Page 89 of Just My Fake Husband

“Okay, Pookie Bear,” she says. Her giggle sends me over the edge.

“Okay, Rivernator.”

Now we both giggle. “In all seriousness,” I say. “The thought of starting from scratch, for real, is the most exciting thing of the year.”

“Of the whole year?”

“Of maybe the whole year and a half!” I tease.

“Wow. I’m so honored,” she deadpans.

“I mean it, though. I think this is the best idea we’ve ever come up with.”

I’m so close to her that her next words reverberate through my bones, through my very core. “I think I want to major in getting to know you, Mr. Gabriel Tate. I want to join the sorority, drink the Kool-Aid, and paint my face in the Gabriel Tate school colors.”

I chuckle deep down but then crush her in a kiss. We’re free-falling. No more pretenses. No more holding back because of the fear that it’s going to end.

My lips brand hers and I spin us around so that I can press her up against the wall.

“Wait.” I breathe, panting for air, afraid I might topple over from sheer excitement. “You never told me what draws you to me.”

She brings her fingertips up to her lips, the pads of her fingers feathering over them, like she’s in wonder over it all. “I’ve been kissing them over and over again for a while now.”

I point to my cheeks. “These? My dimples?” I flex them for emphasis.

“The most powerful siren’s song of my life.”

“You’re right.” I’ve got her in my arms again and place a lingering kiss along that velvety space behind her ear. “I might use them as a weapon if they’re going to make you kiss me like this.”

I drop my arms to be able to hoist her up, and she laughs as she wraps her legs around my waist. When I spin her around so she can sit on the countertop, a loud scratching noise startles us apart.

“Nooo!” River’s brow furrows as the frame holding my dad’s medallion crashes against the tile floor.

I don’t bend to pick it up, even though it was clear by the plinking sound that the glass has split even more.

“It’s okay,” I assure her, my forehead resting on hers as we catch our breath. “It’s truly, honestly okay.”

I focus on tracing her jawline with my kisses.

There are many more urgent matters to worry about right now than my dad’s frame.

Chapter 31

Gabriel

“The Wolves’ defense is gonna ruin everything.” Alec’s staring at his phone, watching a football game in the loft above the lobby of Tate International. Just because he no longer plays for San Antonio doesn’t mean he doesn’t still absolutely bleed purple and black. His love-hate relationship with the team knows no bounds.

Right now, though, I want to think of River, not get swept up in my brothers’ game play-by-play.

“Not if the Commanders’ O-line doesn’t hand them their own behinds on a silver platter first,” Oliver counters.

Alec chuckles. “We can only hope.”

Oliver’s favorite team is the Commanders, except when they’re playing the Raiders, and then he always roots for them. Werarely root for the same team at the same time, which means Saturdays are fun. It’s a complicated maze, our family’s sports team loyalties. Don’t ask me to explain how and when we root for who we root for. It would take hours.

I spent the morning with River, a short hike with Lunch Lady Liz near our place—yes, we avoided any and all cows and wasps—a breakfast of oatmeal and bacon, and then playing a game of “Guess That Song” from our personal playlists.

Who knew she liked country music?

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