Page 54 of Icing the Enemy

“Are you sure about that? I’m thinking you wanted to make our arrangement believable.”

“No, I was lost in you. I wanted to taste every inch of you.” I sit her on the bench, soap up the washcloth, and wash her from her face to her toes. There is so much I want to say and need to think about, but now isn’t the time—too many drinks and so much sex that my judgement may be impaired from all the dopamine flooding my brain.

There’s a fine line between hate and something else, and I’m not ready to admit it to myself. Because when I fell off the proverbial cliff a few minutes ago, it felt like she was falling with me.

I hold her hand as I pull her to her feet, and she gets under the rainfall to rinse. Damn, she’s picture perfect with her eyes closed as the rivulets stream over her skin. When we’re clean, Iget out first, wrapping a towel around my waist, and I hand her one for her hair.

“I wish I had brought my turby twister,” she says to herself, I think.

“What the heck is a turby twister?”

“It's a towel for your hair that dries three times faster than a regular towel.”

I hand her another one that she wraps around her torso. What do we do now? Do we actually sleep together since we just slept together, or is that a line we shouldn’t cross? It would seem weird if we didn’t though because who has sex with their wife, then goes to separate rooms? Well, my grandparents used to sleep apart because she said he snored like a freight train, and she couldn’t get any shuteye.

“Did you bring pajamas?” I ask.

“Yeah. They’re in my overnight bag.” She takes a few steps and hesitates. “Should I put them on?”

Answering honestly, I reply, “I don’t know. Never done this before.”

She laughs. “Me either. I’ll put them on and if you want, you can sleep with me. I need to go check on Dixie.”

When she walks from my bathroom, I take a good long look at myself in the mirror. What kind of a guy would I be if I didn’t finish what I started? I told her I would give her what she needs and if she needs me to sleep with her and hold her close this one time, then that’s what I’ll do.

My instinct is to protect her, but how I do protect myself?

After towel drying my hair, I put on a pair of boxers and head to the guest room. She’s under the covers and Dixie is lying on the bed beside her. As soon as Dixie sees me, her tail wags and jumps up to all fours, walking to the edge of the bed.

“Hey, girl. Are you taking care of your mama?” I ask as I run my hand over her head and down her back.

Dixie barks, and Oakley says, “Dixie, we’re too tired to take you out. It’ll be time in a few hours.”

Dixie whimpers.

“I’ll take her. If I let you out, will you come right back?” I ask the dog like she’s going to respond. While growing up, I rescued dogs and went to the shelter nearly every day. Now as a professional athlete, I don’t have time to take care of one, and that’s not fair because they need attention and love the same as humans.

“She will. I trained her well because I couldn’t leave my mom for any length of time at the end.”

“Come on, girl.” Dixie trails behind me, down the steps to the main floor, then down to the basement level, and I let her out the French doors. She sniffs around for a good five minutes. Everything is new to her just like it is to Oakley and me.

Tonight is emotional on every level. The highs of playing around, enjoying a carefree night and getting married on the spot to having sex with my now wife—short term as it is.

Dixie finally hikes up her leg, and it makes me think of holding the smooth, soft skin of Oakley’s thigh while she takes every inch of me. And how I want more of Oakley. But how can I get more Oakley? I cannot let her steal my heart, then walk away once she gets her trust fund access.

Dixie checks out the flower beds, when I whistle, she comes running back inside.

Dixie runs up each set of stairs like she’s lived here her whole life and knows her way around, but I’m guessing she’s following Oakley’s scent, because she runs into the bedroom jumps onto her bed.

“Is it okay if she sleeps on the bed?” Oakley asks.

The fluffy adorable dog spoons into her knees. “I thought I was sleeping there.”

Grinning, Oakley pats the bed.

“I have a better idea. My bed is custom made and can fit all three of us.” I scoop her up, and the comforter drags on the floor until it eventually slips to the floor. With my knee on my mattress, I let Oakley fall, and she bounces up and down a couple of times. She lets out a childish laugh, causing my stomach to flip flop nervously.

Before I get in the bed with them, I grab some headache meds and two bottles of water from my minifridge that looks like a nightstand.

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