Page 92 of The Wife Situation

“Night.”

Hours later

Iwake up to her arm wrapped around my waist and her body molded against mine. I’m confident I feel her lips and warm breath on my bare back. Then, I realize my palm is gripping her thigh, and my cock is rock hard.

“Mmm,” she says, running her hand across my stomach and stilling.

I keep my eyes closed and focus on my breathing as she slowly pulls away from me, lifting her hand from me.

Right now, I want to laugh as she quietly inches from under the blankets. Her feet pad against the wooden floor of the bedroom and the door quietly opens.

“Good morning,” I say, not letting her escape that easily.

She doesn’t say a peep. We can play cat and mouse, but I’m always the cat.

I sit up and stretch, placing my feet on the floor. After I grab my watch, I attach it to my wrist.

I might not have gotten much sleep, but I’m wide awake, seeing things more clearly than I ever have before.

Only three days to go until my record has been beaten and thirty-four days before I have to be married. And I might have somehow randomly found the woman of my dreams.No fucking way.

Lexi’s right; I am lucky.

I get dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, then grab my Yankees hat and running shoes. When I take the stairs to the kitchen, Lexi is already in there, brewing a cup of coffee. My eyes slide over her messy hair and body in that oversize T-shirt.

“Who’s Beau?”

She stills. “Why?”

“Because you’re wearing his clothes.”

She glances down at the faded name in the corner. “It’s my ex’s.”

My brows furrow and my jaw tightens. The thought of her wearing some other man’s shirt …

“Throw it away.”

Lexi licks her lips and moves before me, lifting it over her head and tossing it onto the floor. “Better?”

My eyes stay focused on hers, and I don’t have to steal a glance at her bare breasts and tiny cotton panties to know she’s perfect. “I prefer you with clotheson.”

She looks offended.

I touch her elbow. “Less temptation,” I mutter, and her face softens. Fuck, I’d stare at her all day if I could.

“Are you jealous?” she asks, her nearly naked body inches from mine.

“No, because you were sleeping inmybed last night.”

She licks her lips.

“I don’t like seeing you withhisname on your chest, like you’re still his. Are you?”

She crosses her arms over her breasts, covering herself, and sighs. “No.”

I don’t take my gaze from hers; seriousness coats my tone. “If you’re wearing a man’s name, going forward, it’smine.”

“It won’t happen again,” she whispers, breaking eye contact and grabbing the shirt from the floor. “I’ll be back.”

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