Page 68 of Bad Run

Marrying Gwen isn’t just some impulsive decision to help her. I have a selfish reason too.

I want her for myself.

From the moment I met her, she captivated me. She’s strong and smart. Funny as hell. We had an amazing time together. Even when we were just talking. Gwen saw me that night. The real version of me.

This marriage is unconventional, but I couldn’t have come up with a better way for us to start over. For her to stay and never leave my bed again.

It’s going to take time, but I think I can get her to fall for me.

“Gwen, if we give our relationship room to breathe and tell people we’re just dating, then people, mainly your family, will start having opinions. But if we elope, there’s no room for objection. You get the job, and then we can figure out the rest.”

“How do you expect to pull this off? No one is going to believe we’re in a relationship,” she says.

I can hear the panic and doubt in her voice, but it only encourages me to prove her wrong. I stayed up all night putting a lot of thought into her question, and I know my plan will work. It also helps that we have people who will back us up.

“They will if we keep our story simple. We met at the World Series party and have been dating secretly since then. We kept our relationship quiet to make sure it was serious. Now it’s serious, so we got married. It’s what people call a whirlwind romance.”

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

I lift her right hand to my lips and press a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Me too. But I’ll be right beside you the entire time. Promise.”

Gwen’s lips lift into a soft yet nervous smile. “Okay, then let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

The mini caveman in me beats his chest in victory.

Vegas, here we come.

twenty-two

Gwen

Present

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Saliva pools in my mouth, and the ball of anxiety sitting in my gut like a lead weight threatens to make an appearance.

Lance’s deep chuckle flips my stomach on its axis, turning the bubbling acid into floating butterflies.

“Just tell me to pull over,” he says.

“Ha ha.”

“Relax, Gwen. It’s going to be fine.” He places his hand on my bouncing knee.

I freeze at the unexpected presence of his hand. The last time he had his hands on me, I came in less than thirty seconds.

“Is this okay?” he asks, giving my knee a squeeze.

“Sure,” I squeak, doing my best to play it cool.

Of course, his warm touch makes the butterflies in my stomach settle. But his warmth also slithers toward the apex of my thighs, making my core throb, which is a wholly different problem I need to deal with.

No sex, remember?

I glance over to find Lance, the very definition of cool and collected, leaning back in his seat as he drives us to our first stop of the night.

He’s too damn hot for his own good. Or maybe for my own good? I haven’t decided yet.