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ALANA
When the guys are out of range, Davis turns to me. He watches me with a penetrating gaze. I can practically feel the weight of it on my skin. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his jaw pops with tension.
“You okay?” I ask him. “You’ve got a little tic going on over here.” I playfully poke at the pulse vibrating in his jaw.
He grabs my hand, softly biting my fingertips. “Y’know—it’s not good fake-wife etiquette to be chatting up other men in public.” He snatches my hot dog away and bites into the ketchup/mustard side.
“Are you jealous?” I counter.
“Are you tryingtomake mejealous?” He shoots back.
I delicately blot at the corners of his mouth with my napkin. “Me? Never. I’m just over here living my life.” I innocently take a tiny sip of the lemonade he just brought me.
“You’re over here driving me crazy, that’s what you’re doing,” he growls against my ear.
“That’s rich coming from you,” I retort. “I saw the way you had that pretty brunette hanging off of your every word.” I grab back the hot dog, chomping into my side.
Davis throws a glance over his shoulder, his expression confused. “Brunette? What brunette?”
“Don’t play dumb, Westbrook.” I huff through my nose. “You’re allowed to check out the pretty brunette if you want to, y’know.” I try to act aloof but on the inside, my insecurity is violently rattling the cage. I hate that bitch so much.
His hand comes to my waist, tracing along the swatch of bare skin. “Alana, my eyes can’t see any pretty brunettes. My eyes can’t see anyone else. You’re my wife. All I see is you.” He leans down by my ear, discreetly slipping his fingertips an inch beneath the waistband of my pants. “And all I want to do is to peel these jeans off you like a banana and drag you back to bed.” The imagery would be funny if his tone wasn’t so lethal with raw desire.
A buzz shoots up my spine, right up into my head. My voice shakes. “Fake wife,” I remind him. “Our marriage is just for show, remember? You’re a single man.”
“Not by choice.” Pain flashes in his eyes, telling me that what he feels is no laughing matter. People mill around us, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil unraveling between my ex-husband and me. “There’s nothing ‘enjoyable’ about being a single man. Not after knowing what it’s like to spend my life with you.”
And my heart stops.
I don’t know if it’s the pained rumble in his voice or the soft honesty in his stare, but in that moment I’m oh-so-aware that I don’t want to be single, either. I want to behis,if I’m being quite fucking honest. Not just for tonight.
Forever. For real.
It’s official. I’ve completely lost my grip on my emotions.
God. He’s right. We do need to talk. I can’t keep avoiding the discussion he’s been wanting to have with me. I can’t keep shutting down his every attempt to put things out on the table once and for all.
“Can we go somewhere quiet?” I hear myself asking.
He takes a tentative gulp from his own cup. “Yeah.”
I lace my fingers with his and we stroll to the edge of the party. We lower onto a secluded log near the water, away from the crowd.
After a moment to gather my thoughts, I face Davis. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m trying to downplay things between us,” I begin. “It’s just that I’m feeling a lot, out of nowhere, and I wasn’t emotionally prepared to have to face any of the things that have gone on over the past few days.”
He watches me silently and I’m ready to combust under the weight of all the genuine love I see glimmering in his eyes.
“We can’t be together, Davis,” I blurt out.
“There has to be a way,” he throws back at me. “If you want me as much as I want you, there’s a way, dammit.” He presses his eyes shut for a moment. “Something happened to make you leave me, Alana. Tell me what happened. So I can fix it.”
I swallow heavily. “There’s nothing to fix.”
“Bullshit.”
Davis holds my eyes for a long time and I see all the turmoil brewing there.
I don’t crack. Even though I really, really feel like I might.
