Page 64 of The Proposal Pact
But she’s our wife, wecanget it.I can practically hear my dick whine.
Nope, we’re not crossing any lines. You were living just fine without getting any, now all of a sudden you’re throwing a tantrum?
Have you seen our wife? How am I supposed to survive a year with that?
Not my problem, figure it out—
“Shrek? Are you okay there?” Sophie’s voice breaks my conversation with my own dick. Thank God.
And yes, I’m aware I need help. So much fucking help.
“Yep, all good.” I rise from the floor, fixing the rock-hard bulge in my jeans as covertly as I can manage and follow Sophie into the kitchen. “I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow. Since I’ll be living here, I’d like to contribute. Oh, and rent, I’ll cover it fully.”
Sophie cocks an eyebrow at me. “Splitting it halfway works just fine for me.”
“Well, it doesn’t for me. What are you looking for in there?” I ask, switching the subject that is not negotiable. Sophie is standing in front of the open fridge, just staring inside it.
“Something edible, but I don’t think old takeout boxes qualify.” She sighs, shutting the door.
“Let’s add some new boxes so the old ones aren’t lonely in there.”
Sophie snorts at my wannabe joke, and I turn away, not wanting her to see the satisfaction on my face that I made her laugh.
If only I didn’t have to feel all warm and gooey because of it on the inside.
Jesus, when’s the last time I cared about something so trivial, or hell, even bothered to joke. My sarcastic relationship with Luke and Griffin not counting. That’s not humor, that’s my idea of kicking their asses without their knowledge.
I take out my phone, scanning the Peace-Out diner menu for what she could possibly like. I’m just about to read her the options when my eyes catch on one particular item and I quickly add it to cart, without asking her. Adding my own order in I pocket the phone and tell her, “All done.”
“What? But you didn’t ask me what I wanted. What did you order for me?”
I smirk. “You’ll see.”
She pushes out one hip, placing her hand on it. “Yeah, that’s a level of trust I’m not sure I’m ready for.”
“Have some faith, wife.” I chuckle, surprising myself once again, because the last time I laughed so much was probably in high school. In fact, the last time I felt this at ease was probably around that same time as well.
Sophie drums her fingers on the counter, lips puckered as she considers it. “I’m a picky eater. And before you say anything, it’s not my fault.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“I’m serious. My mom was a magician in the kitchen. Then my brother went ahead and became an incredible chef. That’s not to mention his wife is the best damn chef in the world with like a thousand restaurants! See? I’ve been spoiled rotten. So, just tell me what you ordered so I can get myself something else.”
“Yeah, not happening.”
“Shrek!” She stomps her foot, and I cock my head, amusement dancing across my face.
“Did you just really stomp your foot?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Cute.” I turn around and head back to the couch to wait for our order.
“Ugh,” Sophie groans, and although I can’t see it, I swear she stomps her foot again. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” She flops next to me on the couch with a huff.
God, how I wish I could teach this little brat a lesson. My hand—and cock—itches for it.
Not going there. Not gonna happen.
