33. Georgia
I’ve never been so happy yet so irritated in my life as Derek takes yet another picture of me. I can’t shake the smile on my face as he attempts to get good “angles” of me, lying on the ground of the dressing room, snapping photos of me with his phone's camera flash on.
“C’mon, darlin’, do a little spin,” he encourages, twirling his pointer finger as I roll my eyes.
“You’re supposed to be helping me,” I say, humor in my tone as he gasps, clutching a hand to his chest.
“I am helping. I helped zip up your boots!”
I roll my eyes at him, turning from the mirror to face him. Derek’s eyes brighten as ours lock. His hair is longer than usual, his curls rolling near his ears. He’s wearing the glasses that I like—the green ones, matching his forest green hoodie.
My skin heats as his gaze lowers and he sits up, tilting his head, beckoning me over.
My legs move toward him in an instant, stopping in the space between his legs.
He’d gotten up on the couch the second I walked out of the dressing room.
Derek's hand travels to the space on my thigh, below my ass, holding me steady as he looks up at me.
“You look like a work of art.”
I suck in air at his words, my skin growing red as they sink in.
“In cowboy boots?” I tease.
He grins cockily, lying back and man spreading with me between his legs. “Darlin’, I’d have you in just those boots if you’d let me.”
Oh!
I don’t know what to say as his eyes hood over. I’m speechless, looking down at my husband as he takes his lip between his teeth, a playful smile on his face.
Derek Perez is the only man who’s ever gotten me to be at a loss for words. He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me—would it be crass of me to say that I want him to?
“What are you trying to do, Mr. Perez?” I ask as he pulls me closer, using my thigh to guide me toward him.
“You, Mrs. Perez,” he says, giving me a cheeky smile as I chuckle.
“We’re in public.”
“Duly noted.” He winks, kissing my stomach whilst looking up at me.
The sight of him alone could send me into an orgasm.
When Derek pulls away from me, he gives me a smile that can shake the earth. I trip over my feet to get back into the changing room, my heart racing in my chest as I change my clothes back into what I had on when we arrived.
If I don’t get it together, I’m going to crumble for this man.
We walk through the small strip mall near campus, hand in hand. Spring has encroached upon us in such a short amount of time.
Derek takes a bite of his cannoli and sighs. “This is the life,” he says through bites.
I chuckle as I bite into my strawberry cupcake, humming contentedly as we approach a bench near one of the storefronts.
Students and small families mill around the small shopping center, everyone preparing themselves for the upcoming spring break.
We were supposed to be shopping for our trip to Texas tomorrow, but as you can see, Mr. Perez has been a bit of a flirt all day. I’ve been flustered by him from the moment I woke up, and I highly doubt I’ll stop.
He eats his cannoli in silence, watching the people around us as I watch him.
Derek’s goatee has grown a bit, giving him an older appearance.
Biting my lip, I eye the cannoli in his hands.
His fingers are so slender yet masculine.
The way he gently grips the dessert in his hands has me wishing that it were me instead.
Before I can stop myself or even think about what I’m doing, I lean over to take a bite of his food.
He chuckles softly as I pull away, moaning as the sweet flavor of the custard coats my tongue.
My skin heats as he watches me eat. “Want some more?” he asks, holding a hand under the dessert, gesturing for me to take another bite, and I do.
He feeds me the rest of the cannoli and grins when I finish it all.
“I knew I should’ve gotten you one; want some more?” He muses, holding up the second cannoli that he’d ordered with a grin.
Shaking my head, I hold up my cupcake to his lips, smiling when he takes a bite. He’s gentle with his bite, careful not to eat the entire thing as he grips my hand to keep the cupcake steady.
“Derek…” I twist in my seat to fully face him as he hums. “What are we?” I ask, holding my breath.
His brows raise, and he takes a moment before responding, “We’re together, are we not?”
Sighing, I furrow my brows, confused.
Have we always been together? Since when were we together? I know that we’re married—technically, but we never put a true label on what it is that we have going on between us.
He grabs my hands, holding them with care, his thumb stroking the back of my palm. I relax instantly under his touch, and that confuses me even more.
“I apologize, Georgia. I guess we’ve never truly decided that we were together… I sort of assumed consider—”
“Considering we’re married.”
