My Darling Bride(84)

Yesterday was a busy day at the bookstore; business is actually starting to boom. Of course, that could be because word has gotten around on social media that a couple of Python players frequent the store. Graham even works the checkout counter when he’s there. It’s fun to watch his earnestness as he asks customers if they’ve found everything they need. Maybe for the fall we can do a football window. Oh, perhaps we can twist the stereotype and have a girl baller and a boy cheerleader.

“Thanks.” I take the cup from him as he moves to stand in front of me, leaning his back against the rails of the balcony.

“You look deep in thought. What’s cooking?” he asks.

I inhale the smell of the peppermint tea, then take a sip. “I was thinking about the store. I’ve got so many ideas floating around. Babs wants to organize a book club, and I told her to go with it.”

“Romance? That seems to be her fav.” He smirks.

“Hmm, I was thinking about doing a singles event, like a speed-dating function where you bring your favorite book and talk to prospective dates about it.”

“I’ve heard of restaurants doing them. Sounds fun.”

“Plus, we could use the kitchen and make tapas.”

“Ah, what about adding a theme to the event itself, maybe to fit the window, like an era in history or the theme from a book, like Pride and Prejudice.”

A smile curls my lips at his obvious interest. “Only if you dress up as Darcy.”

“Only if you’re Elizabeth.”

I blush. “Of course. I want to do more for the children’s section too. Maybe let parents sign up to have a kid’s birthday there.”

“Charlotte’s Web,” he says, and I smile.

“Maybe do a display of the prettiest book jackets or the most unique. I also want to buy more impulse products and put them near the checkout—bookmarks, candy, magnets.”

“Maybe magnets with the store’s logo on it.” A horn blows in the distance, and he looks away from me to check out the scenery.

I study the chiseled lines of his profile, the awful prickle of unease rising again.

He sees my frown. “Everything all right?”

I chew on my bottom lip. “Just a bad feeling when I woke up, like something terrible might happen.”

He stiffens, his body on alert. “Like what?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Do you get them often?”

“No, but Gran used to. She’d say it was a ghost walking through her and that I better watch my back that day. When Jane was a toddler she seemed to have premonitions of something terrible on a certain day, but most of that was because of the house we grew up in. Any day could be an awful day. I was always prepared.”

He gives me a serious look. “You’re coming to the game, right? I’ve got your tickets at the gate. Lots of wives will be there. Even my dad is coming.”

We’ve spent time with Vale. On the Fourth of July, Graham rented a boat and invited my family and his, except for Holden and Divina. We sailed around the East River as Macy’s did their fireworks show. Four barges stationed between Twenty-Third and Forty-Second Street set off over twenty thousand aerial effects. Londyn gasped in amazement at the vibrant colors in the night sky. Graham and I cuddled in a big chair on the deck, my hand over his heart as he held me. I’ll never forget it.

“That bad feeling could be you. What if—”

“I’ll be fine, Emmy,” he says tightly. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Just telling me not to worry doesn’t work,” I insist, placing my tea down. “Life doesn’t work that way. You’re going to walk out onto that field, and anything could happen to you. A few days ago you came home with an ankle sprain from a tackle. What about all those studies Dr. Moreau sent you? Don’t you think about them? Aren’t you afraid?”

“No,” he says curtly. “Bumps and bruises are normal. I don’t want to be coddled like a child.”

“If you’d just listen—”

“Nope. I came out here to bring you tea, not discuss my career. You don’t know anything about football or how I feel. I’m going to eat breakfast.” He turns and stalks away from me, his shoulders tense as a coiled spring.

I exhale. He’s defensive because football is everything to him. It’s true I don’t know much about football, but he’s the one who keeps avoiding any discussion of the risks he’s taking.

A few minutes later, I step into the large tiled shower off Graham’s bedroom, feeling the rush of warm water against my skin. I close my eyes and let the heat seep into my tense muscles. I’m shampooing my hair when the shower door opens, and Graham steps in with me.

My mouth dries. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to how gorgeous he is, those hard muscles toned to perfection. His thick cock bounces against his pelvis.

I arch a brow, and he shrugs and grins mischievously. “What? It’s always like this with you around. Let me wash your hair for you.”

“I can’t say no to that,” I murmur as he eases me so that my back is to his chest.

I shove my premonition and my worries away, burying them far away from this moment.

Without a word, he pulls me close, our bodies wet and slick against each other’s. I lean against him, feeling safe from the world, as he pours my vanilla shampoo into the palm of his hand, then runs it through my hair. His fingers massage my scalp deeply, hypnotically. The steam of the water rises around us, cascading over our skin as he tips my head back to rinse me. He puts my hair over my shoulder, and his lips brush my neck as he kisses me. I melt against him, his cock hard against my ass.