Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(47)
His soul—it’s a good one. And I don’t want to be another leech. I can’t promise him that I won’t crack some jokes about this, but…
I lift my pinky finger between us as I stare back at him. “I pinky promise that no matter what happens, I will never take anything that’s yours.”
His eyes bounce between mine, a nervous glint to them. “You know these aren’t legally binding, right?”
I swallow, transported back to the day he told me that exact thing. “Yeah, but only a total asshole breaks a pinky promise.”
He regards me for several beats, then he lifts his finger and repeats my words back to me. “I pinky promise that no matter what happens, I will never take anything that’s yours.”
We shake. And his expression is just as sincere as it was when we spoke our wedding vows.
CHAPTER 22
Rhys
I WAKE UP A MARRIED MAN. SLEEPING ALONE IN AN UNFINished basement with a hand wrapped around my dick and the memory of slipping my fingers down my wife’s dress playing on an infinite loop in my mind.
I come upstairs feeling on edge about what the day will hold—feeling vulnerable after Tabitha went digging through my life with such ease last night.
But when I step into the kitchen, nothing is different.
Even though fall has started to make its way into the valley and there’s a nip in the air, Tabitha sits outside with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, sipping a cup of coffee. Normally, I’d retreat to the living room with my coffee and scroll my phone, check my emails, or do anything I could to avoid her, but today feels different. Strangely, I don’t feel like I need to hide from her this morning.
Whether it’s the comforting warmth of the gold wrapped around my ring finger or morbid curiosity about what’s going through Tabitha’s head after last night, I decide to pour myself a mug of steaming caffeine and join her.
But not before I’m almost tripped by the goddamn cat.
Prow, prow, prow.
She makes that little noise with each step as she comes prancing toward me and practically launches herself at my legs like she’s excited to see me. She doesn’t even care that the feeling isn’t mutual.
“Hi, cat,” I grumble, before stepping around her and reaching for the back door. She follows me outside, and I don’t stop her.
Tabitha turns. “Rhys! Don’t let Cleo out!”
“Why?”
“She could run away.”
“That’s the dream,” I mumble.
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 your allergies?” The way she says allergies is 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 it is nice. “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’ve tried.
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.