Yes. That Logan Adler. And no, he’s not a douche. He’s my husband.
I don’t have the energy for this shit. Not tonight. The towel around my chest loosens, and I curse myself again for leaving my pajamas in my suitcase in Logan’s room.
Liv
Can we please not do this tonight, guys? I’m exhausted. I’ve had real shit to deal with today that had nothing to do with Logan and me and everything to do with keeping our cousin out of jail.
Brynlee
Fine. But Deacon and I will be at dinner at Mom and Dad’s, so this isn’t over.
Liv
Never thought it was.
Killian
What the hell? We won’t even be back on the East Coast for another month. I want to be at dinner.
Liv
Why?
Killian
Because it’s my job to scare the shit out of your boyfriends, and you’ve never brought one home before.
Liv
I swear to God, Killer. This is exactly why. And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my husband. Now I’m exhausted and going to bed. Kiss the kids for me.
I drop the phone to the vanity and zip my toiletry bag, wanting nothing more than to close my eyes or maybe bang my head against the wall. I barely recognize the reflection staring back at me at this point. My hair hangs in long dark, wet strands around my shoulders, brushing the top of the towel that barely covers my very pale ass. I should have spent some time in the sun this summer because maybe then, I wouldn’t look like a vampire who sleeps during the damn day.
Who am I kidding?
Pale or tan, I refuse to walk into that bedroom dressed like this.
Or more appropriately,undressedlike this.
I should have taken the time to unpack, but by the time the dinner plates had been cleared and Logan’s family had stopped raking the two of us over the burning hot coals, a scalding hot shower and a warm bed were all I had in my sights. Guess I should be proud I remembered to grab my shampoo and conditioner before walking away from my smug ass of a husband, who was enjoying what he called a successful dinner.
Of course, now I’m stuck deciding between walking out there in a towel or throwing on the Nobles t-shirtsaid asshas hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
Practically naked or in his clothes?
It doesn’t help that I kind of hate the Nobles. They’re the Revolution’s biggest rivals, and although I have to act like I don’t have a favorite team, it would be a literal sacrilege, possiblypunishable by death or maiming by any number of my family members, for me to root for this team.
I stare at the baby-blue tee and growl. It’s not a bad color, just a bad team. Or more accurately, a good team I’ve been bred to hate. Depending on how long the charade goes on, I may have to go to a game or two and act like I’m a doting wife and—a chill chases down my spine—my God, I’ll probably have to wear his jersey. Is it better to just rip the Band-Aid off and start now with the tee?
I remind myself that Brynlee’s husband is the head coach of the Revolution, and Serena’s dad is the GM and President as I pull the soft cotton from the hook. But it’s not like either of them will see this. And if they don’t see it, did it really happen?
Right?
A shirt is better than a towel.
I drop the towel and grab the shirt, too pissed off to notice how soft the material is or just how much it smells like Logan. And I definitely don’t notice how much I like that smell.
Bed.
