Page 47 of Pucks and Coffee

But then he rolls over, giving me his back.

I stare at it and blink in disbelief.

So this is how he’s going to do this.

Not giving in to his desires, but giving me mine?

Fine. Challenge accepted.

CHAPTER 25

Coleson

In just a week, I’ve learned a lot about my wife.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that once I’m gone, she’ll run this business better than I ever did or could. She is a very fast learner—and a bit OCD. I’ve taught her how to make every single drink, and she is so nitpicky about getting them perfect, it drives me nuts. I’ve told her time and time again to just go with the flow, let Jesus do the measuring. But that doesn’t work for her. She wants it done right and uses every single measuring tool I have. The dishes have been out of this world, but she won’t do it any other way but the right way.

While I appreciate her attention to detail, she has begun to correct me when I don’t make the drink to her standard, as if I haven’t been working and running this place since I was a kid. I wasn’t ready for that, and Janie is loving every second of it. Meanwhile, I am slowly dying inside because it’s really hard for me to get annoyed with her.

I’m not entirely sure why, but I don’t want to be annoyed with her, and I’m unsure what that means. Or why I feel that way. I’ve never lived with a woman, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t supposed to be this easy. I don’t get it. I thought women were supposed to ruin your life while you lived with them—or at least, that’s how it was with my mom. But for me, I’m enjoying my wife in my space. I know I sound ridiculous, but she brightens the place up.

We’ve fallen into an easy routine, the two of us. We have breakfast together every morning and dinner when I’m home. Lunch is usually skipped since I’m at the rink and she spends that time at the bookshop. She is splitting her time between the bookshop and the coffeehouse since her sister is still traveling to watch Ciaran play. I’ve also learned that even though things are tense, she talks to her sisters almost every other hour. They’re in a group chat, and her phone goes off constantly. I’ve noticed that I can tell if the chat is good or bad by how deeply her brows furrow. Most of the time, she’s glaring at her phone, so I’m sure they’re still upset that she married me. I haven’t asked, nor has she said anything, but I think we both feel the weight of their disapproval.

Even though she’s frustrated with her sisters, she smiles and carries on like nothing is wrong, when I know it bothers her. She’s quite resilient—and cute, too boot. She fits in with the staff like she’s known them her whole life, and everyone has been really nice to her. Customers love her, but I’m waiting for that to change. I may be jaded, but I’m sure someone will come in, realize we’re married, and then give her shit for it. As much as I don’t want it to happen since I’m unsure how I’ll react, I have been preparing myself to defend her, our marriage, us as a whole.

I’m finding that I like her.

More than I should like my fake wife.

I’m such an idiot, but I like making her smile. I enjoy making her laugh. And sleeping in the bed with her…? Fuck me, I love it. Even though she sleeps like a wild animal and I’ve been kicked in my back more in the last week than I have in my whole life, I love waking up to her. I missed seeing her drool all over her pillow with her hair a mess when I had an away game, and when I realized it, I promptly pushed that feeling aside.

But it was there. Flashing in my face like a neon sign and making it real hard to ignore.

As I take in my reflection in the mirror, I remind myself for the hundredth time that I can’t allow myself to feel anything for her. I’m not what she needs. Yet her words play on repeat in my head.

“I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, such sweet longing in her eyes. “I’m not like your mom.”

God, I wish she hadn’t said that. I wish I hadn’t agreed to make her come every day, because it’s getting really hard not to repeat what I did to her the first night. I have driven my fingers between those slick folds every day, and each time she comes undone, I find any excuse to walk away. I’ve faked calls, I’ve distracted her with a new drink, and I’ve even told her I didn’t need to come. I’ve lain there with a rock-solid cock, begging for sleep, every night. She has me wound so tightly, I have no choice but to relieve myself with my own hand. She won’t come into the shower if I’m there, and because of that, I’ve come more in the shower than I ever did as a teen.

It’s pathetic and ridiculous, but I felt way too much when I was between her thighs. While I wanted her more than anything in this world, I wish I’d had stronger restraint. Because now that I know how she tastes and feels, I want more. Sex between us is too much to handle, and I have to be careful. I have to protect her heart, and allowing feelings will be devastating.

But I’m home this weekend.

No games, no road trips, and I can’t distract her with making drinks. She won’t fall asleep before me, and we won’t be at the shop all day. We have Evangelina’s gender reveal party today. It’s our first event as a couple, and as much as I know getting her off now would save me from fighting myself not to take her later, I don’t know if I’d be able to concentrate on bringing her pleasure.

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?”

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