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He’s seen his fair share of fights. I trust his judgment. “I’m really sorry, Abel. Thank God my dad showed up, huh?”
“Thank God.” He looks at me, brown eyes weary. Tuck and Dad left a few minutes ago, but I can tell Abel is still on high alert. “Sorry about what? This was my idea.”
“I know. But I’m the one...” I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just feel terrible about everything. I don’t want you and my brother to, like, break up over me.”
Abel laughs, but the sound is hollow. “We’re not gonna break up, Jen. I think Tuck is gonna hate me for a while, butI’m okay with that. I know he’ll eventually understand why we did it.”
Something I don’t understand? How convincing Abel and I were as husband and wife. My heart still bangs around my chest like a pinball at the memory of Abel’s speech.I’ve been in love with Jen for as long as I can remember.
And when I said I wanted Abel, and only Abel, I didn’t have to dig very deep for the words. They were just there. Waiting.
How long haveIbeen waiting for someone to say I’m their star too? The only one they want?
“I hate that Tuck had to find out about the cancer like that,” I say, looking away.
“I do too. But there’s never a great time to share that kind of news, so. Yeah. Still sucks, though.”
My hand starts to burn from the ice-cold bottle. Abel must be a mind reader, because he takes the bottle from me and holds it against his cheek. I grab a towel from beside the sink, which he uses as a much-needed buffer between his hand and the cold.
“Thank you.” He meets my eyes. “Are you okay, Jenny?”
“Ha. No. Are you?”
He reaches out. Slips his hand inside my sweatshirt, his palm against my bare belly. “I’m not either.”
My body rings at the tenderness—the possessiveness—of his touch. Goosebumps break out along my skin, my nipples hardening to tender points that catch on the nubby interior of my sweatshirt.
Heat pools between my legs, lighting up the soreness there. I don’t think I’ve been this sore since I lost my virginity ten years ago. It’s uncomfortable and strangely... erotic?
I put a hand on his shoulder. “I like that you tell me the truth.”
His gaze flickers. The corners of his mouth tilt down. “Your brother is right, you know. Yeah, we’re doing thisnow.” He glides his hand a little higher. Closer to my breast. “But you shouldn’t trust me with anything more than that.”
I manage a tight smile. “You said you were my guy.”
“I’ll always be your guy. I just know you really do want the big wedding and the white dress.”
It’s late. I’m tired. Turned on, too. Maybe that’s why I can’t figure out what Abel’s trying to tell me. “Of course I want that for my real wedding. And now that I’m getting so good at telling people what I want, I hope it really will happen.”
If only it would really happen with Abel. The desire grips me with stunning fierceness. I wish we were actually married. I wish I could see his face as I walked down the aisle toward him. He’d look handsome as hell in a classic tux. Would he tear up? Smile? What would he say in his vows?
Abel’s lips twitch, but I still can’t read his eyes. “It will.”
“So you never want to get married.” Trying my best to ignore the way my heart goes into freefall as I say those words, I take the bottle from him and set it on the counter. “Like, ever. Not even when you’re way older and you can have a hot young wife.”
He chuckles. “Definitely not when I’m older, no.”
“Why?”
“You know why.” He stands up, but his hand stays put. “Let’s go back to bed.”
I look up at him, at the handsome, crooked, slant of his nose. The fullness of his lips. Thick beard, strong jaw. Deep brown eyes that are thoughtful. Kind.
Even beat up and bruised, Abel’s the kind of beautiful that makes me ache.
“But I don’t. I don’t know why,” I say softly.
“To bed, Jenny.” He kisses my mouth. The kiss is quick but hot, open-mouthed, his tongue finding my bottom lip before he bites down on it. “I need you.”
