Page 68 of Buckled in Barbwire

“Coming right up.” I grab the Tito’s and coffee liqueur. “Go make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll be right over.”

“Such service,” she croons.

My concentration splits between mixing the contents and tracking Paisley as she crosses the room. Her soft sigh derails me completely. Golden hair fans around her while she gets situated in the corner seat. She tips her head back, eyes sliding shut for a brief reprieve. It’s only then Irealize that I’m fixated on her rather than completing the task at hand. Rookie mistake.

Her explicit instructions play on repeat while I shake the concoction like my marriage depends on it. After adding a chocolate swirl to the bottom of a clean glass, I fill it to the rim with her choice of cocktail. Two coffee beans get dunked in foam on top for the garnishing touch. There might be a career behind the bar for me yet. If my dad were here, he’d be laughing his ass off. Mom would shove me out of the kitchen and directly into Paisley’s arms. She always knew what was best for me.

I fetch myself a fresh beer before joining my wife on the sectional. Her gaze isn’t shy about stalking my approach. She’s particularly interested in what’s swinging beneath my sweats, and it’s more substantial than the drawstrings. I’ll have to buy more if this is the response I get. At this point, I’ll use any means necessary to win her over. Other than further coercion. She has to come willingly.

I barely manage to stifle a groan while covering the distance between us. But damn, the visual of Paisley begging me for relief is too tempting. Especially with her sprawled on the cushions like she actually wants to be here.

“Oh, my,” she purrs while accepting the drink. “You’re spoiling me.”

My scoff calls bullshit while I take a load off beside her. “This is nothing.”

Her eyes narrow. “Why do I have the feeling this is more than you’ve done for all your previous relationships combined?”

“That’s a low hurdle,” I chuckle.

“But it’s true?” Paisley’s eyes sparkle while she tastes the martini.

“Twinkles,” I drawl. “Don’t mistake me for a romantic.”

“Yet you cooked my favorite meal from scratch and whipped up not one”—she counts on her fingers—“but two very yummy cocktails.”

“Is it that easy to please you?”

“What? No.” She scoffs, but her blush betrays her.

I drop my voice to a rasp and murmur, “You haven’t been properly pampered? Such a shame. I’ll be fixin’ that right quick. Pull out all the stops.”

Her giggle is shrill. “You sound like a country gentleman.”

“And you sound impressed again.”

Paisley squirms and refuses to meet my gaze. “I can’t help it. This is strange.”

“What is?”

Her sigh is drawn out. “Just sitting here as if we’re a normal couple. You’re being semi-sweet to me. Gosh, and we’re married. That’s really insane.”

My chuckle startles her. “How strong did I make your drinks?”

“Oh, hush. I’m having a moment. Fantasy and reality are clashing.” Her hand clenches into a fist before popping open to mimic an explosion.

The dots she’s connecting are invisible to me. “You’ve lost me, wife.”

“I have a confession,” Paisley murmurs.

“Now that I can understand.” A creak sounds from the couch as I turn to give her my full attention.

Her bottom lip gets tortured between her teeth. “Promise not to let it go to your head?”

My snort is instant. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.” Paisleyredirects her focus to straight ahead.

“It’s not nice to tease, wife.” I shift closer until our thighs bump. “Tell me.”

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