the while smiling like this isn’t a state of emergency.
I’ve never heard a sweeter sound than her laughter, even when it borders on hysteria like it does now and is punctuated with a snort.
I ask, “Are you mocking me? It’s not funny. ”
“It is funny. You’re being ridiculous, Warner.
” When the cuff link is secured, she plants a kiss on the underside of my chin.
Granted, the little shorty doesn’t have her shoes on yet, so that’s the highest she can reach without stretching to her tiptoes.
That might get her to my lips at most. I’m not opposed to her lips on mine .
. . or down there, which is how this all started.
Or should I say the lack of her mouth wrapped around my cock?
“The anticipation will only make it better,” she says, walking toward the closet in nothing more than strings wrapped around those deliciously sexy hips and a strapless bra making me jealous that it has the pleasure of holding her fantastic tits, and I don’t.
With her hair hanging down in soft curls, the ends sway across her shoulder blades when she walks.
It’s quite a view. Almost as good as when she’s coming toward me.
That package right there—every bit of it—has brought me to life over the past few weeks, made it easier to wake up each day without an alarm, and helped me fall asleep faster with her next to me.
There are still things to work out, but we’ve become pros at burying our heads in the sand.
Maybe the lives we were living and the lies we were telling will eventually fade away when enough time has passed while living in the truth.
I see who she is when she doesn’t wear a mask of deceit.
Seeing Delaney with her family, being protective of me and making sure I felt comfortable—that’s who she really is.
This character she plays sometimes is becoming harder for her to portray. She’s more her than the unhinged version she pretended to be in the beginning. Though I still think some aspects were pulled from her own well.
The woman loves her heist movies. Odd.
She stocks the fridge with apples and carrots only to let them go bad while the box of Cheez-its is emptied and left lying on the counter.
Seeing a dead pigeon makes her sad, and she always gives any spare change to someone in need.
Her intentions are good, better than mine most days, and her heart is pure.
That’s why the lies she’s told still don’t make sense.
I still don’t know why her being a teacher is never spoken about, and I haven’t pushed the issue since I first asked what she does for a living.
The answer was flipped into something else, so I suspect she’s picking up shifts at the restaurant while I’m at work.
But I haven’t verified it yet. She complains about her feet hurting and then tells me she didn’t do anything all day.
The smell of garlic perfuming her hair is the giveaway. But if she doesn’t want to talk about it, and she’s not asking me for millions of dollars, I don’t push my nose into her business.
She’s been taking care of me when no one else did, even after they found out about the accident.
I haven’t heard from my mother since I last saw her, and Jimmy’s been caught up in his wedding planning.
Who else is there? The assistant I pay to be in my life?
Though I can’t fault her too much. She has made sure I had lunch every day and given me ibuprofen when she saw I was in pain before I even acknowledged it.
But my Sass is different. She’s here for me.
I’m certain at this stage. I mean something more to her than the con I started out as.
She’s fallen for me like I have her. There’s a strong chance of us making it through this storm if we can continue the path we’re on—sharing who we are on the inside and exposing our real selves to each other.
It may not be a fast process, but I’m willing to give it the chance to grow at the pace we need.
Slow and steady. In the meantime, the sand sure is nice and cool to be buried in . . . “Why do you torture me so?”
“We’re still talking about a blow job, right?” With her hand on the doorframe, she swings around the corner and disappears. But then her head pops back out. “I think we’ve crossed into Emmy-winning theatrics at this stage.”
I sit in the chair to wait for her to come back out. I’m happy to make myself useful by hanging around and zipping her dress up as needed. “Well, to be fair, if your mouth wasn’t so talented, we wouldn’t have this issue.”
She disappears into the closet again. “The only issue we have is we’re going to be late if you keep begging for a blow job like this.”
I grin. “So it’s working?”
My breath is stolen from my lungs when she walks out in a baby-blue dress showing off her shoulders.
Her hair is pushed back, and the necklace I bought her is wrapped around her neck.
I’m used to seeing her barefaced most days or the lightest touch of makeup that makes her blue eyes pop, as she calls it.
When we go out, she wears more if the occasion calls for it. Tonight, she looks like a movie star.
My heart beats faster with every step she takes, coming for me as if she didn’t own my heart already. “You look . . . Wow. So gorgeous.”
She giggles, and her cheeks instantly pinken into a deeper shade that drifts down over her chest. The dress is modern in design, more architectural and bolder for her typically more casual style.
It cuts in at her waist, showing off her incredible figure.
The large yellow flower printed on the side of the fitted skirt reminds me of the sunshine she is in the world.
I stand to lean down and kiss her. It’s not a blow job, but kissing her gives that a run for its money. I guess I’m going to live after all.
She twirls and laughs again. “This old thing.” Pausing with her back to me, she glances up over her shoulder. “Do you mind zipping me up?”
“It’s why I’m here. Professional zipper upper at your service.” I slide the zipper up the length of her back, then kiss the top of her shoulder. Again. And again, sliding my hands around to the front to squeeze her tits. “We could stay, just say the train broke down.”
“If he’s really your best friend, he would know you never ride the train.”
“Fair point.” I move in front of her, sliding my fingertips across her shoulders and lower over her arms.
Touching my cheeks, she says, “You look so handsome, Hotshot. Even the black eye disappeared like it knew it needed to be gone by today.” She waffles her head back and forth. “Though I kind of miss it already.”
Chuckling, I say, “I’ll pick a fight in the streets just to get punched for you.”
“Let’s not. I like the rest of your face too much to take the risk of damage.”
My hands land back where I want them. She lets me knead her beauties before she finally rolls her eyes. “You good?”
