The man shoots his eyes to the ceiling before they land on my hand and shift to Bailey’s. “Hang on. Please tell me you didn’t propose to her without a ring. Doubt you need her daddy’s permission, but I’ll kick your ass if you didn’t buy a ring for her.”
Bailey’s lips twitch, and she props her hands on her hips, looking all smug. She’s enjoying watching Gary give me the gears.
Joke’s on her, though.
I may not have proposed with a ring, but one quick trip into the city fixed that.
“I proposed with one, but Bailey told me the diamond wasn’t big enough and to take it back.”
Her foot stomps. “I did not!”
“Gary, you should have heard her. Said something about how she wanted a diamond so big that she could barely lift her arm.”
He nods. “That’s exactly what she deserves.”
“You guys really think I care about that?” She’s downright indignant, which is why pulling out the small green velvet box is so damn satisfying.
“I agree with you, Gary.” I slide the box across the bar top. “So I went back and got a different one.”
Bailey’s lips roll together as she regards it, hands still propped on her hips. The tight squeeze of her fingers suggests she’s holding herself back from grabbing the ring.
“Well, girl? You gonna show us the goods?”
With a dramatic sigh, Bailey steps forward and swipes the box from the bar. She seems indifferent. Truthfully, she isn’t a great actress.
Which is why the way her mouth pops open when she sees the ring for the first time is so damn satisfying. Her cheeks turn pink and her hand quakes, but her eyes stay locked on the platinum ring with a massive teardrop-shaped diamond. Smaller diamonds frame the center stone. Smaller diamonds line the band. It’s totally over the top, and I love that for her.
“What is this?”
“A diamond so big your arm will hurt every time you pour a pint.”
“It’s not real.”
Her head shakes and I laugh. “It’s very real.”
“How much did you spend?” She sounds panicked now. I should have guessed this would freak her out.
“I know a guy. I got a good deal.”
“What’s a good deal?” Her onyx eyes snap to mine, glistening. “It’s too much. It’s way, way too much.”
She leans across the bar and presses the box back into my hand, so I take it.
But in one quick move, I grab her left wrist and pull the ring from the box. I slide it onto her shaking finger, alarmingly satisfied by how huge it is on her slender digit.
She looks very engaged wearing that rock, and it has the caveman inside of me beating his proverbial chest.
Someone should tell him this is fake.
“No, Bailey. It’s perfect.” I gently stroke my thumb over the delicate bone in her wrist. We haven’t really touched yet, and I’m not entirely sure how or where to start. Especially after the virgin confession. It’s been a long time since I was one, and I’ve damn near forgotten what it was like.
When she meets my gaze, she’s back to looking alarmed. Worried. She’s the shy, awkward girl I remember, not the focused, funny woman she’s slowly blossoming into.
“You deserve this.”
“And shit, if it doesn’t work out, you could pawn that sucker for a pretty penny,” Gary adds drunkenly, which makes her laugh.
Then she turns her palm to my wrist and gives me a gentle squeeze to go with her sweet smile. She sucks in a startled breath when I lift her hand and kiss the top of it. Soft, but longer than is necessary. I keep my eyes on hers, giving her a look I shouldn’t.
A look that stills the air between us.
When I wink at her, she turns the prettiest shade of pink and yanks her hand back like she’s touched something scorching hot. Then she gets back to work. And I spend the entire night drinking chamomile tea and watching patrons gawk at the massive rock on Bailey’s finger. They’re too stunned to ask questions but too impolite to look away.
Every time she catches someone staring, I see the corners of her mouth twitch before she presses her lips together and averts her gaze.
And that right there makes the ring worth the ridiculous price tag. I’ve saved my money for years and was never sure what I wanted to spend it on.
This seemed like a worthy investment.
I shoot up in bed, ready to fight, but the sheets tangled around my waist stop me. For a moment, panic engulfs me. I need to run, need my legs to move, but they betray me, leaving me helpless. I’ve mussed my bedding in a way that makes no sense unless I was flat-out wrestling with it. My pillow is damp with sweat, and my skin is slick with it.