Chapter 17

chapter seventeen

Addie

I'm in deep— treacherously deep—trouble.

I realize that fact as I'm standing in front of the counter at the bakery, running my fingers over my lips, absentmindedly thinking about the kiss. Which is what I've decided I'm referring to it as from this moment on.

But the kiss isn't the sole reason I've found myself in trouble.

No.

It's also the fact that I laid in bed last night beside Grant, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body and the steady rise and fall of his chest, with my heart racing all night until it was almost time for my alarm to go off this morning.

I'm running purely on adrenaline at this point. Yet here I am, still obsessing over kissing my husband.

It's all supposed to be for show, all that we did just for practice. But… if that's true, then why can't I stop thinking about the way his lips felt as they moved against mine? How safe I felt to be in his arms? Or how nice it was to give control over to someone else, even if only for the smallest moment of time?

None of last night felt fake. Not the date, or the kiss, or falling asleep surrounded by his scent, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing beside me.

It was the kiss to end all kisses.

Technically, it was our second kiss. The first being the day we were married, but this kiss felt completely different. Different because it burned… brighter . More intensely. I felt the singe of his touch along my skin, the feeling traveling inside my veins until something deep and hot pulled inside my belly…and between my thighs.

A feeling I've never really felt before.

I'm not experienced when it comes to… most things, but I'm not a total prude. I've… touched myself before, explored parts of myself that no one else ever has.

But now, after the kiss , I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be touched by Grant.

Hence, the very deep trouble that I'm in.

"Cher, you are distracted this morning. What's going on?"

Startling, I glance over to Amos, whose hands are resting on his apron-clad hips, his expression laced with worry.

"Just a little tired this morning, that's all," I reply with a small smile. "I didn't sleep well."

… or hardly at all.

Amos tuts, shaking his head so hard that the little beads in his gray ponytail clink together. "Go home. You deserve a break. I've got this. You need rest."

"But I?—"

His brow arches. "No arguing with me, cher. Go. You can get a few hours of a nap if you go now. So go. Out. Out."

I blow out an exasperated sigh. I should stay and help. I've got a hundred different things that I can be doing, but instead, I reach behind my back and untie my apron. I know there's no use arguing with him, and as always, he knows me sometimes better than I know myself.

I really could use some sleep. Maybe then I can convince my brain to think about something else besides Grant.

"Thank you, Amos," I murmur as I hang my apron on the hook in the back. "I owe you one. A big one."

I slide my arm around the small of his back, my head dropping to his shoulder as I sink into a hug, reveling in the comfort of his embrace. He holds me close against him, brushing his hand lightly over my hair.

There have been so many changes in my life lately, even if they're not all bad changes, and I could still use the comfort from one of my constants. Lately, it feels like my entire world has been flipped upside down, and I'm left clinging to the small amount of familiarity that I have.

Amos and Earl are that for me.

"This is all I need right here, ma cher," he murmurs against my hair, tightening his hold. "I just want you to be okay. To be happy, to follow your heart no matter the path."

I nod against him. "I'm trying. I am… happier. Now that I no longer have to be around Brent. Although, I've seen him lurking outside when I've gotten here to open the bakery a few times, and it's just… weird. He even sent a text the other day saying that I should pay attention because anyone could be watching. He's acting insane. I'm just so hurt and angry about everything he's done and is still doing. I hate even giving him that. He doesn't deserve another thought from me."

"Promise me that if you feel unsafe, you'll call the police. I don't trust him, cher. Not for a damn second. Maybe we should make sure I always get here first in the mornings from now on," he says.

"No, it'll be okay. He won't do anything… he just wants to intimidate me."

Amos looks skeptical but gives me a nod. "Okay, cher. But please be careful. And you're right, he doesn't deserve anything from you, but that doesn't mean that you don't deserve the space to work through those feelings, Addie. It's never easy when you've been betrayed by someone, and you have every right to feel it all. Give yourself time to feel. To purge them. Healing is not linear. Remember that, okay?"

When his arms tighten around me, I sigh and nod against his shoulder. He makes it seem so easy when it feels anything but. "You always give the best advice. You know that?"

His deep chuckle vibrates between us. "Comes with old age. When you've been around as long as I have, it comes naturally. Wait and see, cher. Now, go on and get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning."

