Page 27 of Pucks and Coffee

My brows furrow deeper. She keeps it up, she’ll be calling me daddy as I spank that ass. I don’t tell her that. I don’t want her to know that I want to spank that ass. Touch it. Suck it. Lick it.

I’m not going to make it with her.

Me: I am well aware what I am to you, and even though we didn’t say vows, by law, I’m supposed to care for you.

My Wife: I can care for myself. I promise.

Me: What food do you want, Wife?

My Wife: None. I can get my own.

If I throw my phone, I won’t be able to argue with her. I let out a deep sigh, take a cleansing breath, and count to ten. Once I don’t have the urge to hurl my phone, I focus on her.

Me: Fine. I’ll buy you what I think you’ll like, and if you don’t eat it, I will.

She sends me the eye roll emoji, and I can’t help but crack a grin.

Me: Have you told your family yet?

My Wife: No, Lou isn’t coming home tonight, so I’m packing. I plan to do it tomorrow when she gets in. My sisters and I are meeting for lunch at the arena.

Me: Do you need help packing?

My Wife: I’m good, thank you.

She’s being very standoffish, and it doesn’t do a damn thing for my ego. Did something change? Am I annoying her? Either way, I’m not liking the way this conversation is going at all. I hit her contact and then the call button before my phone starts ringing in my earbuds.

When she answers, she sounds surprised. “Hello?”

“I don’t like texting you.”

I’m met with silence, and then she asks, “Why not?”

I love your voice. “You seem like you don’t want to talk to me.”

She huffs. “I’m packing.”

“Still,” I say, feeling stupid. “Do you have regrets?”

“Loads,” she laughs, and my stomach drops. “I’m kidding, Coleson. Not at all. I’m overwhelmed with packing and just nervous about telling my family.”

Without thinking, I lower my voice. “I can take away all the stress for you.”

Why did I say that? I need to be careful. It’d be too easy to fall into bed with her, get really comfortable, and enjoy myself more than I could ever imagine. I don’t mind getting her off, I can handle that, but I’ll get addicted to her giving me pleasure. I know I will. Hell, I’m worried I’ll get addicted to giving her pleasure. Why did I call her? Damn it.

Before she can respond, I ask, “Do you like popcorn?”

“Yes.”

I throw it in the cart. “How do you feel about making us breakfast every morning?”

“I can pour you coffee,” she says with humor in her voice, and I smile.

“I’m sure you can make a smoothie or some eggs,” I suggest, grabbing a dozen eggs. “I’ll cook you dinner when I’m home.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Do you like cheese?”

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