Page 83 of Sire
“Someone’s getting married.Soon.”
“Soon? No, Angel.” I brush a curl from her face. “We’re getting married tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WREN
I stareat Sire’s front door with excitement bubbling under my skin and questions popping off like, “Shouldn’t you carry me over the threshold?”
He chuckles. “That’s tomorrow night.”
Since he popped the big question, he’s been smiling a lot, which is really rare and ruining my panties.
“And you’re okay with it?” I ask, squeezing his hand. “That I don’t want your entire congregation at our wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s just that … some still judge me. So, I just want us.”
He kisses my hair. “Just me, you, and my family, I promise.”
I tug his hand. “Are you sure you can’t marry us, too?”
“I can’t officiate my own wedding. But you’ll like Evelyn. She’s our Minister Emerita. She doesn’t have a judgmental bone in her body.”
“A woman minister? I’m impressed.” He lets go of my hand to enter the door code, while my allergy to filters makes me blurt, “You know, for a year or so, I thought of being a nun.”
He’s focused on the door. “What thankfully changed your mind?”
“I got really horny and wanted to fuck and learned that the patriarchy is bullshit.”
He laughs, “Shocker: you don’t think men should be in charge of everything.”
“Do you?” I laugh with him. “I mean, too many men are either perpetually thirteen or sociopathic dicks.”
“A dick is not the measure of a man.”
“Spoken like one with a very big one. Oh, and I saw your brothers’ too. It’s genetic.No oneis over-compensating in your family.”
He smirks, pushing the door open. “I’m well aware of what my bride saw. We clearly have a lot to talk about tonight.”
I hike my backpack up and step inside, but halt, surprised when my boot crunches down on a manila envelope. “What’s this?”
“Fuck.” Sire grits his teeth. “He has to ruin everything.”
“Who?”
“My sperm donor.” He drops his backpack, and I lift my boot before he angrily swipes the envelope off the floor.
“Is it one of your father’s clues?”
I pick his pack up and take it with mine to the laundry room. Turning back, I find him staring at the envelope like it’s a ticking bomb.
“Probably,” he scowls.
“Are you going to open it?”
“Why should I? I don’t owe him anything but a bullet to the brain.” I wince. It’s as if he can sense it because Sire turns to me. “Sorry, Angel. I don’t mean to ruin a night like this.”
