Page 17 of Bound and Blitzed

“Yes.”

“Not that it matters. Once you have the permanent green card, you’re good for a decade.”

“Right. A decade.” I work a swallow, trying to process the information he’s laying out. Then I can apply for assistant professor positions across the United States. Will my parents be proud of my accomplishments?

Or will they still expect me to return to Spain and begin my career there?

“And two years is a fair crack at trying to make a marriage work. It’s not too short that we didn’t try and not long enough to have major issues,” he rationalizes.

I nod. Although the increased tempo of my heartbeat disagrees. I can foresee major issues, as Avery calls them, if I don’t get my attraction to him in check.

Avery smirks and nods. “All right then.” He strides back to the luggage, and some of the heaviness in the air abates. “Are you hungry?”

Not even a little bit. “Sure,” I manage.

“Great. I’m going to rinse off and change.” He pulls clothes from his luggage. “Then, you want to grab a bite and explore the city?”

“Sounds good.”

Avery nods once before entering the bathroom. The door closes and the lock catches. He flips on the shower, and the running water drowns out the ragged breaths I pull into my lungs.

I sink to the edge of the king-sized bed and drop my face into my hands.

Another thought spikes in my mind and I swear, patting the mattress on either side of my hips.

How did I not notice until now that there’s one bed.

One bed!

And if I want to make things physical between us?

What was I thinking playing with fire?

Nothing’s happened and I already feel the heat.

I don’t stand a chance with Avery Callaway, the man about to become my lawfully wedded husband.

Chapter7

Avery

My shower is so fuckingcold, I’m surprised my dick doesn’t wither away and fall off.

Goddamn Valentina Garcia. The woman could tempt a saint and have no clue while she’s doing it.

I have to be careful with her. Around her. She’s quirky and innocent—how innocent I don’t know, but I haven’t seen a woman turn that red after a harmless joke since I was in high school.

But it didn’t feel harmless. For some reason, it felt dangerous. It felt like she was poking at my insecurities when logically, I know she was trying to make light of the situation.

The trip. The one bed. The fact that we don’t fucking know each other.

And while I can take a joke, I also want to keep shit between Valentina and me clean. We both know where we stand, what needs to happen, what the outcome is. Sure, we can be friendly and laugh together, share some meals. If she begged me to fuck her, I’d comply. I mean, I’d probably give her anything she asks for.

But I can’t give her any more of myself than what I’m capable of. And I’m only capable of the material things. The five-star hotels and business class flights. The green card and two fucking years.

I rinse the soap off my shoulders and turn off the shower.

Valentina and I need to find a middle ground to make this work. We need to trust each other for what we’re about to do without letting our defenses down enough that either of us ends up hurt. After all, this is an arrangement, an understanding.

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