24. Give This Girl a Badge #2
Leighton leans forward, locking eyes with my fake husband. “First rule: Maeve gets super grumpy when she’s hungry. So, you’ll want to keep snacks handy at all times.”
I scoff. “That’s not true.”
Fable gives me a deadpan look. “I’ve seen how you look at a bag of chips, Maeve. Don’t lie.”
“I feel attacked,” I mutter.
Asher laughs. “I’ve noticed she does have a thing for…warm nuts.”
“Oh, she’s into the whole package,” Leighton adds. I want to strangle her but she’s too fast with her sass. “You’re not denying it,” she points out before glancing back at Asher. “Maeve loves surprises, so take her on dates—just don’t tell her beforehand.”
“That’s not what this arrangement is about,” I say, but my heart lurches as I glance at Asher, checking in.
Did I hurt his feelings with that comment about dates?
I hope not, but his expression is amused, so I quickly push the worry away.
He hasn’t given me any indication he wants to go on dates.
He needs me as his wife for his new charity, and that’s it. That’s also fine with me.
Fable jumps in next. “Oh, and remember, Maeve loves her independence, so don’t crowd her. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t cook for her.”
“I never said I wanted anyone to cook for me,” I protest.
But the thought lingers. That sounds really nice. I do like food. Except, wait—why would he be cooking for me?
Everly, who’s been mostly quiet, adds, “And she might act like she’s not up to speed on hockey, but she knows all your stats, Asher. Every single one. Do with that what you will.”
Asher turns to me, his minty green eyes lighting up. “So you’re a closet fan, Maeve?”
My cheeks burn. “It’s not a secret!”
“Feel free to quiz her later,” Everly whispers with a sly smile.
Before I can protest, Josie jumps in again. “And don’t forget, Asher, you’ll have to make some changes too.”
He rubs his palms, bring it on style. “I’m up for it. What have you got in mind?”
“Marriage is all about compromise,” Josie says with a teasing smile. “That means one reality show for every two football games.” Then she pauses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But you should probably establish a chore list too. No one likes fighting over who’s doing the dishes.”
Asher turns to me, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “You watch reality shows?”
I lift my chin high. “They’re my guilty pleasure.”
Asher leans back, clearly delighted in a whole new way. “I had no idea.”
Before I can respond, Leighton chimes in, “Oh, you’ll learn all about her guilty pleasures soon enough.”
He will?
Fable smirks. “So, you might want to swap out the lotion on your nightstand for coconut oil.”
My face flames. “I’m going to kill you guys. We’re not moving in together.”
Asher’s smile freezes, but his eyes flicker with…excitement as he takes in this detail. “But if we were, I should stock up on lube?”
Red. I am all the red in every crayon box in the universe. “You’re all dead to me,” I hiss at the traitors known as my former best friends.
Leighton stands, grabbing her bag and tossing a look over her shoulder. “It goes both ways. You should probably lock the bathroom door when you’re enjoying yourself in the shower.”
The devils. The absolute devils. “We’re not living together. And you all need to go!” I groan.
“Unless you want Maeve to walk in on you,” Fable adds with the sauciest of winks as she pops up, along with Everly and Josie.
Groaning, I drag a hand down my face. “Don’t you all have somewhere to be right now?”
“Other than divulging the details of your vibrator collection?” Josie calls over her shoulder as she grabs her bag, and an elderly woman at a nearby table shoots me a look and then a wink.
I hold out my hands at my friends, like how could you. “You’re all the worst.”
“Did you mean we’re all equal opportunity here?” Josie says, with an oh-so-innocent look behind her glasses. “Since we’re concerned about his needs too.”
“Yes, concern. Exactly. You’re sooo concerned,” I say dryly.
Leighton’s jaw drops as she stares at my face. My cheeks to be exact. “Maeve. I didn’t know you could get embarrassed.”
“It happens once in a blue moon for our chief troublemaker,” Everly chimes in, setting a hand on my shoulder.
“Why are you all still here?” I ask with a groan.
“We can stay and give you more tips,” Fable offers.
“By all means,” Asher says, sweeping out a hand, and now he’s in trouble too.
I flick my eyes to him and raise a finger. “Do not feed the animals at the zoo,” I warn.
“That’s good advice too. It kind of applies to you as well. Asher, if you leave out the coconut oil, Maeve might never go to work,” Josie calls over her shoulder as she heads out, “since she likes a lot of private time.”
