Page 68 of Replay
“You’re incredible,” I murmur, my hands running through her hair, grasping her face and pulling her up my body to kiss her.
We get cleaned up and I grab her a glass of water from downstairs. Now is the time. I can feel it. Emmarys is mine. She flat out admitted she would cross lines to protect me. I would already do anything for her, to keep her. I would die for her, even kill for her. We have years ahead of us, a lifetime, and I am going to make sure she is with me forever.
Once we settle into bed, I hand her the glass of water and she drinks it all. Trusting me, she falls asleep on my chest. I wait until her breaths evened out. Wait until her body is heavy on mine before grabbing my phone.
ME: Ready.
emma
. . .
My body feelsheavy and my thoughts feel like they're coming at me in slow motion. I try to blink my eyes open, only to feel them roll into the back of my head. This isn’t a hangover; I didn’t drink anything last night. There’s no pain or a headache, just a sluggish feeling that I could sleep for the entire day. Last night’s game was a tough one, but I wasn’t so exhausted that I’m feeling this way. My legs stretch out and I realize that the mattress feels cool to the touch. Where’s Hawke? My backside aches from the movements and I adjust my body slightly. I swipe my arms out next, searching for him, my fingers flex against the sheets. My finger throbs and I wince against the dull pain. Needing to get up, I climb out of bed, blinking my vision to clear it. My stomach rolls slightly, causing me to sit back down, and breathe deeply in and out.
“You’re awake.” Hawke’s warm, gravelly voice is near, and when I open my eyes again, I find him kneeling in front of me. His hands run down my shoulders and he helps me to stand.
“Let’s get you some breakfast. You’ll feel better when you have something in your stomach.”
I frown at his words, but my muddled brain still can’t piece together what is happening or why I feel this way. I let him lead me out of his room and down the hallway to the kitchen area. As we walk, my head starts to clear and I’m aware of how sore I feel. Hawke has the curtains open and despite the cold January temps, there is sunshine today. The rays glisten off the snow and the ice that covers the pine trees. It looks beautiful and it also looks much later in the morning than I usually sleep.
“What time is it?” My head swivels to Hawke whose lips turn up in a smile.
“Half past nine.”
My eyes widen. “I was supposed to?—”
“I already let Riley and Sam know you wouldn’t be at the workout session or your girls’ brunch today,” he interrupts.
I want to laugh because I can just imagine how put out my two best friends would be. “Oh and how did you manage to convince them to let me skip? We’ve been doing this on Sundays since we were in high school.”
His smile is a little too cocky, almost arrogant. “I told them I had a better surprise for you today, and that we’re celebrating.”
My brow furrows. “Celebrating?”
Hawke turns me to the kitchen island table and waves his hand across it. “Celebrating.”
There is so much food. Fruit, yogurt, French toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, the little pastries from the coffee shop that I love, biscuits and gravy, orange juice and champagne. My stomach growls and I place my hand over it. Hawke laughs from next to me.
“Let's feed you, sugar.”
I follow to my seat and sit down at the table, only to jump up a second later. “Ow! What the hell, my butt cheek is burning.” I twist and lift my shirt, trying to see if it’s me or something I sat on. Hawke disappears in the freezer and brings out a bag of peas.
I watch him with wide eyes as he sets the bag in my chair. “Here, sit on those. It will help.”
Blinking, I stare at the man, my mind recounting his words. “Help what?”
Hawke glances at me, and while there is zero remorse in his gaze, I do see a small flicker of regret. The pain I’d been ignoring and casting aside rears up. For the first time my gaze drops to my left hand, on my finger that is pulsing with pain and heat. My ring finger. Where a wedding band could someday be, is Hawke’s name in black, delicate, swirling ink.
“Did you tattoo my finger?”
My eyes shoot to his and Hawke is watching me expectantly, waiting, and then it dawns on me. I bolt from the kitchen to the bathroom, shoving my panties down and lifting the t-shirt of Hawke’s that I don’t remember putting on last night. All I remember is making love, us cleaning up in the bathroom and then he held me in bed. I twist my body in the mirror looking for more proof of his depravity. Hawke is watching me, leaning against the doorframe, looking unbothered and almost smug.
“Seriously, Hawke. What the hell did you do?”
He moves from the doorway, stalking toward me, his hand comes up to grip my jaw. “We made a bet. I won, you lost, sugar.”
My mind whirls and I think back over the past three months, trying to place what he means. Three months. I glance around at my things on his bathroom counter, the bedroom I just woke up in, the same one I’ve been sleeping in for the past three months. That bet.
I whirl out of his grip, my hands pushing against his chest. “You don’t get to call me, sugar, after you tattooed me without my permission.”
