Page 49 of Perfect Boy

So, just when things were looking better because Sutton was recovered and out of the hospital, this shit happened with Cade. Putting everything back into chaos.

When I couldn’t stand the thought of Haley alone in her room anymore, I finally knocked on the door to check on her before going into her room. And then something happened. Something I hadn’t expected. I told her that Ryann and I were married. I just left out the details of what had led to us getting married.

I guess I knew I could trust her not to tell anyone. Not like I want to keep it a secret anyway.

We’ve been married for a few weeks now, but because she’s been practicing for her next performance and I’ve been so busy with school and hockey, we’ve only hung out a few times. And I think that’s just her way of covering her bases in case we need to prove that we actually have spent some time together. I can tell that, deep down, she’s trying to still keep me at arm’s length. Which really, really sucks.

Now that I’ve told Haley, I feel like I have to tell Hunter. But not until I talk to Ryann first. After all, Hunter is dating Ryann’s best friend. I need to make sure she’s okay with people knowing. And I want to apologize for telling Haley before asking if it was all right. We’re in this together. I can’t go making decisions like when to let the cat out of the bag on my own. Especially since trusting people is so hard for her. I don’t want to give her any reason to believe I’m not her safe space.

Pulling out my phone, I bring up her contact. But before I type a message, I remember she told me yesterday that she’s working the afternoon shift and gets out at ten tonight.

Guess I’m going to Peaches.

I’ve been here one other time, and even though it’s probably an unpopular opinion for a dude to say, it’s just not my scene. I think it’s badass she took a job she doesn’t love just to provide for herself and her sister, but I’ll be honest…I fucking hate that she works here. But it’s not my place to decide what she does with her body. Even if I wish it were.

And even if I wish my eyes were the only ones looking at it.

It’s nine forty-five, and even though she’s almost out of work, I head inside and take a seat at the bar. My eyes search the different stages, looking for where she might be. It doesn’t take me long to find her, and when my gaze lands on my wife, a jolt goes straight to my dick, and that fucker is rock hard within seconds.

Then, I remember how many others are probably watching her, feeling the same way. It would be hard not to when she’s pure perfection. Absolutely the fucking sexiest creature on this planet. I grind my back teeth together, feeling my blood boil as I glance around at the others looking her way.

“Porn Star Dancing” by My Darkest Days blares through the club. There’s a dozen or so other dancers, but everyone but her disappears. Her strawberry-blonde hair is in wild curls. And the black thong and nearly sheer bra she’s wearing don’t leave much to the imagination. I shift in my seat as my dick strains against my zipper.

Every now and then, she moves wrong, and I swear her body tenses up, like something is hurting her. But she recovers so quickly that I can’t tell for sure.

Her legs part as she slides to the floor before moving back up. I look down the bar, and every set of eyes is on her.

My fucking wife.

Ryann

“Porn Star Dancing” comes to an end, and “Good for You” by Selena Gomez begins. This is my last five minutes of my shift. I’m in the homestretch now.

My sciatic nerve is screaming. I’ve had trouble with it since I was thirteen, when dancing became more of a way of life than a hobby. A few days ago, in dance practice, I pulled something, bringing it to agony yet again. After ice and lots of Motrin the past few days, I thought I was fine. But about twenty minutes ago, it started acting up again. Which is the absolute worst timing because The Nutcracker isn’t that far away now, and I have a huge part in it.

Like a zombie on autopilot, I go through the motions to show the customers in here what they came to Peaches for. Mentally, I’m checked out. I’m tired, and my leg hurts. But it’s been pretty busy tonight, so at least I’m making some cash to numb the pain.

When the song comes to an end and I read ten o’clock on the wall, I sigh in relief. Walking toward the exit, I whimper as pain shoots from my asscheek to down my leg. Grabbing my leg with one hand, I push the door open with the other.

“Ryann,” a deep voice yells from behind me, and when I turn, I see Watson standing behind Hudson, who is blocking him from coming in through the door.

“Hey, let him through.” I continue rubbing my leg, hoping the pain will subside.

“You know him?” Hudson barks over his shoulder.

“She’s my fucking wife, asshole. And she’s in pain,” Watson growls. “Let me through.”

My mouth hangs open, as I’m shocked by the words Watson just blurted out. Hudson cranes his neck to glance at me, giving me a look that’s asking if this dude is crazy or if I’m actually married.

Nodding slowly, I blow out a breath. “Yes, Hudson. It’s fine. Let him through.”

He looks not only unsure, but pissed off too. I have to hand it to Watson; not many people stand up to Hudson. He’s too intimidating. Hudson glares at him for a moment but finally steps to the side. But not before grabbing Watson’s arm.

“Call me asshole again, and your teeth will meet the pavement outside,” he growls.

“Keep me from my wife again, and I’ll break your fucking arms off.” Watson shrugs, and I’m shocked when Hudson doesn’t lay him out right here.

Watson rushes toward me, putting his hands on my sides. “You’re hurt.”

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