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In theory, our plan had seemed simple. Make the agreement, get the legal documentation, and boom—suddenly, I’m not a liar, or not much of one. Every marriage is a lie, if you ask me. No one knows what they’re going to want in two years, five, ten. To bind your life to someone else’s is a hollow promise. A promise made for the person you’ll become, not the one you are. I’m not the same person I was ten years ago. I certainly am not the same person I was twenty years ago—zit-faced and obsessed with Dungeons & Dragons. People grow, and they outgrow each other.
A voice in my head suggests that I still haven’t outgrown the friends I had at thirteen. I’d thought I would, but I can’t seem to shake them. I don’t want to shake them. Because it’s only with them that I feel…
Dena clears her throat, and I realize she’s been saying some shit. “Sorry,” I say, “I was lost in my lady’s eyes. Who could blame me, right?”
Ruthie snorts. Dena looks like she’s seriously rethinking her career choices, then she asks, “Are you ready to get started?”
“I am,” I say, taking Ruthie’s hand. The ruby ring is sharp, but her hands are warm and soft. A strange sensation skates across my skin—almost like Ruthie’s got an electric charge and it’s passing from her to me.
“Go ahead and say your vows,” Dena says, sounding slightly interested, like she has no idea what’s coming but suspects it’ll be entertaining.
I squeeze Ruthie’s hand, trying to squelch the electricity down so small it’s like an ant. “Ruthie, who would have thought I’d marry the little brat who used to follow me around pretending she was a dog? For a while there, I thought I was going to have to report you for stalking, but you made me come around eventually, huh? I used to think you were the last woman I’d ever marry, but you’ve made me realize personality isn’t everything. I guess there’s something to be said for persistence.”
There, let her run with that. I’m actually exited to hear what she comes back with…
Her eyes spark, and I feel it all over. My dick particularly feels it. I need to shrink my desire for her, but unlike most of the things I try to battle into submission, it’s not listening. Especially not when she’s looking at me like that.
She clears her throat, licks her lips, and if this is her revenge, I’m fucking toast. I don’t think she knows how she affects me, and if I have my way, she never will.
“Oh, Shane. You do have an excellent memory. Do you remember the time you and my brother got drunk on my parent’s stash, and you peed in the coat closet? I put up that sign saying ‘Not a Bathroom’ to help you avoid making that little mistake again. That’s what a married couple should do—find little ways to help each other. I pledge to keep you from pissing in coat closets for the rest of this marriage.”
“You’re thoughtful like that,” I murmur, smiling at her. She has the spirit of a contender—and so do I. I could go ten rounds with Ruthie and never get tired of it.
Of her, an intrusive voice suggests, but that’s clearly bullshit.
“Well, this is certainly unconventional,” Dena mutters under her breath. “You can exchange the rings if you still care to do so.”
So I slide the other ring around Ruthie’s finger and then give her the one I bought for myself.
She lowers it onto my finger, and a shiver makes its way down my spine, because this is a moment I told myself would never happen, and even if it’s unfolding in an unconventional way—here it is, happening, nonetheless.
“And do you, Ruthie Traeger take this man to be your lawful husband?”
There’s a moment’s pause, and for a second, I think she’s going to say no. But she sighs and says, “Yeah, fine. I do.”
Dena looks to the ceiling, as if hoping it’ll tell her how she came to be here, marrying two people who dislike each other the majority of the time. Then she says, “And do you, Shane Royce take this woman to be your lawful wife?”
“I do,” I say, Ruthie’s hand still in mine.
“Then you may kiss the bride.”
Ruthie’s breath hitches like she’d forgotten about this part. Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about what her smart mouth would feel like against mine, and this is my opportunity to kiss her without it meaning anything. Because we’d agreed to the wedding, and this is part of it.
Ruthie gives me the stink-eye, but when I give her a slight nod, she presses her hand, still encased in mine, against my chest and gets up on her toes. I lower to her, and suddenly it’s like all the oxygen has been sucked out of my lungs.
Despite what I said, I’m very aware that this woman is no longer the little girl who followed me around barking and snapping like an ill-tempered Jack Russell—even if she’s still the kind of person who’d find that funny. And now her lips are brushing against mine, her hand hot against my chest.
Fuck, in that moment, I want her to open to me. I want her to offer herself up like a flower lifting to the sun. She’d say that analogy’s a sign of my vanity, but I don’t see myself as the sun—more like the bee that would buzz in and take what’s not mine.
She opens her lips slightly, and I suck in her bottom lip and let my tongue roam over it. My other hand lifts into her hair, feeling its silkiness against my skin. I want to gather it up in my fist, but I have some self-control left, because I stop there.
She makes a surprised sound, the kind you might make when you open a present that surprises you by not being a profound disappointment, and I consume it like the greedy bastard I am. The kiss deepens, and it ignites something feral in me. I want more, and I aim to take it. So does she, judging by the way her mouth moves against mine, seeking more.
Then a wolf whistle reminds me of where I am—the courthouse, in front of a woman I’ll have to encounter again. I don’t have to look to guess the wolf whistler was none other than Josie the Great.
When I pull away, Ruthie is watching me with sharp eyes. As I return her gaze, she lifts her hand and wipes her mouth. It shouldn’t wound me—she’s posturing, and I know it—but it does nonetheless.
Dena seems bemused. “Have fun,” she says, then gestures Eden and Charlie forward to sign the papers as our witnesses. Because this is a legal arrangement, after all. Even if it’s messing with my head.
