Page 60 of Wild Side
My brow furrows as I stomp over to the love seat opposite her. Milo’s monitor sits on the table between us, and I can hear the soft sound of his exhales. It makes me want to sneak upstairs and check on him. I’ve tried to respect Tabitha’s space—her boundaries—but I miss the freedom to read him bedtime stories or check on him in the middle of the night just to make sure he was okay.
Alas, what I get is a cat that has no intention of running away. Because the minute I sit down, fucking Cleocatra, the perpetually happy feline, lands in my lap. She makes one agile turn before settling, her front paws pressing gently against my sweats, one after the other.
When I look up, Tabitha is staring at me with a smug expression on her face.
“Is that going to be okay for yourallergies?” The way she saysallergiesis pure mockery. Okay, I lied about the allergy. Pets just make me nervous. Getting attached makes me nervous.
“Whatever.”
“Come ooon. Is she purring? What kind of monster would you have to be to not like that at least a little bit?”
I sip my coffee and look away, doing my best to appear unaffected. Because itisnice. “It’s fine.”
“Wild Side’s thoughts on pussy—it’s fine.”
My lips twitch. Tabitha is in fine form this morning. I slice her a withering glare, and she laughs.
“I prefer you when you’re being hostile,” is my only reply.
“I’m too tired to be hostile today. You get giddy instead.”
As she nestles into the cushions of the wicker patio set, I realize she does look more tired than usual.
“Too much wine?”
A snort leaves her as she holds the steaming cup of coffee up to her lips. “I only had a few glasses. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, fair. You weren’t drunk enough to get handsy or anything like that.”
She glowers at me. Between the wedding, the sexual tension, and the secrets she uncovered last night, there’s a new level of closeness between us. And despite myself, I like it.
“Well, in that case, what’s your excuse?”
God, I should not have been so… bold? Comfortable? There was just something that made me want her more than I usually do. The dress. The restaurant. The way she pressed closer.
Her.
Everything comes back to her. My head keeps circling back to her. My body keeps moving toward her. And it’s instinctual. If I could stop it, I would. I’vetried.
But nothing works. Even after only meeting her once, she’d pop into my head unannounced. The tiny terror with dark hair and the round ass who marched into my house and told me what to do like I was a grunt in her kitchen.
Now it’s worse, because she’s here. With me. And she’s got me twisted into knots—ones I don’t feel especially inclined to untangle.
I shrug. “No excuses.”
Her eyes widen, almost comically, but I figure, what’s the point in beating around the bush? I meant what I said lastnight, and given the opportunity, I’d put my hands down Tabitha Garrison’s dress over and over again.
The problem is, deep down, I suspect she still hates me. At least a little. She believes I’ve done something unforgivable, and I’ve made no move to correct her. When I decided to give her someone to blame for her sister’s death, I didn’t expect to end up here.
Married to her and feeling like this.
She clears her throat, signaling a change in the conversation, as Cleocatra curls herself up in my lap, like a fuzzy cinnamon bun. “Well, the reason I’m tired is I stayed up all night watching wrestling.”
My head snaps up. “Come again?”
She shrugs and tucks her feet under herself. “What? It’s entertaining.”
I stare blankly at her, figuring out how I feel about this and how I should respond.