He chuckles. “And we do married people things.”
I bite my lip.
He isn’t wrong.
Derek gives me a shy smile. A small dimple pokes in the side of his cheek, reminding me of Delilah. He kisses the back of my hand softly before placing it back in my lap gently.
“How about you and I go on a date tonight? How does that sound?”
It’s the look in his eyes, the hope, that has me agreeing before he can even finish his sentence.
“I’d love to.”
When Derek said he wanted to go on a date tonight, I didn’t think he meant a date at our own place. Stepping inside the apartment, I’m immediately hit with the savory aroma of Cajun food—pasta to be exact and the sweet smells of cupcakes baking in the oven.
My breath catches as I look around the living room.
The lights are completely off, and candles litter the living room.
In the very center of the room, where the couch and coffee table should be, sits a small table with a white tablecloth and two chairs with flower petals scattered around the ground.
Derek comes into the living room from our bedroom, dressed head-to-toe in a Parisian waiter’s outfit. He bends at the waist, a small smile on his face as he says, “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. I am Ton Mari—your waiter, and I will be your confidant tonight.”
Covering my laugh, I smile at the man as he comes back up from his bow, and I almost burst out in full laughter at the sight of his face.
He’s wearing a red beret and a fake curly mustache over his own goatee. I snicker and take the seat he holds out for me. “I was supposed to be meeting a hot date tonight, Ton Mari…”
“Your date is a lucky guy, Mademoiselle,” he says in his horrible French accent, pushing the chair in for me.
“Tonight’s dinner will consist of a sip and paint.
The chef will be serving creamy Cajun pasta with breadsticks, your favorite, and another favorite of yours, strawberry cupcakes.
If there is anything else that you would like to eat, please note that the kitchen is closed and I quit. ”
My jaw drops as my “waiter” turns on his heels and skips—yes, skips—his way back to our bedroom.
Moments later, Derek appears in the bedroom doorway, the fake mustache still on his face as he poses for me. I roll my lips to suppress a laugh as he trips on his way back over to the table in the center of the room, taking a seat in front of me.
“Sorry I’m late, darlin’... I got held up in a meeting with my advisor,” he says, taking a sip of his water, but it goes down the wrong way, and he ends up choking.
He takes off the mustache and the two of us sit in silence for a moment before the both of us burst out into laughter.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask between laughs as Derek chuckles, running a hand over his face.
“I'm being romantic,” he says, grabbing my hand from across the table.
I give him a small smile, my skin heating as he rubs circles on my thumb.
“You’re doing great, sweetie.”
He chuckles softly, getting up from the table. In seconds, he’s made our plates, and we dig in. I moan as the savory flavors of the chicken and peppers pop on my tongue.
We eat in comfortable silence, the two of us finishing our food in minutes as soft R&B plays on the surround sound speaker.
“I never got the chance to say thank you,” Derek starts as he wipes the corner of his mouth, setting down his fork and napkins.
Raising my brows, I mimic him, putting my own fork down, and giving him my full attention.
“Thank you for everything, Georgia. You’ve helped Deli and me more than we’ll ever know. You’ve truly become the light in our darkness. Thank you for being yourself and helping us.”
The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his touch, it all makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside as he gives my hand a small squeeze.
“You mean that?”
He brings my hand up to his lips, his eyes locked on mine as he kisses the back of my hand. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Derek and I finish our food, laughing and talking about our upcoming trip to Texas in two days for spring break. It’s safe to say that I’ve become genuinely more excited to see where he grew up than he is to be back in his hometown.
Derek laughs quietly as he paints away on his canvas. I frown as he holds his painting closer to his chest, away from my line of sight.
Pouting, I add another line to his mustache. “What’s so funny?”
He gives me a wicked grin. “I can’t believe you actually bought those cowboy boots.”
My cheeks redden at the reminder of our time in the fitting room earlier.
“What’s surprising about that?”
He shakes his head, playfulness dazzling his eyes as he says, “Oh, nothing. I’m just wondering if I could take them off of you like promised…”
I bite my lip trying to hide my grin as he gets up from the table, placing down his painting and holding out his hand for me. “Three Little Birds” begins to play on the speaker, and my heart softens as Derek pulls me close, swaying us to the music.