Page 67 of Wild Side
I suck in a shocked gasp as his lips turn hungry. His tongue sweeps in, a sultry tease that has my body bowing into his eagerly and does nothing but leave me wanting more. A breathy whimper rushes from me as he pulls away, still staring at my mouth as he bites down on his bottom lip.
“Anyway, it’s always a pleasure, Terence. See ya around.” He doesn’t look away from me as he addresses a guy who hasn’t mattered in over a decade. His show of unnecessary territorialism leaves me scrambling, wondering why we needed to fake it right here and now.
I watch in a daze as Rhys manages the checkout, eyes widening when he tosses two copies of theRose Hill Gazetteon the conveyor at the last minute.
“Why do you want two copies of that?” I ask in confusion, still reeling from his kiss.
Rhys’s fingers tangle absently in my hair and give a gentle tug. “Obviously we have to keep a copy of our marriage announcement for the wedding album,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “And…” He taps his card on the reader, a smug smile on his face while he leaves me hanging, watching, wondering what the hell he was about to say.
Once the machine beeps its approval, I get my answer.
Rhys turns and tosses one paper over the magazine rack, landing it smack-dab in front of Terence, drawing the man’s attention once more. “And I thought our good pal Stretch might like a copy for his scrapbook too.”
Terence’s slender face turns beet red before our eyes, which only makes Rhys grin wider. My lips press together to keep from laughing, only offering the other man a nod as I depart with Rhys’s arm slung over me protectively.
“That was so fucking petty,” I whisper to him.
But all I get back as we hit the outdoors is a firm squeeze and a gravelly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It’s bullshit, but he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. And before I can press him any further, he’s reaching into the cart for Milo. “You rocked that shopping trip, little man. It’s officially pony ride time.”
His hands wrap around Milo’s rib cage as he tosses him up onto his shoulders, eliciting a joyous giggle from the little boy.
“Giddy up, Ree!” he squeals, circling a free hand around his head.
And Rhys does. He gallops through the parking lot in a way that isentirelyout of character, and Milo hoots and hollers with glee. This big, stoic man we got stuck with, who is constantly tied up tight, goes all soft and gooey for the little boy on his shoulders right before my eyes.
It makes my heart squeeze so hard that it takes my breath away.
But more than that, it makes me feel like we’re really fucking lucky to be stuck with Rhys.
CHAPTER 25
RHYS
“Stop judging me, cat.”
Cleo has curled herself on the end of my bed, a place she seems to have claimed as her own.
Every night.
She won’t leave me alone. And now she’s watching me work through my promo lines the writers sent with her paws tucked tightly in front of her and a judgmental fucking look on her kind-of-cute face.
“We don’t even like each other,” I add for good measure.
She just purrs. This cat is always purring. Wakes me up purring at 3 a.m., kneading my chest like she’s rolling dough.
Annoying.
I tug my mask down over my face and step away from the world’s worst sidekick, taking my place in front of where I’ve propped my laptop. The backdrop of a plain concrete wall makes it look like I’m living in a bunker, but that’s fine. It’s unidentifiable, and more than anything, I want to keep Tabitha and Milo clear of any media attention.
This is their safe space, and I will not fuck it up by tipping off my more unhinged fans. Not when this place has started to feel like home over the past weeks. Life has become busy in thedays since the wedding, but we’ve fallen into a rhythm. Morning coffee under blankets on the porch across from Tabitha. She works, I take Milo. I work out at the local rec center or hit up my new favorite yoga class, she takes Milo. We grocery shop together and hold hands in public.
I think we both find it easier to talk to each other all the time—just not about the hand-holding. Or the kissing. Or how irrationally jealous her stupid high school boyfriend makes me.
Tabitha cooks the best fucking meals I’ve ever had in my life, and I eat so much that I worry I might need to cut down hard and fast when I get back to work. We go our separate ways at night, and I fist my cock in the shower, thinking about my wife. Then I fall asleep, forcing myself to list all the reasons crossing that line with her is a terrible idea for what is already a tenuous setup. Milo is—and needs to remain—our number one priority.
I check the mail daily, but the marriage certificate has yet to arrive. I know it’s my ticket out of here. And I try not to overanalyze the way I feel disappointed and relieved all at once. Because I love my work, but I’m starting to love being here too.
