Page 59 of Marrying the Gardener
For better, or for worse—till death do we part.
Chapter 18
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An unlikely feeling of attraction.
Crimson
Kaleb is drunk. Drunk with a pool cue. Drunk Kaleb with a pool cue is…hot, question mark?
Ever since yesterday, when I woke up on Kaleb’s chest, our legs entwined, and his hand firmly cupping my rump, I have been a little bit confused regarding him. He thought I was going to go all the way with him just because he wanted to. Clearly, he doesn’t know me well enough yet, so there’s no way I can know him well enough yet, either.
But something is brewing.
I can feel that.
Whatever it is has drawn my attention away from my father and grandfather as they laugh and jeer and are their usual disgusting selves in this speakeasy-style bar that my grandfather rented out for our family this lovely Saturday evening. While my other relatives play darts or cornhole over whiskey and gin, I am nursing a water.
On the rocks.
For that added bit offlare, naturally.
In case you didn’t know, Ineedto take my water watered down with some water, so I don’t get too drunk on the hydration. As a woman, I’m a natural-born lightweight who can no more handle my liquor than I can handle matters of masculine prowess.
Like taking out the trash. And mowing the lawn.
Since Kaleb is amanly manwho knows fancy stockmarketbuzz words, my father and grandfather yanked him—and not me—into a drinking game, even though I was standing right beside him. An ounce of kindness would have at least provided me with an invitation.
Suffice to say, my family’s patriarchy lacks even an ounce of kindness.
Unfortunately, now Kaleb’s on a fifth shot, and I’m a little worried. Logic demands I recognize that he’s an adult capable of juggling social situations with outstanding grace, and if he didn’t want to drink, he’d have had an excuse they’d accept at the ready. But the worry persists.
Because, while he is both quick-witted and careful, right now he is so very drunk.
After I’ve finished my water I slip from where I’ve been sitting at the bar counter and make my way over to him. Standing against the wall a short distance from the pool table, Kaleb waits for my grandfather to finish a hacking fit and take his turn. Glassy eyes following my approach, he smiles, the expression off kilter.
I touch his chest, slipping my fingers to his shoulder so I can pull myself up and murmur in his ear, “You okay?”
“Mm.” He scans me, then bends, whispering, “This is gonna kill me in the morning,” before planting a sloppy kiss on my throat. Stinking of liquor, he nuzzles. “I wanna take you home. Right now.”
I wanna go home. Right now.
It’s been a long night, full of the usual unpleasantries, yet nothing has bothered me quite as badly as when we went to golf.
Whether that’s because I was promptly spared from the worst of whatever my family has been talking about when I was abandoned at the bar counter or because I’ve found my peace with the price I’m paying for freedom is anyone’s guess.
Maybe I just trust Kaleb more now. Maybe I feel like we’remore of a team than we were last week. Maybe I’m resting in the knowledge that Kaleb isn’t going to let anyone hurt me, even if it jeopardizes everything.
With him at my side, my father will never lay a hand on me again.
Being owned isn’t something I’ve ever liked the idea of. It has always tasted bitter in concept, fetid in practice. But being Kaleb’s? Knowing he cares about me enough to turn down the only thing I thought he wanted out of our agreement? Seeing the way his actions match his words? Feeling how deeply precious I am to him?
I don’t mind that.
Leaning his pool cue against the wall beside us, Kaleb circles my waist, drops his hands lower, and jerks me in—tight. Husky low, he murmurs in my ear, “Sorry. Your father’s watching. Gotta be a little rough.”
His hard body presses to me, solid, and I don’t think I mind the roughness so much anymore, either. “Thank you for letting me know.”
