Page 56 of Buckled in Barbwire

The reminder should be sobering, but he’s too captivating in this state. Especially when he turns up the heat.

“Feel free to use me in return, wifey.” For whatever reason, that endearment sounds cute.

When he tacks on a wink, I almost swoon again. Boozy Brody is an incorrigible flirt. I might just like it. At my extended silence, his eyebrows wag.

“C’mon, Twinkles. I’m not so bad. Unless you want me to be.” He drifts his palms along his torso, disappearing under the water to touch areas I can’t see.

But it’s not a worthless tease. The seductive motion puts his arms in better view, allowing me to examine his tattoos. I never knew he had any until tonight.

Once the details register, my breath whooshes as I drop to my knees. “Are those…?”

“Strands of barbwire,” he confirms. His right arm shifts to show how the design coils up and around his entire limb. “Got all these during my rebellious phase. Probably when I was about your age.” He laughs while I roll my eyes.

“As if ten years is that big of a gap.” I wrinkle my nose. Ugh, that sounds like I’m defending our relationship.

“You’re twenty-three?”

“Isn’t that something you should know about your wife?”

“Got me there. I failed to do proper research.” He snaps his fingers as if scolding himself.

“Yet here we are.” Rather than step deeper into that manure pile, I refocus on the thick lines etched into his skin. “Are these why you’re always wearing long sleeves?”

“Cover up my mistakes.”

A crease forms between my brows. “Is that how you see them?”

Brody’s eyes grow a bit distant, as if memories are calling to him. “They remind me of when I thought the future was mine. It was meant to be symbolic, like I couldn’t be fenced in. Crock of shit that turned out to be.”

“Why’s that?”

“Look at us, married against our will.”

“We had a choice.” There I go again, defending us. I bite my tongue before more nonsense slips through my filter.

His chuckle is a breeze slipping through leaves. “Mom and Dad gave me more responsibilities when I turned twenty-five. I liked the work, quickly demanding more. That’s a damn slippery slope. Years went by before I realized the job became my identity. Nobody’s fault but my own. Hours behind the desk and on the road replaced nights out with friends. Before I knew it, I was addicted to the trade. By then it was too late and I just poured more of myself into the business. How do you think I tipped Benson Farmstead into billionaire status so quickly?”

The story sheds new light on him and he looks almost normal. Like a weary man who needs a break. Maybe I’vebeen too hard on him. I rip my gaze off his solemn expression. Nope, not falling for that. Talk about a slippery slope.

I pick at a rhinestone on my skirt to avoid petting him. “Do you regret it?”

“Nah, I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

“It’s okay to be honest and vulnerable.” I wince at the supportive force in my tone.

Brody’s exhale is heavy. “Want to hear something crazy?”

“Always.”

“I’m starting to think barbwire might be tying us together. Like fate.” He nods at my glitzy ring finger.

I move my hand and the diamonds sparkle on cue. “You believe in fate?”

“Maybe. There might be something greater at work here.” His gaze lifts to the sky, scanning the blanket of stars.

I can tell his thoughts rest on Marion. The relentless desire to offer comfort perches on my tongue but I don’t want to pry. Whenever I’ve tried, it’s backfired.

“That’s a nice thought,” I murmur instead.

---