Chapter 2
Chapter two
Grady
By some miracle, the burgers and chips that Lake had shoved in the oven before deciding to dissect our bathroom are still warm.
There aren’t any labels on the bag, but the food smells good enough to make my mouth water.
Quinn and I barely had time today to scarf down some sandwiches from a random deli on the way to another crime scene.
It’s been one of those days. But knowing that I’ll end my day here, with this man, makes every day so much more tolerable.
It’s never been like this with someone else. And I’ll never say it out loud, even under duress.
“Where’d you get this?” I ask, unwrapping the burger. Not a fast-food joint. It looks too fresh for that and smells better. It has gourmet written all over it. And it’s also a heart attack waiting to happen, based on the cheese oozing out of it.
“New steak place that opened up near base.” Lake hikes himself up onto the counter, and that’s an invitation if I ever saw one.
He hooks his ankles against my back, locking me in when I stand between his legs.
There’s a smear of sauce on the corner of his mouth.
A flick of my tongue cleans it off, and a deep open mouth shares it with him so he doesn’t miss out on any of his burger.
His moan goes straight to my dick, and I pull him closer with a hand splayed on the small of his back.
He fits perfectly against me, an arm around my shoulder, his free hand still holding his burger.
“It’s called ‘Bite my Buns,’” Lake says, smiling against my lips.
Leaning back enough to see his eyes, I search them. “You’re making that up.”
Lake’s smile spreads across his whole face. “I kid you not. The burgers are so good. I’m gonna eat there every day.”
“I’m sure your arteries will thank you.” I can’t imagine eating something this loaded every day. Nice for a treat, not a regular thing. I’d spend the rest of the day lethargic as fuck.
“Here, take a bite.” He feeds me his, even when I have my own right next to his hip. He kisses the corner of my mouth, licking my bottom lip and searching for some of the taste. I gladly give it to him, the food all but forgotten as we try to devour each other.
“Fuck, I love you,” he moans, slanting his lips further, holding my face between his hands as he gyrates against me, like he’s trying to climb inside.
Coaxing him backward takes effort, and the way he blinks slowly at me, half dazed and fully turned-on makes it hard for me to concentrate. His eyes flutter briefly when I brush my knuckles across his cheek. “I love you too.”
He pauses, the blink faster this time. “Why’d you stop, then?”
There’s something so pure about this man; it makes my heart beat faster. He makes me want to be vulnerable, be more. The closed-off parts of me are all open to him, the doors being battered in the wind as he moves through like a hurricane. “You need to eat.”
He sighs heavily. “Speaking of food,” he says, taking a bite out of his burger and then holding it out for me to do the same. “I was talking to Mum today.” He pauses to take another mouthful. “About venues and stuff for the wedding.”
I’m glad that it’s my turn to take a chunk from what little is left of the burger because I need a moment to remember how to take a breath. “I—” Clearing my throat doesn’t help the lump lodged there. “I thought you’d already picked where.”
I could have sworn we had this conversation only a few days ago. Maybe a week? There was a list, and I did some nodding, the words moving in and out like splashing water.
“We didn’t actually agree on anything,” Lake says, nothing but warmth in his tone.
There’s no accusation in there that I didn’t listen to him, or that I don’t care about his feelings or the wedding.
There’s none of the toxicity that I’m used to from previous relationships.
Where pettiness bleeds into conversations if things aren’t perfect.
Lake is soft, flexible, and so unbelievably patient. Nothing like anyone I’ve ever dated.
His smile stays firmly in place as he scrunches the wrapping for the burger, dropping it on the counter before picking mine up, feasting on it.
We eat the rest of it in turns, just like the first, and then the only protection I have against this conversation are the chips.
They’re just as good as the burger, with the perfect amount of crisp. Could be warmer, but that’s our fault.
A dollop of sauce tries to escape the wrapping, and I sweep it up with my thumb. Before I can decide what I want to do with it, Lake snags my wrist and lifts the thumb to his mouth, sucking it into his wet heat. His tongue flicks over my skin even after all the sauce is gone.
“Mmm.” He lets go and makes a show of cleaning his lips.
“Delicious.” His eyes go wide, and he jerks away from me, wriggling his hips.
It startles me enough that I drop a few chips on the floor.
Hades comes out of nowhere, scooping them up and sitting expectantly at my feet.
Now that he’s had a taste, he silently demands more.
Sorry, buddy.
“I got a folder today,” Lake says, shuffling forward and nudging me with his knee.
As soon as I give him space, he slides off the counter and bounces over to where his duffel bag lies near the pantry.
“From Target; Mum wanted to look at their decor to replace one of her fake plants that she accidentally set on fire, and I saw this and—”
“Wait. Lake.”
He pauses, zip halfway undone, crouched in front of it. “What?”
“Your mum set one of her fake plants on fire?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
He says it like we’re discussing what to make for dinner tomorrow night, or whose turn it is to mow the lawn on the weekend.
“How?” Do I really want to know? I’m not sure.
The curiosity is high enough to at least ask.
I’ve met his mum, Gayle, more than a few times now, the frequency increasing after the proposal.
This new development should surprise me, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
In fact, it’s fallen and remained in a stationary position, still touching the trunk.
All the saliva in my mouth dries when I spy the front of the folder that Lake found in Target while searching for an arson-incident replacement. Lined with gold, the words “The Perfect Wedding” is written in cursive over the front.
The Perfect Wedding.
That’s what they’d called my last one, right up until I got left at the altar, and he left town to marry the woman he’d knocked up.
The Perfect Wedding.
I don’t want a perfect wedding. I just want Lake. I want my ring on his finger and my name next to his. I want the people we care about to witness him saying yes, choosing me.