With one last squeeze, I drop my arms and step back.

"Oh," Amos exclaims, lifting his finger to make me pause. He brushes past me and picks up a to-go box. The clear plastic on top is fogged over, which tells me that it's fresh. "Put some breakfast together for your new beau. He's got a sweet tooth like you, I noticed."

My cheeks burn as I take the box from him. "It'll make his day, I'm sure… Thank you."

Auggie greets me the second I step through the front door of the apartment. He's more energetic than normal, probably because he smells the box of goodies that are most definitely not for him, even though he tries to sweet-talk me with those cute little eyes.

"Good morning, Augustus," I murmur, squatting down and petting the soft fur on the top of his head. "These are not for you, but I promise to feed you in just a minute. Okay? Sorry, big guy."

Sometimes, I swear he's part human, almost as if he can understand what I'm saying, because in response, he grumbles unhappily and marches toward the couch, hops onto the cushions, and settles in for a nap. Apparently, Grant's couch is his new favorite napping spot.

"Grumpy old man," I mutter to myself as I turn and round the corner to the hallway. I'm halfway to the bedroom when the bathroom door opens and Grant steps out, steam billowing from behind him in a thick cloud.

He's. Completely. Naked.

I wish I could say that I didn't let my gaze linger, that I didn't drag my eyes slowly down his hard, glistening body, drinking in every rivulet of water as it slid down his skin.

But I did. Frozen at the sight of him.

My fingers tighten on the box in my hands as I struggle to breathe. He… I…

Holy. Cannoli.

Logically, I know Grant is an athlete, and it's not the first time I've seen him shirtless, but seeing him completely naked… I'm actually speechless.

Mostly because I'm in shock because he's naked. And because of how incredibly built he is.

And because of the dull throb that begins to form between my thighs once again, an unfamiliar ache that pulses through me.

My gaze follows the water that drips down the center of his chest, along the space between the sculpted muscles of his abdomen, and further down the trail of hair that leads to…

Oh my god.

His dick… is hard and so big that my eyes almost pop completely out of my head. It's only then I realize that I've been ogling him for an embarrassing amount of time, so distracted that I almost crushed the box of beignets in my hands.

"I'm so sorry, oh my god," I cry, lifting the box to cover my eyes so I don't have to meet his because I am so mortified I might actually die. Right here with a handful of baked goods after an eyeful of my husband's monster penis.

Now would be a good time for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

"I—" I'm panicking and searching for the right thing to say and coming up empty. "I'm home early. I mean, obviously, I'm here early. I, uh… here, I brought you these."

With my eyes squeezed shut, I thrust the box of beignets in his direction as a low, gravelly chuckle fills the air around us as he takes it from me.

"Addie… it's okay," he murmurs quietly, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter in response. One, so I'm not at all tempted to open them and look again, and two, because… I'm seriously so embarrassed.

Shaking my head rapidly, I mumble, "I'm sorry, that was incredibly rude of me to… gawk like that. I'm so sor?—"

I feel his finger against my lips, and my pulse skyrockets, sending my already racing heart thrashing within my chest. He's touching me… while he's naked…

"It's okay," he repeats, his voice coming from a respectable distance. "I thought you'd be working a full shift this morning, and I forgot my boxers. I'll make sure I'm better about grabbing them before I shower, just in case. But I'm your husband… seeing me naked is totally fine. Completely. No big deal."

Is he trying to convince me or himself?

I swallow roughly as I nod. "Yep. Totally."

My words come out as a squeak, and I hear him laugh again. "Let me get changed. I'll be right out."

A beat passes, and then I hear the bedroom door shut. My lungs finally deflate, and I fall back against the wall, finally opening my eyes again and dropping my head back against it.

I cannot believe that just happened.

I can't believe I just… saw Grant naked.

Or that he's working with an actual monster in his pants.

And that I'm currently pressing my thighs together at the mental picture that's never ever leaving my brain.

This is bad. So. So. Bad.

I am so in over my head, and now I'm lusting after my husband, which is a problem that I did not prepare for.

Abandoning my spot along the hallway, I walk into the kitchen, grab a drinking glass from the cabinet, and turn on the faucet with a slightly shaky hand, filling it to the brim.

Then, I chug all of it.

As if staying hydrated is going to help the monumental mess that I've found myself in.

