Page 75 of End Game

Her smile turns wicked again. “What happens if Ronan wipes the floor with you?”

There is a challenge in the question, even though her tone is teasing.

“Oh, wife.”

Her smile falters—just a fraction—because she hears the returning challenge in my voice.

I kiss the corner of her mouth. “He might.” Another Kiss. “But I’m going to make him fucking work for it.”

Her breathing is a little erratic, and that flush has moved up her neck to her ears.

I slip into stoic paramedic mode, like I’ve done so many times on the job.

“Okay,” I say definitively as I pull back from her.

“Okay?” she echoes.

“Yeah.”

I take the sock she abandoned earlier and put it back in her hand. “Finish the laundry.”

Her mouth falls open.

I grin and start to back away.

“Griffin!”

“What?”

“You’re an asshole.” There’s absolutely no venom in her tone.

I laugh as I leave her room.

By the time Ronan walks into Cami’s bedroom, I’m already questioning why this seemed considerably easier when we were just talking and joking about it.

Not whether I want it—that part hasn’t changed.

But there was something safely hypothetical about sitting across from Ronan in the basement discussing boundaries. Even talking to Cami afterward didn’t have quite the same weight as standing beside her bed with both of them in the room.

Cami sits cross-legged near the foot of the mattress, watching us.

For a moment, nobody speaks.

“Well,” she finally says, “this isn’t awkward at all.”

I laugh, mostly because she’s right.

Ronan closes the bedroom door behind him. “You’re nervous.”

“Which one of us?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers with a smile.

That gets an actual laugh out of me, and some of the tension in Cami’s shoulders disappears.

She points at Ronan. “I’m allowed to be nervous.”

“Of course you are,” he assures her.