Page 112 of Leashed

“Yeah, I was smooth,” he said, side-eying her and pointedly ignoring the smirk she gave him. “Whenever you’re ready to propose to Charlotte, give me a call and I’ll give you pointers.”

She bit her lip and looked down at her mug to avoid laughing.

The poor guy had shaken through the entire ceremony, short as it was. He’d swallowed nonstop during the vows, and she was certain she’d caught him swaying on his feet a bit during the I do’s.

“Yeah, I kept waiting for a lightning strike or something,” he muttered, nodding absently as he sat. “Dio and Ryan know, but they promised not to say anything to Seph yet. Ryan’s holed up in some small town near the Canadian border and thinks he has a lead on the last Pirithous.” He frowned and sat back, running a hand through his hair. “We already discussed it. If Seph’s so damn determined to show off a new dress, we’ll have some kind of party or something. Besides, at some point I have to meet my mother-in-law and she’ll probably have something to say about the whole impromptu wedding thing. All right. Talk to you later.” He tossed his phone on the table and lifted his cup. “I’m taking your car with me to do the trade-in for the little blue one you like, so make sure you grab the truck keys.”

He’d been on the phone striking deals with his customers the night before, chopping his prices in exchange for a good deal on a new car for her.

“Your tools?” she asked, getting up to pour another cup and trailing her fingers along the amphorae collection Dio had brought to them the day before. Each piece was adorned with a depiction of Bo’s trek to the belly of Olympus, the largest one a stunning representation of the two of them.

They brought tears to her eyes every time she looked at them.

“Already transferred over. I’m putting in the order for those business cards this afternoon, so if there’s a mistake on them, better tell me now. And I want to get on that ad for an apprentice before I even consider that thirty bay job on the north side.” He stretched his arms over his head, smirking when her gaze was instantly drawn to the exposed skin below his shirt hem, effectively distracting her from the amphorae. “So are we ring shopping after work?”

*

Bo shoved hishair out of his eyes and slammed his hand against the wall, losing his rhythm as the glint of his thick gold wedding band caught his eye.

No girly shit, he’d said.

The faint outline of a prowling cat etched around it was borderline, but fuck if he didn’t love the memory behind it.

Sage’s hips slammed back against him, an urgent reminder he had better things to be doing than getting mushy over jewelry. He was about to be separated from his wife for eight hours while they went off to work, and he needed to make the most of the precious few post-coffee minutes they had.

Her small fingers laced with his, her ancient gold ring clinking against his in rhythm.

Don’t come crying to me when you’re married in three months.

He smirked, thinking back to her warning months ago. No way was he going to be whining over this marriage thing.

His little mouse was still shy around him, her cheeks flaring up every time they tried something new to her, every time he caught her watching him, every time he started in on what she insisted was “dirty talk.”

But since her clothes hung in their closet and her scented lotions were all over the bathroom counter, he couldn’t resist testing the limits.

“You know,” he panted into her ear, “I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is exactly what’s referred to as ‘rutting.’”

*

Sage chewed thelid of her highlighter as she compared her notes to her source book, pointedly ignoring Bo’s obvious attempts to get her attention while she studied up on the Minoan Age of Greek history.

“That might be fun,” he murmured, grabbing one of her pencils and making a note in the book he was reading.

Curiosity won out and she leaned over to read the passage he’d lightly starred. “Even if you were a telepathic demon, which you aren’t, I’m not sure that’s legal in this state. Or physically possible.”

He shrugged as she returned to her studies, grumbling under his breath about how if he could slay a dragon he could definitely try that. Shoving his bookmark between the pages, he set it on his bedside table and stared her down, as though attempting demon telepathy.

“Last chapter,” she promised, lining a sentence in her notes in bright yellow while he tossed the blanket off and got out of bed, stretching his arms over his head.

Her gaze drifted over the muscled expanse of his back, her hand freezing in spot until he looked over his shoulder at her and grinned as a blush pinked up her cheeks.

Busted.

“I’m grabbing a pre-game snack,” he called out from the hall. “Want anything?”

Over the past two weeks, “pre-game snack” had become Bo’s code for what he ate prior to jumping her in bed.

Or against the wall.

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