92. Natalie

Chapter 92

Natalie

“Do I have to?”I hate myself a little for how whiney I sound. But I’m stressing out.

I have no idea what to expect, and since I have to leave town tomorrow for work, I really just want to stay here and rot on the couch with Luke. Like we did yesterday.

“Sorry.” My unapologetic husband lies. “All the wives are doing it.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then hold my arms out. “Well, do I at least look okay?”

Luke straightens from pulling on his shoes and walks to me. “Natalie, you look beautiful. Perfect for a brunch at home with the girls.” He sets his hands on my cheeks. “Or maybe you’re super overdressed. I have no idea.”

I stare at him. “How do you not get punched more?”

He barks out a laugh, then kisses me on the lips and steps back.

I grip the edges of my knitted cardigan.

Why don’t invites come with a dress code?

It’s a cool, almost-winter day outside, so I dressed for a brunch out. But I know we’re eating in. So, for the eightieth time, I wonder if I should change into something more casual or if the silk cami, sweater, and black slacks are appropriate.

I could put on a hoodie and jeans. But what if I show up and all the other women are in nice outfits? Wouldn’t it be worse to be underdressed than overdressed?

Plus, I already matched my nails to my cami—both the same ice-pink color.

Luke looked at me like I was losing it when he found me lining up all my nail polish bottles on top of the outfit I’d laid over his bed. I’m not sure what surprised him more. That I paint my own nails or that I was doing it to match my outfit. But when he tried to rearrange the order I had them in, I slapped his hand away, and he left me alone.

It was a real marriage moment for us.

Making a sound in the back of my throat, I accept I just need to wear what I’m wearing.

I shuffle over to the bench next to the front door, drop down, and stare at my selection of shoes.

What shoes does someone wear to brunch with the girls?

The Sunday brunch that Luke agreed to on my behalf, in the parking garage of the arena, after his friend walked in on us having yeti sex in the locker room.

I’ve done my best to put that whole Blizz sex incident on Thursdayout of my mind since it happened, distracting myself with moving into Luke’s place.

Okay, well, not the sex part, just the getting caught part. No offense to Jackson Wilder, fan favorite of the Minnesota Sleet, but I would love to never see that man again in my lifetime. Maybe even two lifetimes.

Sighing, I drag my black ballet flats toward me.

Luke helped me unpack, but I only left a handful of my shoes out; the rest are in the guest room closet.

He already had it set up as an office but claims he never uses it, so I took it over for the days I work from home. And there’s a second full bathroom in the condo as well, but it has nothing on the main suite, so I’m sharing that one with Luke.

If I were going to live here for real, there are a few art pieces I would get out of storage, but that seems a bit like overstepping, no matter what Luke says. And the place really is gorgeous as it is.

With a final sigh, I tuck my phone into my purse and grab the bottle of champagne I took from Luke’s pantry, then follow him out the door.

The drive from Luke’s, or rather our, place in Minneapolis to Jackson’s place in St. Paul is just long enough for my anxiety levels to really spike.

Halfway through the drive, a warm palm settles on my bouncing thigh. “What are you so nervous about, Princess?”

“I’m not nervous.” My voice comes out squeaky.

Luke squeezes my leg. “You didn’t even try to sound convincing. Now tell me.”

“What am I nervous about?” I repeat his question and lift my hand to count off the reasons. “One, you’re taking me to the home of the man who literally walked in on us fucking. And there’s no way he didn’t tell his wife about that.”

Luke makes an amused sound. “Oh, he definitely told Katelyn.”

I shoot a glare at Luke. “Two, his wife will either find it funny, think I’m trashy, or she’ll be pissed about it, thinking that her husband saw parts of me he shouldn’t.”

The hand on my thigh flexes. “The only parts of you that Jackson saw were covered in fur. I made sure of it. Or else I’d be taking Jackson to an active construction site today to bury him in concrete rather than buy him a French dip.”

That’s…

I focus back out the windshield.

That shouldn’t be hot.

“Two.” I refocus and tick off my second finger. “This is the same apartment you told me you were hiding in while you were mad at me, so I’m betting they’ve heard some not-so-nice things about me.”

“First,” Luke grunts. “I wasn’t hiding. I was sulking. There’s a difference. And second, they literally always sided with you, even when I was having my liveliest of pity parties.”

Luke slides his hand farther up my thigh.

I push it back toward my knee.

“Third.” I let my shoulders slump. “I… I don’t really have girlfriends.” I glance at Luke, and at the same time, he glances at me, and I know I can admit this truth to him. “I don’t really have that many friends at all.” His thumb rubs small circles over my jeans. “I work too much. I travel too much. I have work acquaintances who are friendly. I have specific people I tend to gravitate toward during happy hours or work dinners, but none of them are my friends. We wouldn’t meet up for brunch on the weekend.”

Luke lifts his hand to grab mine.

He entwines our fingers and settles our hands back on my lap. “I’m your friend, Little Royal.”

Something thick drapes over my shoulders, and that spot between my eyes feels tight.

“And I’m great at gossiping,” Luke adds, squeezing my fingers.

I bite down on my lip.

“Thanks, Player,” I whisper.

“And if you want to complain about me, I’m okay listening to that too.”

His words should be silly, but they aren’t. Because I think he knows I’m telling the truth.

These past two weeks, when he was with Jackson, I was in that hotel room. Alone. Without a soul to confide in.

Luke pulls to a stop at the curb in front of a fancy building, puts the vehicle into park, then turns in his seat to face me.

“I’m sorry.” He squeezes my hand in his. “I’m really fucking sorry I didn’t just listen. If…” Luke glances past me to the building and shakes his head. “It was annoying having those two telling me their opinions every time I saw them, but I don’t know what I would’ve done if I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. And I feel like an even bigger piece of shit knowing you had to deal with it by yourself.”

“Luke,” I sigh.

“No.” He stops me. “I know we spent half the weekend talking about how we both wish we’d handled it differently, but let me apologize this one last time.”

I roll my lips together and nod once.

“I’m sorry, Natalie. You’re not alone anymore. I might be an idiot sometimes, but I’ll always be your friend. Okay?”

I nod once, needing to keep my composure.

The corner of Luke’s mouth pulls up. “Now you’re going to go in there, and you’re going to have a good time. And when I pick you up in a few hours, you’re going to climb into that seat with a whole set of new friends.”

I take a breath.

Then a second.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, wishing there was a better phrase for how much his words mean to me.

The other side of his mouth tips up. “That’s what friends are for.” This man. “Now hurry up and give me a kiss before Jackson taps on your window.”