Page 106 of Wild Side
It’s as though we got married and knew fuck all about each other.
I smother a smile as I stare down at my empty bowl. Maybe it’s just quiet between us because it was hard for Rhys to speak as he shoveled carbonara into his mouth.
“You know what I think we should do?”
His head snaps up from scraping his fork along the bottom of the bowl to get any last remnants of the sauce. Sometimes watching him eat makes me happy, and sometimes it makes my heart hurt. Imagining him hungry and alone kills me.
I tip my chin at him. “I can make you more, you know.”
He leans back, giving me a sheepish grin as though I’ve busted him licking the plate. “What do you think we should do?”
“Go to yoga. I was planning to go to Gwen’s class today.”
His arms cross and he regards me. “Together?”
I bristle, sitting up taller. “You can pretend you don’t know me when we get there if you want. It’s not like we need to link fingers during downward dog or someth?—”
“Tabby, that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t know if you wanted to be alone and were only inviting me because I showed up unannounced.”
I cross my arms, mimicking his position, and scrunch my nose as I stare back at him.Be alone. The way I practically recoiled at the words catches me off guard.
I usually enjoy being alone. I’ve never been the girl who does everything with her boyfriend. Typically, I’ve always felt a separation of “mine” and “yours,” so it hits me hard, as I sit here staring back at my big, burly husband, that I don’t feel that way with Rhys.
And I don’t think it’s the wedding ring that sits warm and heavy on my ring finger. It’shim.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want to do a single thing without him there with me.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I tell him simply.
He blinks more than once and swallows, as though digesting the sentiment. Then he gives the firm dip of his chin that makes me smile.
My man of few words and many feelings.
A quick glance at my watch tells me we have limited time to get out the door. “Meet you back here in thirty?” I ask, pushing to stand.
“Done.”
I expect him to go change or clean up or whatever he needs to do, but he lingers and silently helps me tidy the kitchen.
I bite my lip when his hand trails over my lower back as he passes to the sink. I swallow a moan when his hand presses against my hip to move me out of striking distance of thedishwasher door. And I find myself obsessing over his nearness and what it all means—where it all goes.
It’s like we’ve had the rug pulled out from under us and are both surprised that we like the floor beneath. Or maybe that’s just me. The girl who feels sad watching Rhys retreat to the basement to change rather than up to the room where I stay.
Thirty minutes later, we are out the door and walking down the street side by side. I’m in a puffer coat with a yoga mat slung over my shoulder, wishing I’d focused more on bundling up instead of Rhys and his massive dick and even more massive heart.
I blow into cupped hands and rub them together to chase the chill away, only to hear an exasperated grunt from beside me. Rhys’s big hand clasps mine.
“Put the other one in your pocket,” he grumbles, checking both ways before leading me across the street with hearts in my eyes.
I clear my throat and try to unjumble my orgasm-riddled brain. “Do you do a lot of yoga?” I ask blandly.
He shrugs. “Yeah. In conjunction with everything else. Keeps me limber. I like what it does for my brain too.”
“So you can do your crazy flips and maintain some semblance of inner peace?”
“Basically. Therapist said it’d be good for me, and he wasn’t wrong.”
“Wait. You have a therapist?”
