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My eyes widen, and my heartbeat thuds in my ears.
“Ringer, I don’t know…” I mumble.
“What do you mean you ‘don’t know?’ Lilah, we’re married. Don’t you think people will ask why you have a rock on your finger? Why we’re living together?”
“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down,” I scoff, putting my hands out. “Living together?”
“That’s what people do when they’re married, Lilah,” Ringer says. I can tell by his tone he’s getting agitated and I'm not sure whether it’s with me or because we’ve been sitting in traffic for over an hour.
“You can’t get mad at me when I was piss-drunk when we got married. Have I wished my whole life that you would marry me one day? Yes. But those were teenage dreams, Ring. I’m an adult now. I have a business to run. I have friends. I have–”
Ringer cuts me off with an icy stare. I can sense he’s hurting, and it pulls at something in my chest. His voice drops as he says, “And you think being married to me will ruin all of that?”
“I didn’t say that.” I drop my head into my hands, feeling the tears burning in my eyes. “I just think this is all happening really fast, Ringer.”
“So what if it didn’t have to?” he sighs. “Please don’t cry.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Ringer reaches out, pulling my hand away from my face and lacing our fingers together. “What if it all didn’t have to happen so fast? What if we only told our dads and maybe Ghost? We could, I don’t know, date or something since you seem hell-bent on thinking we don’t know each other anymore. That’s bullshit, by the way, but I’ll respect it.”
“You want to date?”
“Sure. Fuck it.” He shrugs. “We can just relax on the whole ‘we’re married’ thing and just date for a while. Whenever you think you’re comfortable enough, we can either get married again with everyone involved, or we can just tell everyone we’re already married.”
“You seem pretty confident that that’s how it will end up.”
Ringer flashes me a bright smile with a wink. “Cause I am.”
“What about the living situation? You can’t move into my house without everyone asking questions.”
Ringer hums. “I guess I’ll just have to stay at the clubhouse. All by myself. While my wife is warming her own bed.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Can we have sleepovers?” he pouts.
“Ugh! Fine!” I relent.
I gasp in excitement as the brake lights from the car in front of us turn off. “We’re moving!” I squeal.
“Damn, babe. You might hurt my feelings if you act too excited about getting out of this car.”
The rest of the drive home, we steer the conversation away from anything serious. Ringer tells me about his plans to open a gym and how he wants to have somewhere for kids to go to let their aggravation out the right way instead of getting in trouble with their fists.
By the time he pulls the van into my driveway, I’m exhausted from the constant stop-and-go traffic.
My eyes widen as I see my dad working on his bike in the garage. I rip the ring off of my finger, sliding it into the side pocket of my purse.
When I catch the hurt in Ringer’s eyes, a weird pang settles in my chest.
“I’ll put it back on after I tell him,” I whisper.
“It’s no big deal,” he says, forcing indifference and leaving the van.
Ringer meets me around the side of the van where neither of us is visible from my dad’s point of view. Grabbing my head in his hands, he guides my face up to his. Pushing his lips against mine, he presses three rough kisses to my lips before letting go.
The look in his eye is so serious, yet sincere. It makes my heart ache. “Even if we’re the only ones that know about it, youaremy ol’ lady, Princess.”
