Page 41 of Tell Me No Lies

"You guys almost ready?" Christian comes to stand beside us, looking like his normal self. Comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt.

Lucky bastard.

"We’re as ready as we're going to be." Tate presses the button to close the hatch, stepping back as it lowers.

Christian nods, his expression tight, revealing the stress and worry we all share. "Let me know as soon as you get there.”

"Will do." Tate rests one hand on the small of my back, easing me toward the passenger's side. "We're not going to rush since the gathering doesn't officially start until tomorrow."

Christian frowns. "That might be the official start, but you know there'll be plenty of people there tonight."

Tate gives Christian a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Maybe that's why I'm not in a fucking hurry." He opens the door, urging me inside. I reach for my buckle, but he beats me to it, pulling it loose and stretching across my lap, eyes roaming my face. "You good?"

He might not look exactly like I'm used to, but he still smells the same—minus the hint of motor oil that usually comes with working at the shop. I pull in a deep breath, both to steady my nerves and remind me he's going to be right here with me all the way. "I'm good."

Tate’s expression stays serious. "If that changes, I want you to let me know."

I huff out a little laugh. "And how am I going to do that? From what Myra told me, a wife would never complain to her husband." I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice as I repeat the words she gave me. “A complaining wife is like water that never stops dripping on a rainy day.” I scowl. I’ll drip so much those fuckers drown if they cross me.

Tate’s nostrils flare and the line of his mouth hardens. "You can complain to me all you want, Sugar." He reaches up to slide his hand through my hair, being careful not to disturb the top portion I painstakingly puffed and pinned into place. "If you need a break, or just to get away from all the bullshit for a minute, just ask me if I want some coffee."

That makes me smile a little. "What if you actually want coffee?"

He continues toying with my hair. "Then I'll get my own fucking coffee."

That makes me laugh. "Even I know you can’t get your own coffee." I reach up to smooth out the collar of his shirt. "That's one of my many, vitally important, God-given duties as the owner of a vulva."

Tate's jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscles twitching. "I fucking hate that you have to do this."

The venom in his tone surprises me and warms me deep inside. "It's not like we're just doing this for fun." I toy with the front placket, tracing the edge of one pearl button, unable to stop myself from touching him back. "We’re doing this for a reason." I lean in, aligning my eyes with his. "A really good fucking reason."

Tate lets out a slow breath, his head dropping forward, forehead resting against mine as his eyes close. "I know. I still fucking hate it."

Last night he did such a good job of reassuring me, and now I get to offer that back. "I’ll be fine. Promise."

I grin a little at the plan I formed after sneaking back from his house at two in the morning. I still hadn't been able to fall asleep, so I laid there staring at the ceiling, trying to prepare myself for what was coming.

"I'm kind of thinking of it as a game. All I have to do is play it right and I win." And me winning means five other women and two little girls win too. That’s more motivation than I need to pretend to be a docile, dominated and dutiful wife.

Tate's head lifts from mine and his shoulders square. The click of my belt echoes through the interior of the Jeep as he shoves it into place. "Let's go play then."

He straightens, closing me in the Jeep. He says a few more words to Christian and then we’re off, headed for Arkansas and a weekend that will change lives.

Maybe even mine.

We’re barely a half hour into the trip when Tate turns to me. "You want some coffee?"

I groan, because I always want coffee. "If I drink coffee then I'm gonna have to stop to pee."

Tate shrugs. "Then we’ll stop." He angles onto the exit. "We've got plenty of time." After pulling into the drive-thru of a coffee chain that has a location practically on every corner, he turns to me. "Iced caramel macchiato with an extra pump of caramel?"

An unexpected laugh bubbles out of my throat. "How did you know that?"

He gives me a wink before turning toward his window as we pull up to the speaker. "Shouldn't a husband know what his wife likes to drink?"

I snort. "Not the kind of husband you're pretending to be."

Tate’s head snaps back my direction. "Fuck that kind of husband."

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