Page 145 of Bad Run

forty-six

Gwen

Present

Spitting out the foamy toothpaste, I rinse off my toothbrush and put it back in the medicine cabinet. My hair is a touch frizzy from falling asleep with it wet.

With a shrug, I switch off the light and open the bathroom door as quietly as I can, and tiptoe back to bed in the darkened room.

As much as I wanted to stay in bed, I woke up in a sweat and with a full bladder. Lance had somehow curled himself around me while we slept. Without waking him, I slipped out of bed to relieve myself and cool off.

I slip back under the sheet beside Lance and burrow back into his warmth. The fresh scent of citrus and spice fills my nose, and I breathe him in.

He’s still fast asleep on the pillow where I left him. His lips are parted as he takes slow, deep breaths, and all I want to do is wake him up and kiss him.

Heart fluttering, I lift my leg over his thigh and my arm around his waist, snuggling closer as I watch him sleep.

So much has changed this past couple of weeks, but in all the best ways.

Aside from the argument with my father, I wouldn’t change a thing about how Lance and I got here. Not even the gossip rag’s article outing us to the world.

Article or not, my father’s reaction is exactly as I imagined it would be. Hurt and anger had kept me from talking to my father about Grandfather’s will and Lance.

Verbalizing that my marriage to Lance was only so I could get my dream job felt wrong.

Did I use the job as an excuse? Yes.

The truth? I married Lance because I wanted to.

The silly crush I had on him bloomed into so much more the night he finally saw me. Kissed me and took me to his bed. Whispered sweet filth into my ear as he worshipped my body, marking me as his.

Hidden deep in a locked chest surrounded by chains, I had hope that we would find that spark again. That need for one another. And we did.

My love for the man beside me swells like a balloon in my chest, making it tight.

Dad’s wrong.

Lance is nothing like the man he described. Lance is loyal and thoughtful. He would never do anything to hurt me. All he does is try to make me happy. From donuts for breakfast to fries and chocolate for period relief.

Lance’s breathing changes, his eyes shift under his lids, and his jaw flexes.

I smile, untangling my arm from around his waist and placing my palm on his scruffy cheek. “I know you’re awake.” His response is a deep and growly hum that hits me right between my legs. “How did the game end?”

His eyelids slowly open, but the dark hides the cornflower-blue depths I love staring into. I love memorizing the way each fleck of sapphire and silver sparkles, and how his pupils dilate and constrict depending on his mood and thoughts.

“We won,” is all he says, not bothering to elaborate as he slips his hand under my shirt and places his palm between my shoulder blades.

“How did you do?”

Sparks of electricity crackle along my skin as his hand trails a path down my back to my butt, giving it a gentle squeeze over the thin cotton boy shorts I’m wearing.

“Worried I’ll drop my batting average?” Lance’s smirk is half flirty and sleepy, and devastating to my body.

My shirt rises as I hitch the leg on his upper thigh higher, bringing our centers closer. “You know everyone will blame me if you fall into a slump.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Not gonna happen.”

“The slump, or me catching the blame?”