Chapter 25

Coleson

In just a week, I’ve learned a lot about my wife.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that once I’m gone, she’ll run this business better than I ever did or could. She is a very fast learner—and a bit OCD. I’ve taught her how to make every single drink, and she is so nitpicky about getting them perfect, it drives me nuts. I’ve told her time and time again to just go with the flow, let Jesus do the measuring. But that doesn’t work for her. She wants it done right and uses every single measuring tool I have. The dishes have been out of this world, but she won’t do it any other way but the right way.

While I appreciate her attention to detail, she has begun to correct me when I don’t make the drink to her standard, as if I haven’t been working and running this place since I was a kid. I wasn’t ready for that, and Janie is loving every second of it. Meanwhile, I am slowly dying inside because it’s really hard for me to get annoyed with her.

I’m not entirely sure why, but I don’t want to be annoyed with her, and I’m unsure what that means. Or why I feel that way. I’ve never lived with a woman, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t supposed to be this easy. I don’t get it. I thought women were supposed to ruin your life while you lived with them—or at least, that’s how it was with my mom. But for me, I’m enjoying my wife in my space. I know I sound ridiculous, but she brightens the place up.

We’ve fallen into an easy routine, the two of us. We have breakfast together every morning and dinner when I’m home. Lunch is usually skipped since I’m at the rink and she spends that time at the bookshop. She is splitting her time between the bookshop and the coffeehouse since her sister is still traveling to watch Ciaran play. I’ve also learned that even though things are tense, she talks to her sisters almost every other hour. They’re in a group chat, and her phone goes off constantly. I’ve noticed that I can tell if the chat is good or bad by how deeply her brows furrow. Most of the time, she’s glaring at her phone, so I’m sure they’re still upset that she married me. I haven’t asked, nor has she said anything, but I think we both feel the weight of their disapproval.

Even though she’s frustrated with her sisters, she smiles and carries on like nothing is wrong, when I know it bothers her. She’s quite resilient—and cute, too boot. She fits in with the staff like she’s known them her whole life, and everyone has been really nice to her. Customers love her, but I’m waiting for that to change. I may be jaded, but I’m sure someone will come in, realize we’re married, and then give her shit for it. As much as I don’t want it to happen since I’m unsure how I’ll react, I have been preparing myself to defend her, our marriage, us as a whole.

I’m finding that I like her.

More than I should like my fake wife.

I’m such an idiot, but I like making her smile. I enjoy making her laugh. And sleeping in the bed with her…? Fuck me, I love it. Even though she sleeps like a wild animal and I’ve been kicked in my back more in the last week than I have in my whole life, I love waking up to her. I missed seeing her drool all over her pillow with her hair a mess when I had an away game, and when I realized it, I promptly pushed that feeling aside.

But it was there. Flashing in my face like a neon sign and making it real hard to ignore.

As I take in my reflection in the mirror, I remind myself for the hundredth time that I can’t allow myself to feel anything for her. I’m not what she needs. Yet her words play on repeat in my head.

“I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, such sweet longing in her eyes. “I’m not like your mom.”

God, I wish she hadn’t said that. I wish I hadn’t agreed to make her come every day, because it’s getting really hard not to repeat what I did to her the first night. I have driven my fingers between those slick folds every day, and each time she comes undone, I find any excuse to walk away. I’ve faked calls, I’ve distracted her with a new drink, and I’ve even told her I didn’t need to come. I’ve lain there with a rock-solid cock, begging for sleep, every night. She has me wound so tightly, I have no choice but to relieve myself with my own hand. She won’t come into the shower if I’m there, and because of that, I’ve come more in the shower than I ever did as a teen.

It’s pathetic and ridiculous, but I felt way too much when I was between her thighs. While I wanted her more than anything in this world, I wish I’d had stronger restraint. Because now that I know how she tastes and feels, I want more. Sex between us is too much to handle, and I have to be careful. I have to protect her heart, and allowing feelings will be devastating.

But I’m home this weekend.

No games, no road trips, and I can’t distract her with making drinks. She won’t fall asleep before me, and we won’t be at the shop all day. We have Evangelina’s gender reveal party today. It’s our first event as a couple, and as much as I know getting her off now would save me from fighting myself not to take her later, I don’t know if I’d be able to concentrate on bringing her pleasure.

I’m terrified.

I don’t know how people will treat her. Or what they’ll say about me to her. Or how I’ll handle whatever they do say. It makes me nervous, and I almost don’t want to go. But El will be there to document the party for our social media. I should probably take this time to talk to her, try to smooth things over.

Above all, I need to show off my wife.

God, why can’t we just stay in the apartment and be ourselves?

Why am I thinking that?

I need a distraction. After making sure I’ve cleaned up the hair on the sink—since my wife almost castrated me for leaving hair everywhere—I head out, to find her coming through the door as I walk out of the bathroom.

I arch a brow at her. “Where’d you go?”

She looks over at me like she’s been caught, and I give her an amused look. “I went downstairs to use the bathroom.”

I don’t understand. “You could have used it while I was showering. You’ve seen me naked.”

Desire burns in her green depths. “Yes, but then you’d see me. Using the bathroom.”

