Page 55 of Buckled in Barbwire

I shake the glittery bangles, which make a racket. “Okay, that’s fair.”

His grin spreads. “How was town?”

Suspicion prickles the back of my neck. “Fine.”

“Did you get me a present?” He sinks lower until his chin touches the water and proceeds to blow bubbles at me.

“No?” I’m beginning to question this strange version of Brody.

Which makes him double down, an exaggerated pout sticking out his bottom lip. “But it’s customary for the bride to get her groom a gift.”

“Oh, really?” I cross my arms. “And what did my groom get for me?”

“It’s down there.” He dips his head to indicate the general vicinity of his lap. “You have to unwrap it.”

My mind goes blank as alarm bells clang. I rove my gaze over him, taking note of his sluggish blinks and dopey smirk. Maybe he’s dizzy from too much chlorine and not enough caloric intake.

“Are you feeling okay, boss?”

“I’ll be a lot better if you join me.” Brody pats the roiling space beside him with a sloppy palm.

My tongue twists over several responses. I settle for, “Did you eat dinner?”

“Worried about my well-being?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m concerned about you passing out and leaving me stranded in the elements.”

Booming laughter explodes from him, shocking me into a solid block. “Wouldn’t do that to my wife. You’re my responsibility now.”

This semi-sweet, chauvinist behavior is spinning me faster than a baler. “I can take care of myself.”

“Afraid you’re stuck with me, Twinkles.”

“Temporarily.”

Brody’s shrug is lopsided. “Sure, but we’re in this together for now. There’s plenty of food to keep us afloat for weeks. That includes drinks.”

He lifts his arms from the water and stretches along the smooth rocks framing the jacuzzi. The sight renders me immobile for a few reasons, but I choose to prioritize the tattoos decorating his skin. I can’t tell what the designs are from this distance in the dark. Before I can sneak a closer peek, a bottle of Dom appears in his grip to distract me. The puzzle is solved as he swirls the remaining contents before bringing it to his lips.

Brody guzzles the expensive champagne as if it’s cheap beer. Watching him do so is another travesty entirely. Even in the piss-poor lighting, I catch every subtle movement. His fingers clutch onto the wide base in a possessive hold. The flow of alcohol floods his mouth like an open tap. I’m transfixed when a droplet escapes his lips, trickling down his chin as he swallows. The urge to lick that path beckons me to the edge of the shallow pool.

My concentration zeroes in as his Adam’s apple bobs under the pressure to chug the liquid gold. Drool collects on my tongue and I gulp. I’m suddenly very thirsty.

Brody finishes the bottle and sets it aside. That snaps me out of the wrongful hypnosis.

“You’re drunk,” I accuse.

He tips his head to one side and squints. “I’m buzzed.”

“Wow, never thought I’d see you smashed.”

He snorts. “I’m not a total square.”

The outdated term makes me giggle. “Gosh, you’re old.”

“Why do you think I married you? Wanted to keep myself young.”

“Just using me,” I murmur.

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