I bury my face in my hands as the clicks of their shoes finally, mercifully, fade. And when I manage to peel my palms off my cheeks a millennia later, Asher slowly turns to me, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “That was interesting.”
How do I even begin to explain what just happened? I did not expect that ambush. “My friends are dicks. What can you do? I’m sorry.”
I’m especially annoyed that they mentioned that he’d want to engage in some self-care since the images flashing through my head right now are obscene. Deliciously, delightfully obscene, and I’m probably going to need to block out a whole lot of time tonight with my battery-operated friends.
But the images aren’t going away as I look at him mere inches from me.
I stare a little shamelessly, cataloging my best friend, from that tousled hair to his smirk to the way he fills out that Henley.
His chest muscles call out for my hands.
His abs demand my attention. His arms need to be explored. “Why Henleys?” I blurt.
He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”
“Why do they look so good?” I say, then instantly regret it. I need to shut up. Like I wanted my friends to do.
He plucks at the forest green material, then looks back at me, holding my gaze. “Oh, this? You like it?” It’s asked as a challenge. In a rasp. Like the way I imagined he’d said, you have a lovely mouth.
“It’s nice,” I say, like I’m simply conceding when really, the way the shirt fits him is too hot for my own good.
“Nice? Did you mean it’s having a flamingo effect on you?” he asks, and great. Now I’m thinking about what he’s wearing under those clothes. Then he leans closer and says in a husky voice, “Or really, I should say peacocks today.”
It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up, but when it does, I clamp my legs shut, then suck in a breath. I should leave this alone. Really, I should. But I’ve never been good at resisting a cookie. “Fitting.”
“Is it?” he asks, with a curve of his lips. He loves toying with me.
And I think…I love being toyed with by him. That heady feeling spreads through my soul again, flooding me with warmth.
I flash back to the promise we made in Vegas—that nothing physical can happen again. There’s too much at stake, especially now with this marriage for appearance’s sake. “But none of that can happen,” I add quickly, shifting the conversation back to safer territory.
Asher’s voice lowers, teasing, “Self-care, Maeve? Is that what can’t happen?”
I swallow. Is he daring me to admit it?
“Nothing physical between us,” I blurt out, a little too loud.
Asher holds my gaze, unblinking. “I know. You told me that in Vegas.”
Right. I did. No need to keep repeating it.
There’s a reason we’re here, and it’s not to get lost in the heat between us.
“Our story,” I say, trying to string words together, but it’s hard because my mind is absolutely elsewhere—it’s in bedrooms, in showers, on the couch in our hotel room, on the street with that first kiss, at the party the other night when he claimed me before a crowd.
“People are asking about our story,” I continue, forcing myself to concentrate.
“My aunt did on Sunday night. Oh, she also wants to have dinner with us. But instead, I invited her to a hockey game. I figured we can grab something after?”
“Brilliant.”
“And my friends asked, too, though they know the truth about…this marriage.” It still sounds weird to say—this marriage. It’s still strange to be married to my best friend.
His brow furrows. “They do?”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “I couldn’t not tell them.” I feel awkward and unsure around him for maybe the first time. Is it because we were intimate? Because we’re flirting? Or because my friends basically looked inside my skull and bared my thoughts for Asher? “Is that a problem?”
He scratches his jaw, looking like his mind is spinning in a million different directions.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just…the guys were giving me hell the other day, and I wasn’t sure what to say.
What you’d want me to say. I didn’t want to tell the whole team, so I just went along with whatever they said. ”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about that—what he would have to juggle. “You can tell the guys if you want. That’s what I did with my friends.” I pause though, mulling this over. “You’re not mad that I told them, are you?” I ask, worried.
He shakes his head, looking at me with a soft, thoughtful expression. “It’s kind of hard for me to be mad at you.”
I blink, a little taken aback. “Why?”
He shrugs, then gives a small smile. “The fact that you wanted to tell your friends? That’s not really something to get mad about.”
It feels like he’s saying something else, or maybe not saying something. Maybe he’s holding back in some way. Sometimes it seems like he is. Sometimes he’s easy to read. Sometimes impossible to figure out.
But I want him to understand where I’m coming from.
“I just told them how it all came together, how you wanted me to have a good night in Vegas, and how it sort of spiraled.” I roll my lips together, debating how much more to say.
“I didn’t tell them what happened in the room if that’s what you’re asking. ”
A smile shifts the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t. Asking.”