Page 116 of Wild Card
“Gwen, how am I supposed to trust you to name our first child if you can’t even give this raccoon a respectable name?”
We both freeze then. God, there’s so much unsaid between us, so much implied. I really have to stop stepping in it like this, making things awkward.
But, of course, nothing with Gwen is ever truly awkward.
“Do you remember,” she starts, “that night in the airport? How badly I put my foot in my mouth when I went on about us having a night to tell our kids about one day?”
I chuckle softly. “How could I forget?”
She nods, teeth strumming over her bottom lip. “Now we’re even.”
A low laugh rumbles in my chest as I pull her close and drop a kiss against her hair. I breathe her in. She smells like lavender and coconut. No doubt some oil blend she’s using at the studio. “Yeah, Gwen, now we’re even.”
We spend the next several minutes figuring out what to name the raccoon while tossing him different foods from the tasting menu I created. We settle on the name Sly because she thinks it suits his mischievous nature and I think it sounds kind of badass.
Because if I’m about to become a raccoon dad, you’d better believe it’s going to be the coolest raccoon that anybody’s ever known.
Out of all the offerings, we find Sly seems most enthusiastic about the watermelon. He comes close enough to reach his grubby little paws forward and take it from Gwen’s hands. Herensuing excitement scares the shit out of him, but he comes back for seconds, so clearly he isn’t too traumatized.
Gwen is over the moon.
Watching her tonight makes my heart swell like the Grinch’s on Christmas Day. It also erases any lingering guilt I felt about that night I snapped at her.
I may not be good with verbal apologies, but I will go out of my way to make up for mistakes. And it feels like I achieved that tonight.
When Sly ambles off, looking satisfied and ready for a nap, I offer to clean up while she showers. I find myself grinning at absolutely nothing—like the lovesick fool Clyde accused me of being—while standing at the sink, scrubbing each bowl. And by the time I finish putting them back in the cupboards, that grin hasn’t faded.
I almost have to pinch myself as I head up the stairs to my bedroom—ourbedroom. It feels surreal.
And it’s made all the more surreal when I step inside our room and find the balcony door open. I can see Gwen. Buck naked, wet hair slicked down her back, bent over the railing.
Waiting forme.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
GWEN
I wake in the middle of the night to Bash’s mouth trailing over my bare skin. We spent the entire evening wrapped up in each other and crashed with the sheets tangled at our feet.
I have no idea what time it is now. All I know is that his massive master bedroom is illuminated only by silvery moonlight and he looks fucking stunning all lit up like this.
He kisses my shoulder and I sigh, trailing the tips of my fingers over his muscled back.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, watching the silhouette of his head move across my chest, lips dragging reverently over my collarbone.
“Admiring you.” His words come out quiet, raspy, heartachingly tender. “You looked so fucking pretty. Sleeping in my bed, all these delicious curves on display. I couldn’t help myself.”
My eyes flutter shut, and I hum with contentment. I feel better about myself than I ever have, but hearing Bash talk about my body like this? It’s addictive.
It’s healing.
He kisses my breasts. My ribs. My stomach. My hips.
And then he moves back up, hugging me tight and resting his head against my chest. My heart hammers, and I wonder if he can hear it beating wildly under his attention.
“Thank you,” I whisper. And I don’t elaborate. I don’t need to. Heknows. I think he’s always known and he’s always seen me differently than my father did.
Where my father found faults, Bash only finds beauty. And he doesn’t even need to try. I could tell by the way he looked at me the first time I invited myself to sit down with him.
