Page 75 of Love Without Control

“I wanted a piece of cheese,” I explained, picking up a cube of gouda and popping it into my mouth. From the periphery of my vision, I noticed Chad cross the living room to bother someone else.Good fucking riddance.

“You know, I expected it to be warmer,” Eden mused, stroking a hand down the red fabric over her hip.

My brow furrowed. “The cheese?”

Her grin grew even wider. “No, where you just peed on me.”

“Jesus, Eden,” I chuckled with a chagrined shake of my head. “Was I that obvious?”

“Yes,” she said, patting me on the chest, “but you can make up for it by going with me to get another drink.” Her hand looped around my elbow as I guided us through the minglers to reach the bar set up in the corner.

Two guys in their early twenties greeted Eden by name, and my brows lowered.I thought this was supposed to be a block party. Who are all these young fuckers?

“Eden! You back for another Santa’s Sunrise?” the red-haired one chirped.

“Yes, please. Do you want one, Dane?” She turned her brown eyes up to me.

“Sure,” I clipped out.

The other bartender, this one with dark-brown hair and a gap between his front teeth, stuck out his hand, and I shook it. “You must be Dane. I’m Kevin, and this is Barry.” He jerked his chin toward his friend who was filling two festive glasses with orange juice. “I call him Straw-Barry. You know, because of his hair.”

“And I call him asshole. You know, because of his personality,” Barry retorted dryly, making me laugh.

Eden bumped me with her hip. “I was telling them about your tiramisù. Kevin and Barry work at Charles’s bakery.”

“She said it’s divine,” Barry said as he added tequila and then topped it with grenadine. “If you accidentally make two pans next time, we’d be happy to take the spare off your hands.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I told them, relaxing a little because I wasn’t getting thatflirting with my wifevibe from these two.

I stayed close to Eden for the rest of the night, and as the crowd thinned, we made our way over to Mimsy and Charles to say our goodbyes. Once I’d helped Eden into her jacket and we were outside, Eden stumbled a little, a giggle escaping from her lips as I steadied her with an arm around her waist.

“Oopsie!”

“Is Mrs. Osbourne drunk?” I asked, amused.

“Tipsy,” she corrected, tucking herself beneath my arm. I liked her like this, loose with her affection.

“You know you’re not even legal to drink,” I said, a playful taunt in my tone.

“My license says I’m twenty-two,” she argued, her feet pausing as her eyes went to the two-story home on the other side of the Mimses. Like they always did. It was the palest of yellows but looked white in the blue haze of the moon. Eden called it “the butter house” because she said it was the color of whipped butter.

I let her look her fill until she shivered. It was in the sixties, which was typical for winter evenings in the Florida Keys, but we’d both grown accustomed to the more temperate climate over the past nine months.

Eden was giggly as we got ready for bed, and I wished for the millionth time that we were husband and wife in every way. I’d love to have a wild, playful romp between the sheets with her. But instead, we ended up in our normal position, me on my side and her curled up against my back.

“What were you laughing about in the bathroom?” I asked.

I felt her chuckle against my back. “I was thinking of how you acted when Brad was flirting with me.”

It took me a second. “I thought his name was Chad.”

I felt the vibration of her hum on my spine. “Hmmm, maybe. I thought it was Brad.”

There were no words to describe how happy it made me that she didn’t even remember that dickwad’s name. It was definitely Chad. The name was imprinted in my mind.

“Fucker is lucky I left my gun at home,” I muttered.

She giggled again and moved her hand up to my chest, fingers toying with the hair between my pecs. “I’m proud of you for not being shooty.”

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