Page 30 of Their Greatest Strength

I bite my tongue when questions load themselves on it. I’ve got to watch myself with Blakely. At least right now. She’s like a deer hiding in the trees, knowing a hunter is on her tail. One snap of a twig and she’ll be gone.

If I ask one wrong question, I can forget about her being my wife.

With a half smile, I say, “That’s fine. I have the space.”

“Nathan’s a good kid, I swear. He’s incredibly smart and doesn’t stay out late or party. Football keeps him busy, so you probably won’t even notice he’s here,” she rambles, twisting thesleeve of her jacket tighter in a move I’m starting to assume means she’s nervous.

I file away the football information for a later time.

“Hey, you don’t have to convince me. If you say he’s a good kid, then I’ll choose to believe you. I’m asking a lot from you here. The least I can do is let your brother have a place to stay. What else do you need from me?”

Pain travels across her features, and I scoot my chair closer to the table on instinct. She doesn’t notice.

“I’m between jobs right now, so I can’t exactly help with the mortgage or anything. If you make a tab for me while we’re staying here, I’ll make sure to pay you back once I find something.”

“Not happening. You don’t pay a damn dime the entire time you’re my wife, Blakely. That’s one of my rules. I’ve got the mortgage, the groceries. Hell, you can drive one of my cars anytime you need to leave. Just let me know what bills you have, and I’ll make sure they’re taken care of while you’re here,” I say, almost offended that she thought for even half a second that she’d need to pay me back for anything.

Almost, because like she told me before, she’s just not the type of person to take handouts. And while that isn’t what this is, I can understand why she’d connect those dots.

“I’m not a charity case. I might not have the money now, but I will eventually,” she presses.

“If you want to collect apay Jamie back stash, go for it. But just know that I won’t take a single cent of it come divorce time. My wife won’t pay for anything essential. Providing for you is my job, and it’s what I want to do.”

“This isn’t the 1800s. Women can provide for their families nowadays.”

A smirk curls my lips. “My woman won’t need to provide for me. I have more money than I know what to do with, and it will only continue to grow as long as I’m playing football. You want to go out and buy yourself a new pair of shoes? Use your ownmoney or use mine. But when it comes to the roof over your head and the food in the fridge, that’s on me, Bandit.”

Her cheeks flush. “I’m not your woman. Not for real.”

“Maybe not. But every time we leave this house, I’ll be treating you like it. If you agree to marrying me, of course.”

When she releases a loose exhale, I know there’s a real chance of her saying yes. And that . . . that’s the most exciting thing to happen to me in a really long time.

10

BLAKELY

Jamieson Bateman is tooslick for his own good.

It doesn’t seem to matter that agreeing to this could end terribly because the moment he started spouting off about taking care of me and accepting Nate, I melted into mush.

I’m one strong-ass bitch when it comes to almost anything in any given situation, but apparently, all it takes is one hot guy with a six-pack and flexing biceps to offer to house and feed me, and I’m ready to give my hand in marriage.

Embarrassing as it may be, I’m desperate enough not to wind up living on the street that I can’t even be all that mad at myself.

“What can I get you?” said hot guy asks, leaning a forearm against the open fridge door and peering inside.

It’s one of those two-door, stainless steel ones with a bottom pull-out freezer and an ice machine. On the appliance sexiness scale, it’s slamming against the end with a flashing red light.

“I’ll just have water.”

“Water? You sure? I’ve got plenty to drink in here. There’s pretty much every type of pop and a few kinds of juice. My niece has a habit of drinking sugar like water whenever she comes to visit, so I keep pretty stocked up on the stuff.”

“Are you using your niece as a scapegoat? I didn’t thinkprofessional athletes were supposed to drink so many sugary drinks.”

He turns in my direction and winks before lifting the hem of his shirt up to expose his stomach. The grooved muscles flex and strain, keeping my eyes occupied.

“Don’t worry about my sugar intake, Bandit. I work hard in the gym to burn off my drink choices.”

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