“You’re beginning to sound dangerously like a hopeless romantic, Chillmonger.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m beginning to fall dangerously in love with my wife.”
The confession hits me like a physical wave, and I have to bite my lip to keep from letting out a full-on, girly squeal.
Then, Luca grows quiet. “What the fuck are we going to do, Aspen?”
“How do you think he’ll take it? Clearly, you’ve known him longer than I have. And probably more intimately, if we’re being honest.”
“Easy,” he warns.
I snort. “Okay. Sorry.”
“He’s going to be crushed. When we were younger, a classmate basically stole his girlfriend. It’s why he’s so weird about introducing women to teammates or anyone else. So—”
“This will crush him,” I say, finishing his sentence for him.
“In the worst way.” he confirms. “And then there’s my family.”
I shake my head. “Don’t even get me started on families.”
“My family has such high expectations for their firstborn son. The fact that I’m not a doctor is already insulting enough. But being on a reality show like this? It will be shameful to them.”
“Even if you’re in love?” I ask. Like a young girl hoping the boy she has a crush on likes her back.
“They would prefer it if love didn’t cause such a spectacle or get in the way of my career.”
“I understand. And I don't want to pressure you,” I say, reaching for his hand. I mean it, even if every instinct in me is screaming that I’ve just been reintroduced to my forever. “I know this is a mess, and no matter how good this feels—”
He looks at me with an intensity that steals both my breath and my words. “It’s a beautiful mess, Aspen.”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I grab it to check the notification. “The food order has been picked up. It'll be here in twenty-five minutes.”
“Great. I’m going to shower before it arrives, if you don’t mind?”
He slides out of bed. He’s completely unashamed of his nakedness. And honestly, I wouldn’t be either if I looked like that. I certainly wouldn’t be if I were hung like that.
“Is that just themorning?” I ask, my eyes widening at the tree trunk that is my husband’s penis.
He flashes a grin, glancing down and then back at me. “That’s just…me.”
The tension breaks, shifting into a different kind of heat and I realize I’m not done with him yet, either. “Are you… can I…”
“Join me,” he supplies, his voice dropping an octave. “Shower with me. Please.”
Hell yeah, I will!
I follow him into the bathroom, watching the way he moves through my space as if he’s been here before. Where Croix hasn’t even seen.
He warms the water to perfect temperature before inviting me in to join him.
When we actually get into the shower, reality hits. My bathroom is designed for a standard human woman, not a six-foot-plus professional athlete with shoulders that seem to spanthe entire stall. It’s immediately, hilariously awkward. He’s ducking to avoid the showerhead while I’m pressed against the cold tile, trying to find a stray drop of warm water.
“Move your big ass over!” I laugh, shoving him to the side.
“I’m trying, but I’m literally hitting the ceiling,” he grunts, attempting to tuck his massive frame into the corner.
The romance of the moment dies a quick, shivering death as we take turns darting under the stream. One of us is freezing while the other gets the water, leading to a frantic, uncoordinated scramble to soap up and get out. We’re a mess of elbows, slippery limbs, and chattering teeth, joking about the logistical nightmare of our height difference.
