Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’m terrified.
I don’t know how people will treat her. Or what they’ll say about me to her. Or how I’ll handle whatever they do say. It makes me nervous, and I almost don’t want to go. But El will be there to document the party for our social media. I should probably take this time to talk to her, try to smooth things over.
Above all, I need to show off my wife.
God, why can’t we just stay in the apartment and be ourselves?
Why am I thinking that?
I need a distraction. After making sure I’ve cleaned up the hair on the sink—since my wife almost castrated me for leaving hair everywhere—I head out, to find her coming through the door as I walk out of the bathroom.
I arch a brow at her. “Where’d you go?”
She looks over at me like she’s been caught, and I give her an amused look. “I went downstairs to use the bathroom.”
I don’t understand. “You could have used it while I was showering. You’ve seen me naked.”
Desire burns in her green depths. “Yes, but then you’d see me. Using the bathroom.”
Her cheeks fill with color, and I laugh. “I know you poop. I don’t care. Just throw the fan on.”
“I’m not pooping while you’re showering. That’s disgusting.”
I laugh. “Why? I’d do it.”
“You’d better not poop when I’m showering!” she exclaims as I push the door to enter the closet. It caught me off guard when I first saw all her clothes hanging opposite mine, but not in a bad way. Everything fit. So that’s good, right?
“It’s a natural thing,” I call to her, trying not to laugh as I throw on some slacks. “I don’t want you going down to use the bathroom in the coffeehouse. Makes me look like I don’t have accommodations up here for you.”
“You don’t. I need an enclosed space for the toilet.”
I poke my head out of the closet to meet her frustrated gaze. Her mouth is in a line, her eyes dark with frustration. Damn if she isn’t cute. I flash her a grin. “This again?”
“There is enough room. I drew up the plans, and we could do it in a weekend.”
She has been on about this since she moved in. I don’t know why it bothers her so much. I pick out a light blue button-up since I want the new baby to be a boy and step in the doorway to button it. I hold her gaze. “I’ll be traveling a lot soon. I won’t be here to sneak a peek while you’re shitting.”
She doesn’t laugh; she glares. “It’s too open. I get distracted.”
“From pooping? How do you get—”
She throws up her hands. “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”
I chuckle at her exasperation. “No, I’ll get it done for you. It’s just crazy to me that this is what you want done to the place. Not new paint or a new couch. Nope. Instead, my wife is asking for an enclosed toilet area so she can poop.”
She glares. “So, I can use the bathroom in peace.”
“Same thing. I’ll make it happen,” I tell her, grabbing my beige Nikes.
Her shoulders droop in relief. “Thank you, Coleson.”
I roll my eyes playfully as I shut the closet door behind me. “But this means I can use the bathroom while you’re showering, right?”
She holds my gaze. “The only time you’re allowed in the bathroom when I’m showering is if you’re in it with me.”
Desire courses through me. “Oh, I didn’t know that was an option.”
Her lips curve into a wicked little smirk. “It always has been.”
The need to pull her into the shower and take her up on that is overwhelming, but she’s way too pretty to muss up. She’s wearing a light blue dress that falls to her feet, the same color as my shirt. It has small, 3-D butterflies all over it, with a deep V that shows off the curve of her breasts. I almost want to tell her to hide them since I don’t want my teammates to see her gorgeous skin or the perfect swell of her breasts. But that’s a little too possessive for a fake husband.
“Noted. You wearing a jacket with that?”
Oh, so I’m being possessive with my fake wife. That’s fucking adorable. She looks confused as she glances down at her dress, her long brown ponytail falling along her shoulder. I want to wrap it around my hands and yank it as I drive into her from behind. Or while she takes my cock in her lovely mouth. Speaking of that mouth, it presses in a line before she meets my gaze. “Why do I need a jacket?”
“Because I can see the outline of both your titties, and I’d rather my teammates not get a peek at my wife.”
She scoffs, but fuck if there isn’t heat in her eyes. “If you think this marriage is going to consist of you telling me what I can and cannot wear, you are truly mistaken.”