Page 36 of Just Say When

Her blunt reference to our eventual divorce when we weren’t even married yet sent a fissure of annoyance down my spine. We hadn’t discussed an end date, other than tacit acknowledgment that it would be after the holidays. Filing for divorce the day after the competition would look mighty suspicious, and right after that was Christmas. No one filed for divorce during the holiday season unless they couldn’t stand being married for a single second more. That wouldn’t look good, either.

I knew it was going to happen. But it felt wrong to admit it out loud before we had even our vows.

I rubbed my chest, frowning. “What about the photos? You want those, right?”

She squinted at the photos and pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Where would I put them? It seems silly to recreate my bedroom in your guest room. I should probably just leave them here.”

“So, what? You’re going to live like it’s a hotel for thenext six months? Come on. I know you don’t want to be there, but at least you can make it a place you don’t hate coming home to. There’s space for whatever you want to bring.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, I really do. But it doesn’t make sense to take all the pictures down, hang them up at your place, and then take them all down again. They might get damaged. Plus, it’s a lot of work.” She moved to the dresser and picked up the Bell jar of matchbooks from her dad. She held it for a moment, turning it in her hand. Then she shrugged and set it down again. “I honestly don’t need more than a bed and somewhere to put my clothes. I’ve lived with my mom my whole life, so I don’t own any furniture or decorations or anything like that. It’s fine, really.”

She handed me a large black trash bag. “Here. For the shoes. I also have a pair of muck boots in the mudroom, so remind me to grab those on our way out.”

“Sure.” I didn’t like the idea of packing Essie’s stuff in a goddamn trash bag, but it was efficient, and we weren’t going far.

Essie flipped the suitcase open on the bed. I took care of the shoes while she emptied the dresser of sweaters, jeans, and underwear. I tried not to linger on the silk and lace things she tossed into the suitcase, but hell. She wasn’t bothering to hide anything. That purple thing made my mind flood with images I would never see in real life.

With my stomach clenched tight, I tied up the bag of shoes and stalked to the bedside table, figuring I could dump the contents in her duffle bag.

“No—” she yelped.

But it was too late. I had the drawer open and was staring inside. A bottle of ibuprofen. A paperback that I would hazard a guess was a romance, with a woman being embraced by a blue alien. A purple vibrator with bunny ears that I was familiar with. A palm-sized, rose-shaped thing that I was not.

“My toys are clean, so if you can say the same for your hands, go ahead and put everything in the duffle bag.”

Feeling like my head was stuffed full of cotton, I turned slowly. She stared back at me, arms crossed over her chest, a defiant tilt to her chin despite her flushed cheeks.

“Be careful with the book. It’s Hannah’s. I don’t want it to be bent or folded when I return it.”

I set the book aside, figuring it would be safer in my hands than in the bag, and picked up the pills and bunny vibrator and gently placed them in the bag. The back of my neck felt hot and prickly from her watchful stare.

The rose was next, and I paused, studying it. She made a sound of dismay, but it was too late now. We were in it, this was happening, and I had questions.

“What,” I said, peering at the small opening in the center, “is this?”

“It’s a vibrator, Brax.” There was a sardonic edge to her voice and I looked up. “Not every vibe is shaped like a dick. It’s not all about penetration, you know.” She shook her head. “See, there’s this thing called a clitoris?—”

“I mean, what does it do? Just vibrate, or?—”

“It sucks.” She cleared the raspiness from her voice.

My dick twitched, making it known that it was very interested in this option. That it might be a nice experiment to tie each of her limbs to a bedpost and use that rose until she begged for my mouth. Just to see which she preferred.

I added the rose to the bag. Her gaze dipped to the obvious swelling in my jeans as I turned to face her and she rolled her lips together. That was interesting. Maybe we were both imagining things we shouldn’t.

“Anything else you want?” I asked gruffly.

There was the slightest hesitation before she shook her head no.

And I smirked, knowing it was a lie.

With Essie’sbags stowed in the backseat of my SUV, we headed out. We had already moved Buckley to Lodestar, where he would live out the rest of his happy life, because there was no way Cat could take care of him given her long hours at the bakery. Essie was at the ranch more than she was home anyway, so it worked out for the best. The only thing we had left to do was get her settled at my place.

But instead of turning left off Columbine Street, I turned right and headed for First Street.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling with confusion.

“Just a couple errands to run. Is that okay?”

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