“No.”
With a laugh, she walks out of the room with the back straps of the heels dangling from her fingers.
I follow her into the living room and sit on the couch while she does what she needs to do.
The mini-Eiffel Tower that suddenly appeared on the console has never been explained.
Seems it won’t be unless I ask, so I finally do.
“Why is there an Eiffel Tower by the TV?”
While packing a few things in the small bag she’s taking, she replies, “It’s like a vision board but in 3D form.”
“So you’ve never been to Paris?”
She stops and glances at me. “No. Have you?” I can’t say she’s even trying to dupe anyone these days since I’m certain she knows she’s not fooling me.
The question almost stumps me. I run a multimillion-dollar company.
My family owns properties all over the world.
Sure, we both know we’re not married, though it’s never been explicitly stated, but shouldn’t she know this basic information about me?
I’m sure the internet would tell her. “Yes. A few times.”
There’s not much of a response, though I do hear a heavy sigh.
That could also be that she’s not happy about something that has nothing to do with me.
The ring is still on most days, but when I look over at her, she’s twisting it off her finger.
Going around to the sink, she washes her hands.
Her eyes only meet mine for a quick second before she dries them and returns to her bag.
“Ready?” she asks with her back to me, but I can see her slipping the ring back on where it belongs.
Delaney wearing a ring has never bothered me. It has started to feel real in many ways, promising something bigger and that we can overcome the choppy waters of our beginning. Am I naive to feel hopeful?
I get up, straightening my pants and tugging at the sleeves of the tux jacket.
Having the sleeve widen just enough to cover the bright white cast makes me feel like a scene stealer.
I’d rather the bride be the sole center of attention.
But there’s also something I’ve been wanting to do.
Before we head off for this special event, it seems like a good time to ask.
I pull a marker from that terrible art mug she’s left on my counter and hold it out to her.
“Will you sign my cast, Sass?” Helping her lift her jaw off the floor, I add, “Hell’s frozen over. ”
“I would say so.” She takes the marker and then pulls the sleeve up just a little. “I’m in shock that you’re willing to graffiti your cast. Isn’t the untidiness going to bother you?”
“Maybe it’s good to be bothered sometimes.” I shrug, panic-stricken on the inside, but I refuse to stop her. “I’m stepping out of my comfort zone.”
“You’re going to love it once you get used to it, and then you’re in a new comfort zone, which leads to the next discomfort, and so on.
” The sound of the cap being removed from the marker quickens my pulse.
I nod through labored breaths as she leans over.
Peering up at me once more, she says, “There’s no going back, Hotshot.
Once it’s there, it’s like a tattoo and there for life.
Of the cast, of course. So are you sure? ”
Don’t back out, Landers.
I exhale and then inhale once more. “Who needs comfort zones anyway?”
“Not Warner Landers, that’s for sure.”
Intentionally moving my arm closer to her, I’ll overcome this as soon as it’s done. “Sign away.”
Studying the options, she asks, “Anywhere?”
“Anywhere you want.”
“Anything I want to write?”
This is becoming more stressful by the ticking second. “Anything you want to write.”
“Any—”
“Please just do it.” I’m starting to sweat. Accepting disorder in my neat and organized world is only a bad habit to overcome. It’s not that big of a deal. I have what? Four to six weeks to go. Max. I can survive a mess on my body for that long. My heavy gulp causes her to look up again.
She grins and gets to work. The marker lands on the plaster, and with unadulterated confidence, she starts dragging the black tip across the white surface. “We should bring the marker for your friends to sign at the reception.”
“Great idea.” I’ve created a monster.
Popping back up, she tucks the marker into the front pocket of my jacket. “All done.”
I breathe easier, and reply, “That’s good. It’s good. Fine.” Looking at her, I smile. It’s a little forced, but I’ll get used to the idea of chaos on my arm.
“Are you going to look or breathe through it?” Holding up her hands in surrender, she adds, “I’m not judging. I’m proud of you for trying something new.”
The black ink peeks out from the sleeve, but I need to pull it back to see the full thing.
“I love you, Hotshot” with a heart punctuating the I.
“Lowercase, bold move,” I joke, but there’s no lightness to it.
My heart is now pounding only for her and the words we’ve never spoken aloud.
Okay, whatever, except that time during sex, but I’m not sure confessing love while climaxing would hold up in court.
“You know me,” she replies so casually as she starts toward the door, but I catch her hand and bring her back to me.
“I do know you.” Brushing the backs of her fingers, I look into those pretty blues of hers, and whisper, “I love you, Delaney.”
Her smile falters, but I can see from the gleam in her eyes that it’s not from a lack of happiness. Reaching up, she cups my face and kisses me. This kiss holds promises we’ve not verbalized, apologizes for misgivings, and a future where we know we can survive anything.
And then she lands back on her heels and licks her lips. “I love you, too, so much.”
“Well, now that that’s been settled . . .” I prop my cast out for her. “It’s time for a wedding.” That didn’t come out the way I intended. “My friends’ wedding. Not ours.”
Wrapping her hand around my elbow, she cracks up. “Don’t worry. I didn’t think you’d rush us off to Vegas for a ceremony at the Little White Chapel, so you can relax.”
As we walk to the door, I say, “That’s very specific. Is that something you’d do?”
“Only if my family were there.” I open the door for her. Just before it slams closed behind us, she adds, “I couldn’t imagine getting married without my family present.” She looks up at me when we stop at the elevator. “What about you? Don’t you want your mother there?”
“I haven’t thought about it. There was no need to.” A desire suddenly arises as I stare at her and that ring on her finger. Would it be so bad if it were real?