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I grin.At least it’s not just me.“Don’t be, I didn’t call her.”
“Good, I guess. It might look bad when you have to tell her you’re married.”
I don’t care what it looks like, I’m fully intending to tell everyone I meet for the rest of my fucking life that I’m married.Would you like paper or plastic? Paper, and have I mentioned I’m married? Are you ready to order? My wife and I will need another minute.
But I can’t tell her that, she’s not ready to hear it. She’d run away screaming.
“Actually, on that note, though,” she says “Maybe we should get our story straight. And set some ground rules.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Like what?”
“Like how long we’ve been together, how it started, when we got engaged, that kind of thing. Oh, why don’t I have a ring?”
A ring.I knew I was forgetting something. My mind immediately flies to the velvet box containing my grandmother’s ring that my mother thrust on me after golf with my father. I stuffed it in a drawer in the kitchen at my apartment and promptly forgot about it until now. “We’ll get you a ring.”
She looks down, blushing. “No, that’s stupid.”
It’s not.“It’s not. Don’t worry about it.”
Even if I didn’t give her my grandmother’s ring, it’s not like I don’t have the money to get her a new one. I don’t want to give her excuses to act like this isn’t real. Which, I know it isn’t, but I’m determined that it will be.
“So, any ideas?” she asks, clearly uncomfortable.
I don’t even have to think before a story comes to me fully formed. It’s half fantasy, half logic. “We dated on and off since prep school in secret, no need to say how we met, everyone knows we’ve always known each other, and we decided to get married this week when our families were going to make us marry other people. That’s it.”
She licks her lips, eyes going wide. “Okay. I guess that’s sort of believable.”
That, “sort of” is doing a lot of work and we both know it, but there’s not a great alternative. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” Her tone turns unexpectedly clipped. “I don’t think we should date other people. It’s a small community and it will look bad. At least not right away, maybe after we’re established, or—“
“Done,” I say immediately. Did she really think I was going to date other women? Or for that matter, tolerate her bringing home other guys? Not fucking likely. I don’t share. “Next?”
She blinks. “Are you sure you understood me? I know how you are.”
My lip curls into something between a sneer and a smirk, and I can’t help the slight annoyance that shines through at her comment. “Oh? How am I?”
“You…you know.”
I let mockery lace my tone. “I’m shocked, Juliette. Are you not the same person who organized an anti slut-shaming campaign for your senior project? How the mighty have fallen.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps. “And I’m not shaming, I’m observing. Iclearlyhave no qualms about sex. Idocare if your sexual escapades make me look bad.”
Just like that, I’m thinking about the library again. Thinking about everything I could do to her—with her. About pulling her onto my lap and pushing her skirt up around her waist. “It’s not a problem. I’m assuming our practice sessions are still on the table considering you’re currently wearing no underwear.”
She sucks in a startled breath, and she shivers. Her teeth sink into her full lower lip and I have the feeling she’s considering telling me to fuck off, perhaps just on principal. But then, shocking us both, I think, she nods. “Of course.”
Fuck, just like that I’m hard. I haven’t been this out of control in years, but just her nodding, just the idea of sex with her is enough to turn me on. “Is anyone home right now?” I hear myself ask.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Fuck. Why did you tell me that, pretty girl?”
Why tell me that I can make you scream as loud as I want? That I can do whatever I want to you, in your asshole father’s house and they’ll never be the wiser. Why tell me that you want this, but not why, leaving me to speculate wildly. Leaving me to consider all the ways I could torture answers out of you.
I reach across the center console, and slide my hand up the inside of her thigh. She doesn’t move, and her breath catches. Her breathing is uneven, her pupils dilated. I prompt her again. “Were you hoping I’d pet your pretty pussy while we drove?”
“Mmm.” Is her noncommittal agreement.
