Page 44 of Sweet Oblivion

“Hey, Bambi. Like what you see?” The delicious ass in front of me asks, and lucky for me, the flush of heat that was curling up my body moments ago turns to a flush of humiliation instead.

“Oh, pretty boy, you know you’re nice to look at.” I roll my eyes with practiced condescension. It’s completely fake. He’s so pretty, he makes me want to drop to my knees and do things I’ve never done. I turn away, but he grabs my hand and spins me back.

“Eyes on me, Lane. I don’t have my hearing aids in.”

“Sorry,”I say and sign.“Put a shirt on. We need to talk about our sleeping arrangements.”Well, I know I gotsorryright. Not too sure about the rest yet.

“Oh yeah?” He lets me turn away this time, but I don’t need to be looking at him to see his grin. “What do you want to do about the sleeping arrangements?”

Resting my tea on the nightstand, I cross my arms, then uncross them. Ugh. This man is infuriating.“You’re too big for my couch.”

“And...?” he asks as he slides shorts up under the towel, then drops it to the floor. “What should we do about that?”

In just the few days since the night I wish I’d never have to think about again, Ryker’s beautifully tanned skin has almost healed. His black eye is so muted already, it’s hard to even notice. Meanwhile, I look like I was run over by a tractor trailer.

“We could probably fit a twin bed in here,” I tell him, not bothering to try signing that. I don’t know most of those words, which frustrates me beyond belief. “Or I could sleep on the couch, and you could take the bed.”

“No.” He crosses the room in two long strides. My room isn’t that big, and his legs are stupid long.

“Seriously, how tall are you?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Six, four.” He reaches around me and grabs a tee off the bed. “So too damn tall for a twin bed or a couch. You’ve got a queen in here. Share the wealth, Rousseau.”

“You want to sleep... with me?” Jesus, could I sound more like a child?

The delicious grin that slides across his face lets me know that Saturday night did not, in fact, ruin me for all men. Because apparently, this one can still fluster the hell out of me.

“You are going to be my wife, Delaney.” Ryker’s smile softens, and he slowly tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “We’re going to have to be okay touching.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the thought of you touching me in bed, Ryker,” I admit softly, watching his eyes and needing to know he understood what I said.

His thumb caresses my cheek, tracing the spot right under my stitches. “Then I won’t touch you in bed, wife.”

The air around us thickens, or maybe that’s my blood.

What is happening?

“I’m not your wife yet, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy,”he says and signs. “If you’re going to make the nickname stick, you might as well know how to sign it.”

He takes my hands in his and spreads my fingers. “Now take your hand, fingers spread, and move it around your face in a circle, bringing it together at your chin.” He does it once with me. “Pretty,” he says, then pinches an imaginary piece of paper between that same hand, up by my brow. “Boy.”

We do that two more times before we put the words together.

“Pretty boy,”he says as we both sign the words.

“Thanks.” I do it again, this time on my own and smile when he nods. “Okay, one more. How do I sign husband?”

Ryker shapes my right hand into a C up by my face, then has me bring it down to clasp in my left hand in front of my chest.“Husband.”

I try it by myself and smile when he nods.“Husband.”

“Good job, wife.”

“Not yet,” I groan and poke his very hard, very unmoving chest. “Fine,pretty boy.You can sleep in bed with me. But keep to your own side. No touching.”

He crosses his heart like a Boy Scout, and I bite my bottom lip.