Chapter 50 Archangel
FIFTY
ARCHANGEL
Iswear I flinched every time Wolfe even slightly bent his knees over the last two weeks. After our one day off, we’re right into finals and graduation shit. I’m developing some kind of nervous condition around the idea that he might get down on one knee.
And then he does all this, and I really thought it was happening. But I’m not mad. I got the best blow job of my life, and there was no mistaking that Wolfe was into it.
But then he says those words. “I’m completely serious. Will you marry me, Wilder?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Archangel, answer the question.”
“You’re not really asking.” My heart stops beating, and I might be dying.
“I’m really asking. I don’t want anyone else. I want you to be my husband.”
Now I’m crying.
“Do I need to get back on my knees?” He rubs his thumb through the tears on my cheek.
“No.”
“Are you saying no?” Wolfe asks narrowing his eyes. “Because you’re not allowed to say no.”
“I’m saying no, you don’t need to get back on your knees.” My voice hitches.
“Then what are you saying?”
“Yes.”
He attacks me with his mouth, then fucks me nice and slow.
“What did you mean I’m not getting rid of you?” I ask when we break apart breathing hard.
“You’re not allowed to leave me. You are stuck with me now. I’m in love, and you are mine.”
I groan. “That shouldn’t be so hot.”
“Why because it’s a little stalker ish?”
“Just a little.”
“Well I’m serious.” Wolfe kisses me again.
“I know you are,” I say into his mouth.
“So, when do I get my ring?” I ask as we get into our rental in Savannah.
He finishes wedging himself into the passenger side, then looks over at me, dripping in annoyance. “Never, considering your taste in cars.”
“I’m being serious! Before or after the wedding?”
“I special ordered them so they’d match. I don’t know when they’ll be done,” Wolfe says easily, but he’s my best friend, and I know when he’s hiding something. Only I can’t figure out what.
I can’t figure out what he’d be waiting for if he had them. We don’t have any big dates coming up. Graduation is over, the draft isn’t for another month, and I selfishly kind of want to show up to the wedding with it on.
“They didn’t give you an estimate.”
“They did.” He’s tight-lipped about it.
“And?”
“It’s an estimate doesn’t mean they will be done on that date, and I don’t want to get your hopes up.” He puts his hand in mine. “Let’s just enjoy the trip.”
“How do you feel about being here, after the last time?” I ask carefully. I’d meant to ask before we left, but things were non-stop until graduation, and then we got on a plane.
“Calm. She’s not my family, and blocking her felt good.” He squeezes my hand. “Not like we’ll see her. We shouldn’t be over on that side of town.”
It’s an easy and beautiful drive to my grandfather’s property. Late May in Georgia means all the flowers are in full bloom, and it’s warm and green, so different than how we left New York. We have the windows open, and I’m glad to be home for the first time in a long time.
All too soon, the wedding weekend is here, and I’m dreading it. I shouldn’t be, but between my sister’s drama and Mark surely still mad, not only about getting punched in the face, but also us winning the championship, I just know there will be a lot of tension.
We were seated as far from Steph and Mark as possible for the rehearsal dinner, which gives me a pretty good idea of how the wedding will go, and honestly, I hope they just avoid us.
“Who starts the day with pictures?” Wolfe chugs a Dr. Pepper, acting like he’s fighting for his life.
I’m about to ask if he’s hungover when I lay eyes on him. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Wolfe is in what looks like a custom Gods matching Adidas tracksuit, in the team colors sapphire blue with diamond stripes down the sides. It has his name on it and the team logo. He looks like he just stepped off a soccer pitch.
“Why are you dressed like that?” He nods at the suit.
“For pictures. What’s your excuse?” I cannot even describe the look he’s going for. It’s giving me a headache but also making me a little hard.
“We have an hour drive. You are going to be a wrinkled mess by the time we get there—and annoyed.” He’s got a point. But the idea of bringing it all with us and getting redressed sounds awful.
“Why do you look like you woke up Russian?”
“For maximum comfort, and I’m not getting roped into pictures. Obviously.”
“You remember we’re engaged.”
“Yes, I recall every time I’ve gotten on my knees, thank you. But no one else knows. So I don’t need to be in pictures.” He picks up his suitcase.
“Are you trying to be the fourth member of the Beastie Boys?” I look around like we’re being filmed.
“Huh?” He has to be playing dumb.
“Ali G, maybe? What decade is this?!” I say, because maybe he doesn’t get the reference.
“Why are you acting like it’s suddenly unacceptable to be comfortable? I look hot.” He crosses his arms, making the tight jacket pull over his shoulders and biceps. It’s very distracting.
I’m going to be hard all day. I really have to consider bullying him out of it for my own safety. “Are you forty-five and going to a British soccer game?”
“It’s football if I’m British, and I might be if you keep making fun of my fit.”
“Where did you even get that with the Gods’ branding?”
“They made it for me because I’m the co-captain and I asked the school. Now are you going to stop complaining so I can go make a scene?”
“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep a straight face around you long enough for you to make a scene.” I adjust my dick.
He raises a brow. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get us matching ones.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” I try to keep my horror off my face so he doesn’t go through with it.
“Won’t I?”
“No, actually, you’re right. I’m not sure.”
He slaps my ass as I walk past. “Good answer. And I see that you’re hard by the way.”
“Fuck you. You shouldn’t look good in an outfit that ridiculous.”
Wolfe grins, pressing his hips forward so I see the outline of his dick.
“Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s going to be a long day.”
He puts our luggage in the back of the car. “It really is.”
“Why are you so tired?”
“We fucked three times last night. Are you not?”
“Three? I remember two.” I think about it.
“You don’t remember waking me up at three am?”
“I really thought that was a dream…” I make a face but don’t feel bad.
“It wasn’t, and I’m not saying I’m mad, but I hope you know this will not be sustainable.”
I laugh. “You used to get laid nearly every day.”
“Once, and then I got my full eight hours of sleep. I will be training harder with the pros, too!”
“Sounds like excuses to me.” I fight a smile.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
I just grin. “No, but I have a lot of time to make up for.”
It’s baking when we get to the club. Everyone will be sweating before long, but thankfully.
they have umbrellas for those not being photographed to stand under, and lots of booze.
Wolfe strolls over and fits right in with all the guys in a way I never could, and they all love his goddamn tracksuit.
All my homophobic uncles. Everyone. Doing something I could never do.
They ask him how to get one, like they’d support a team outside of Georgia.
It’s a formal fucking event. How no one even bats an eye at the tracksuit is beyond me. I give up on trying to understand bro culture.
“Are we going to get a photo with you and Atticus?” my mother asks as we’re finishing up.
“No. Maybe we can grab the photographer after the ceremony.”
“But he looks so cute in his hockey warm-ups.”
I narrow my eyes, finally figuring out what he did. He’s made himself stand out as the best sports bro. They all know he’s going pro and probably about the national championship, and he played into it. The psychology of straight men is wild. It’s basically cavemen: I hit ball best, admire me.
If he throws me over his shoulder later, I’ll know.
We have some downtime before the ceremony, for my sister to change outfits? Since this was her first look dress, whatever the fuck that means.
The rest of the day passes pretty uneventfully, which I’m happy about. My sister is on her third outfit by the time we get to the dancing part of the reception, and then after her first dance, her bridesmaids help her do something, and her dress comes apart magically so she’s in a minidress.
“I can’t believe she’s on outfit number four,” I whisper to him.
“What?” He looks around.
“Have you not been watching the first dance?” I ask.
“No, I was looking at you.”
My chest heats. “Why?”
“I can’t stop. You look unbelievable in that suit.
” And it isn’t hyperbole. He’s had his hands on me all night, but it’s not sexual.
He’s warm and attentive, the model boyfriend.
I know in my soul my sister is jealous because he wasn’t even this good to her, and none of it is an act.
This is who he is to his core, and I love him more for it.
He leans in. “Are you going to dance badly with me when they are done?”
“I love to dance, and I’m a great dancer.”
“Of course you are.” Wolfe starts laughing. “I’m going to embarrass the shit out of you.”
“If you don’t think I’m used to your antics by now, you’re wrong. And at least you’re not in a tracksuit.”
“Then come on.” He drags me to my feet. “Let’s go get some fruity ass drinks and dance.”
“Okay.”
There’s a few people on the edges moving to the music, but he bypasses all of them, pulling me into his arms, bodies flush, right in the middle of the floor to slow dance.
All the bad fades away, and only the two of us exist out there. Lots of people join us, and we have a fucking great time. His lips press into my temple, and I want to climb him like a fucking tree.
For the thirtieth time, someone dings their fork against their glass, and my sister is kissing her husband again.
Wolfe glances over. “Should I announce we’re pregnant?”
I choke. “Please don’t. They’ll assume I’m the one pregnant, not you, the perfect specimen of a man.”
“Maybe I’m very maternal and would love to be the one to nurture life! They don’t know.”
“They’d probably love it if we were pregnant. My mom wants a grandkid so bad. Now, if you proposed, my sister would be livid.” I laugh it off.
“Should I propose then, Angel baby?” Wolfe says, bending his knees a little like he did leading up to the blow job.
“Stop. Not again. Unless you have my ring!” I roll my eyes.
“You assume I don’t have it.”
“What?”
He doesn’t have it, or he would have given it to me…right?
Did he say he didn’t have it?
I can’t remember if he ever said for certain he didn’t have it, or if he just said he had an estimated date and it might not be done by then. He didn’t even tell me the estimated date, come to think of it. It could be any fucking day.
“Wolfe. Do you have my ring?”
He leans in, running his nose up the side of my neck. “I’ll do whatever I want, and you’ll like it.”
I suck in air, straining under my zipper, and just trying to see straight through my horniness. “I can’t with you.”
“I think you can.” He doesn’t have the ring. He’s teasing me.
He slowly lowers down.
“Stop.” I grab his tux, trying to keep him from making a fake scene.
But he doesn’t. And he reaches into his pocket.
He doesn’t actually have the fucking ring…
His hand returns with a little black box.
“You mother fucker.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me to propose?” His smile lights up the whole room.
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Which would you rather me be doing?” He playfully hooks a finger in my waistline.
“Don’t fucking start,” I say and realize only then that everyone is looking at us. “You love making a scene.”
“Only for you.” He opens the box to reveal the most beautiful band I’ve ever seen. “Archangel, I’ve been in love with you as long as I can remember. This last year has been the happiest of my life, and I need you by my side. Will you be my husband?”
“Yes,” I barely get out without losing it.
He takes out the ring and slides it onto my finger. The fit is perfect.
I haul him to his feet and grab his face so I can kiss him. “Fuck you,” I whisper into his lips as everyone claps.
“Tell me you didn’t like sticking it to both of them.”
“Mark is going to fucking fight you.”