Page 45 of Their Greatest Strength

“Don’t get romantic. We’re not married yet,” she grumbles.

Her sweatshirt and sweatpants are a few sizes too big and hang off her shoulders and bunch at her ankles. She’s hidden her hair beneath a beanie again, and her skin is bare, shiny, almost like she used some kind of cream on it before coming downstairs.

“Is this permission to be romantic once wearemarried?” I counter.

“You’re like a puppy who hasn’t been walked in a week.”

I lean forward on the balls of my feet, fighting for my balance. “Can I lick your face?”

Her cheeks turn red, so much so that I notice in the dark and with no hair free to hide them. “Oh, my God. No, you can’t. I’ll call you a cab.”

“Not yet. I haven’t given you your present yet.”

A hiccup punches up my throat as I fall back on my heels and wipe the sweat from my forehead. It’s a million degrees outside right now, and I have too many clothes on.

With a huff, I reach behind my head to pull my shirt off, swapping the purse between my hands so I can free my sleeve. When I uncurl my fingers, the shirt falls to the dirty street. The lack of fabric on my torso feels fucking great.

“Why did you do that?” Blakely asks, eyes flying to the sky.

“Was hot.” I lift the painted purse between us. “This is for you.”

Slowly, she lowers her gaze. I flex my abs, but she skips them entirely, only focusing on the bag.

Suddenly, I’m nervous, even with the alcohol in my veins.

“Is that a purse?”

“Yes. We painted them tonight. Look, I put little masks on it for my bandit wife. And these look like splotches, but they’re supposed to be controllers. You know, for the Xbox you tried to steal from me,” I explain, rambling without any hope of slowing my words.

“This is why you asked about the purse thing.”

“Mmhmm. I wanted you to have it. It’s an engagement present.”

It wasn’t cheap, at least. I don’t know how much you’re supposed to spend on a pre-wedding gift—or if those are even a thing since I didn’t ask any of the married guys tonight—but I must be at least halfway there. If not, I can always get something else . . .

“I didn’t need any gifts,” she mutters, fisting her hands against her stomach.

I swallow. “I know. It’s still for you. I know you might not want to use it, but there’s nobody else I wanted to give it to. Plus, I’ve painted it especially for only you. Too late to change my mind now.”

She studies the purse. Her mouth is twisted as she nips at the inside of her cheek and continues to hesitate to grab the purse. I’m buzzing. Every moment it takes her to move is another I start to grow more antsy.

Finally, when I’m on the verge of taking her hand and forcing it around the handle, she lifts her eyes. They lock on mine, unmoving and warm.

“If you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, you can crash at my place for the night.”

The offer is there and gone so fast I stand frozen in shock, unsure if I heard her correctly.

“What?”

She flattens her mouth and blinks twice. “You can crash on my couch. If that’s something pretty boys do.”

“It’s something this one does.”

I know I seem overeager, and to be honest, I couldn’t care less. I’m not wasting this chance.

15

BLAKELY

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