Lake is ridiculous, over the top, and has no brain-to-mouth filter.
He moves around like a worm in his sleep, takes up enough space for three people, wears my shirts like he doesn’t own any of his own, flies helicopters like he was born in the air, trips over nothing, and eats more than his weight every single day.
And he’s mine. I don’t need perfect; I just need him.
My gaze flicks down to where he’s gripping the folder. His engagement ring fits snugly on his finger. He only takes it off when he’s showering and just before bed. He probably takes it off at times at work if he needs to. He wears it with pride, shows it off to anyone who’ll listen to him.
Hades shoves his nose into the back of my knees, buckling them. “Hades, no. Sit. You’re not getting more chips. You’re acting like we starve you, menace.”
“He hasn’t eaten for a whole hour,” Lake says solemnly. “I gave him something when I got home. But he might need more.”
“He doesn’t need more.”
“He might, though.”
“Show me the folder, Lake.” Lesser of two evils. We don’t need to make our dog fat because Lake is incapable of moderation.
Lake’s focus immediately shifts, and he climbs back onto the counter, dragging me back between his legs.
“It has these cool tabs.” He flicks them in case I don’t notice them sticking out of the side.
“And a master list we can go through.” He flips open the folder and twists it so I can see it.
As if it’s not blurring in front of me until I can’t see anything.
“Some of them are kind of weird, though. I don’t think we need to tick everything off, right?
Like… a wedding planner? Or live music? It’s like they mashed together every single thing that could possibly be in a wedding, and then we get to pick and choose, like a lucky dip. ”
“That’s not what a lucky dip is.”
His lips curve in a flirty smile. “A make-your-own adventure?”
“That’s…” What are we talking about? “A little closer.”
“We should set a date first. That seems like the most important factor.”
He’s not wrong even if the uncomfortable churning in my gut says all of this is firmly in the danger zone.
I want to marry Lake, I wouldn’t have asked him otherwise, but I can’t deny that the idea of a wedding gives me a cold chill that has nothing to do with the weather.
The past always has a way of invading the present, and the idea of it repeating itself terrifies me.
“Grady?”
“What?”
He’s looking at me, concern in his brown gaze. He flips the folder closed and drops it on the counter, almost landing it right in the open sauce-filled wrapper from my burger. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I will be. It’s like getting on a roller coaster: lining up is the hardest part. I’ll love everything about being married to Lake. The lead-up to getting married is going to be a trial that I just need to breathe through.
Lake isn’t going to leave. He fought hard to be where we are, even when I tried to create distance. I gave him an out to go back to his old straight life, and he threw it out the window in very Lake fashion.
“Are you sure?”
Cupping his cheeks, I give him a lingering kiss that he leans into with a gentle sigh. “I promise. What did you say about a date?”
“We need to pick one. It says you should plan a year in advance.” He wrinkles his nose like he’s eaten something nasty. I shudder to think what he would call nasty, considering some of the questionable things he puts in his mouth. “Do we have to wait that long?”
Even with the nerves, I’d prefer not to. It sounds like a great way to torture myself. If I want to do that, I can just strike up a conversation with Greer, a detective at work who gives us a bad name and gives me a fucking headache.
“We… don’t,” I say carefully. I’d prefer not to stretch it out, but weddings still take time to prepare. It’s not a birthday party. “We should probably—”
“How does tomorrow sound?” Lake asks with a lopsided grin that makes me want to bend him over the counter.
“That sounds like your mum would hunt me down and kill me.” So would his two best friends and his brother, to be honest. I’d be on “wanted” posters all around the state before I could blink.
“She can only do it once,” Lake says impishly. He picks up one of the chips and tilts his head as he bites into it. “But we’d be married?”
“I’d like to enjoy being married.”
“There is that.”
I steal the last half of the chip and pop it in my own mouth before kissing him again, unable to stay away from his lips for too long. “Not tomorrow, Lake.”
“But not a year, right?”
“Not a year,” I agree.
“What about like… October? Warm-ish but not like ‘ahhhh, I’m melting.’”
October? There’s not a hint of joking on his face.
“That’s three months from now.” I’m thinking more like February or March.
At least six months if not a little more.
He can’t possibly think we can get it sorted out in such a short amount of time?
I’m not a fan of the entire dog-and-pony show, but even I know that it takes longer than that.
There are too many superfluous stupid details that matter more than they should that have to be sorted out.
“It’s actually three and a half months.”
Christ, he’s serious. “You want to get married in three months?”
He slides forward, crowding me, a knee lifting to hook properly over my hip. “Grady, I want to get married tomorrow.”
Fuck, I want that too. If I didn’t think he’d end up disappointed that he didn’t have a ceremony as well as robbing his family of it, I’d take him up on it. The wedding itself is never just about the groom and groom.
“We can’t get married tomorrow.” I say that as much for me as for him. He doesn’t need to know that. If he thinks for a second that I’m on the edge, he’ll push until we find ourselves married and having to apologise to everyone.
“So… October?”
I should say no. It’s not enough time. How will we get ready in time? “We can’t—” The earnest look on his face is impossible to say no to. “We’d need to keep it simple, and small.”
“That sounds perfect. I don’t need flashy.”
“Your entire being is flashy,” I say with a laugh.
“Then we won’t need extra, will we? I can bring it all myself, and the rest can just wish they were sparkling as bright as me.”
With a deep sigh, I kiss him again. “Alright,” I murmur before diving back in. “October.”
“We need to pick an actual da—” Lake cuts off when I cover his mouth. We picked a month. The specific date can wait; I have better plans for this man who turns me inside out.