Her cheeks fill with color, and I laugh. “I know you poop. I don’t care. Just throw the fan on.”

“I’m not pooping while you’re showering. That’s disgusting.”

I laugh. “Why? I’d do it.”

“You’d better not poop when I’m showering!” she exclaims as I push the door to enter the closet. It caught me off guard when I first saw all her clothes hanging opposite mine, but not in a bad way. Everything fit. So that’s good, right?

“It’s a natural thing,” I call to her, trying not to laugh as I throw on some slacks. “I don’t want you going down to use the bathroom in the coffeehouse. Makes me look like I don’t have accommodations up here for you.”

“You don’t. I need an enclosed space for the toilet.”

I poke my head out of the closet to meet her frustrated gaze. Her mouth is in a line, her eyes dark with frustration. Damn if she isn’t cute. I flash her a grin. “This again?”

“There is enough room. I drew up the plans, and we could do it in a weekend.”

She has been on about this since she moved in. I don’t know why it bothers her so much. I pick out a light blue button-up since I want the new baby to be a boy and step in the doorway to button it. I hold her gaze. “I’ll be traveling a lot soon. I won’t be here to sneak a peek while you’re shitting.”

She doesn’t laugh; she glares. “It’s too open. I get distracted.”

“From pooping? How do you get?—”

She throws up her hands. “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

I chuckle at her exasperation. “No, I’ll get it done for you. It’s just crazy to me that this is what you want done to the place. Not new paint or a new couch. Nope. Instead, my wife is asking for an enclosed toilet area so she can poop.”

She glares. “So, I can use the bathroom in peace.”

“Same thing. I’ll make it happen,” I tell her, grabbing my beige Nikes.

Her shoulders droop in relief. “Thank you, Coleson.”

I roll my eyes playfully as I shut the closet door behind me. “But this means I can use the bathroom while you’re showering, right?”

She holds my gaze. “The only time you’re allowed in the bathroom when I’m showering is if you’re in it with me.”

Desire courses through me. “Oh, I didn’t know that was an option.”

Her lips curve into a wicked little smirk. “It always has been.”

The need to pull her into the shower and take her up on that is overwhelming, but she’s way too pretty to muss up. She’s wearing a light blue dress that falls to her feet, the same color as my shirt. It has small, 3-D butterflies all over it, with a deep V that shows off the curve of her breasts. I almost want to tell her to hide them since I don’t want my teammates to see her gorgeous skin or the perfect swell of her breasts. But that’s a little too possessive for a fake husband.

“Noted. You wearing a jacket with that?”

Oh, so I’m being possessive with my fake wife. That’s fucking adorable. She looks confused as she glances down at her dress, her long brown ponytail falling along her shoulder. I want to wrap it around my hands and yank it as I drive into her from behind. Or while she takes my cock in her lovely mouth. Speaking of that mouth, it presses in a line before she meets my gaze. “Why do I need a jacket?”

“Because I can see the outline of both your titties, and I’d rather my teammates not get a peek at my wife.”

She scoffs, but fuck if there isn’t heat in her eyes. “If you think this marriage is going to consist of you telling me what I can and cannot wear, you are truly mistaken.”

“Is that right?” I ask, buckling my belt as I close the distance between us. She looks down at my hands and then back up to meet my gaze. If I weren’t a man of restraint, I’d leave my pants undone for her. “So, you’d rather risk me losing my goddamn mind if one man looks at those gorgeous tits?”

She shrugs, defiance in her green eyes. “Maybe I’m wearing this dress just to drive you out of your goddamn mind.”

My cock throbs in my slacks as I stare down at my little wife. Unable to control myself, I lean down, brushing my nose along hers, then her cheek, before pressing it to her ear. I don’t grip her, mainly because I don’t know if I’ll let her go. I’ve done really well at keeping my distance, only touching her when I need to make her come, and boy, do I take advantage of those times. I taste every inch of her neck, her ears, and shoulders, but I don’t let myself kiss her lips. Knowing she wants to drive me crazy has me hot all over and wanting to allow myself just a quick kiss. I inhale her sweet, floral scent, and against her ear, I whisper, “You succeeded. Now, put me out of my misery and kiss me.”

She huffs out a breath. “If you’re the one who wants a kiss, shouldn’t you kiss me?”

I kiss her earlobe before leaning back to meet her eyes. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I grin. “But I came all the way down to your level to make it easier for you. Shouldn’t you reward me?”

Her eyes flash first with heat and then with something I can’t determine. She leans in, her nose pressing into mine, her lips so damn close I’m aching for her. “I know you’ve been avoiding me, Coleson Katz. So if you want to kiss me, you better fucking do so.”

“I have?” I say, feigning innocence. But I know she sees right through me.

“You have, and it’s fine. I know what you’re doing, and I’ll play along for the time being. If you want my mouth, then it’s all on you—and, in my opinion, you should remind me how out of your goddamn mind I’m making you. Or maybe the looks from your teammates will provide me with that?”

Anger vibrates in my chest at the thought of anyone looking at her. I stay locked in her gaze as I murmur, “You’re dangerous, Wife.”

She takes me by my shirt collar and pulls me to her. “Kiss me, Coleson.”

Who am I kidding? A man of restraint, I am not.