Page 125 of Surprisingly Us

“Nutella, of course.” I shake my head, but can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips.

“I’m a sucker for anything with chocolate and hazelnuts.” He grins.

I take another sip of my smoothie and pretend like his smile isn’t the best thing I’ve seen all week.

Even after our talk last Saturday, I was frustrated by his actions and taking time away from him this week was what I needed to clear my head. Now that I’ve had time to process, I understand why he didn’t ask me about the proposal. It’s not that he didn’t trust me, it’s that he didn’t trust himself.

I’ve realized Rhys doesn’t have anyone in his life that has made him believe he’s worthy of trust, of friendship, of love. That he can ask for help and it won’t be judged as a weakness or not being good enough to handle something on your own. Since his parents died, he’s been in competition with Jerrod for attention from his grandfather and Edith. It makes sense that he would struggle to communicate his needs.

“What do you have going on this week?” he asks, setting his already empty smoothie cup on the table between us.

“Training as usual. I’ve got one month until evaluations. I also volunteered to fill in for Mila this week to oversee some maintenance at Leg-Up while she’s out of town. Oh, and Sophie’s bachelorette party is Friday. It’s a spa day and a ladies’ sleep over.”

His eyes meet mine.

I see the vulnerability there. The question.Do you still need me?

“Sounds like a busy week. Should I get you home?”

“Actually, I need to find a dress for Sophie and Hunter’s wedding.” I let him take my empty cup and place it in the recycling bin. When he turns around, I place my hand on his forearm. “I was thinking we could go shopping.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up. “Yeah?”

“I mean, if you want to. If you’re not busy.”

“I’d love to go shopping with you, Princess.”

At the sound of the nickname I haven’t heard since the night he proposed and he pressed his thick fingers inside me, my core clenches and I’m taken back to that night.

I just know I’ll never be able to erase the memory of it. It’s my go-to when I touch myself now. I pretend it’s Rhys’s fingers filling me up. Even if I’m treading carefully now, still annoyed with the way he handled the proposal, I can appreciate that Rhys is skilled in other areas. If I had the nerve, I’d tell him he could make it up to me, over and over, with his head between my thighs.

We leave the smoothie shop and start to walk back to where he parked his motorcycle. As we walk, Rhys takes my hand. There’s something about hand holding that fascinates me.

I’m appreciating the way his hand feels wrapped around mine when I hear a familiar click and it draws my attention.

“Photographer,” I say, taking notice of the man in the green baseball cap.

“Where?” Rhys asks, glancing around.

“By the brick building.” We stop on the sidewalk by his motorcycle. “I thought that’s why you were holding my hand.”

He drops my hand to take the helmets out of the storage compartment. “I fucking hate photographers.”

I’m surprised by his reaction. “Isn’t that what you want? Pictures of us as a happy couple?”

With my helmet in his hands, he steps between me and the photographers—because there are two now—blocking them from their shot. Rhys stares at me for a long moment. I’m expecting him to kiss me the way I’d kissed him the morning after our engagement when there was a photographer outside the practice studios. His piercing hazel gaze settles on my lips.Just when I’m certain he’s going to pull me to him, he pushes the helmet in his hands down onto my head.

“It should be.”

That’s all he says before he puts on his helmet, straddles the motorcycle, then helps me on.

I’m not sure why he didn’t take the opportunity to give the photographers what they wanted. If anything, he might have looked angry for how tight his jaw was clenching.

We spend the rest of the day shopping. I’ve never been shopping with a boyfriend, or fake fiancé, so another new experience checked off. Yay, me!

Rhys knows a good amount about fabrics and fit, and what styles look good on me. Even Ingrid, the personal shopper that helps us at Bergman’s, is impressed by his knowledge.

In the dressing room, I pretend I can’t get a zipper down so that Rhys will help me. I don’t know what I’m doing. Trying to recreate the friction that was between us last weekend, but for some reason, Rhys isn’t meeting me halfway. He gently pulls the zipper down to where it stops above my bottom, then excuses himself. He doesn’t even comment on my black lace thong that I know he saw because I can see it peeking out from the unzipped dress in the mirror. It’s really quite rude.

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