"You good?"

Grant's deep, gravelly baritone comes from the entryway of the kitchen, and I set my empty glass in the sink before turning to face him.

Thankfully, I can breathe more normally since he's now dressed in a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a loose T-shirt bearing the Hellcats Baseball logo. His hair is still damp from his shower, and he's got it pushed messily off his face as he grins playfully down at me. "Stop freaking out. It's okay. I promise."

I groan, dropping my head in my hands. "It doesn't feel okay. I'm mortified, Grant. I invaded your privacy, and I feel like I can't look you in the eye ever again."

Grant closes the distance between us and gently wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his warmth. My hands connect with his strong chest as I keep my face buried behind my palms.

Great… and now I'm imagining him naked again. Did I ever really stop?

"Would it make you feel any better if I saw you naked?" he counters with a smirk.

"Oh my god. No!" I blanch, freezing in his hold. "No, it wouldn't. In fact, I think it would be inherently worse."

His chest vibrates with laughter as he pulls me tighter to him. Even though I'm on the cusp of a shame spiral, I can still admit how nice it feels to be in his arms. I feel safe.

The truth is that I'm only slightly embarrassed over seeing him naked. It was an accident, I know. It's the thoughts that I'm still having, the ones that I can't admit to him, that are making this such a big deal.

The fact that I'm… turned on , and it's not like I can just blurt that out as if it's nothing.

"Well, we have to live together and continue being married, so eventually , you're going to have to look at me again," he teases. Finally, I glance up at him and realize that he's just entirely too attractive to look at when I'm feeling so… flustered , so I duck my head and bury my face into the front of his shirt again.

"Debatable," I mutter against the fabric.

His chest shakes with another laugh, and he pulls back, then tips my chin up, dragging my gaze to his. The deep blue of his irises seems to blaze as he says, "Trust me, ArtGirl, I'd be having very different thoughts if the roles were reversed. Don't worry about it."

My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear my pulse thrumming in my ears.

And by that, he means…

When his brow arches and his eyes darken, I put it together quickly, but before I can say anything, he speaks again.

"I was thinking we could go to Jack's for dinner? My teammates are harassing me to meet you, and it's the best place on campus." He pauses, reading my confused expression. "If we wanted to be seen acting married in public. Which we do. What do you think?"

"Yes. Sounds good. I, uh… I'll be out of class by four. Should I meet you there?"

Grant nods as he begins to slightly loosen his arms from around me, "Yep. If you get there before us, save us a table and order whatever you like. I've gotta head out for an early workout and then practice after class, but I'll see you later?"

Nodding, I step back and clutch the counter behind me as I watch him grab a bottle of an electrolyte drink from the fridge and a packet of preworkout out of the container by the table.

When he walks across the room and grabs his bat bag that's leaning against the wall, he looks back over his shoulder with a grin. "Oh, and ArtGirl? Try not to spend the rest of the day thinking about your husband naked, 'kay?"

Then, with his trademark wink, he walks out of the kitchen like he didn't just cause the fire in my cheeks or the uncontrollable flutter of butterflies in my stomach.

I'm a complete nervous wreck as I walk into Jack's Pizza for dinner later that evening. Mostly because I've had the entire day to replay this morning's disaster and to psych myself out about tonight.

I realize that it's not that huge of a deal, meeting Grant's friends for the first time. But this is also the first time we've been out in public together, trying to convince everyone that we're a real married couple, and I'm just worried that I'm going to do something to mess it up. That I'm going to be the reason that this entire plan comes crashing down.

But I square my shoulders and attempt to push away my nerves as I pause near the hostess stand.

The restaurant is completely packed. All of the fifties-style booths and tables are full of people, loud and animated as they share huge pizzas and Jack's signature sundaes. As I scan the restaurant, I notice a few familiar faces from class and find myself hoping that no one recognizes me.

I'd be more surprised if they did though.

Pretty much all of my teen and college years have been spent perfecting the art of blending in, doing whatever I could to not draw attention to myself, and that's the way I've always wanted things.

But suddenly, it feels like an impossible feat. Now that I'm married to Grant, someone everyone notices—even from the other side of the room, I spot him and his friends at the back corner booth. Not because they're the loudest group in here, which they are, but because everyone's attention seems to gravitate toward them. Girls walk over, twirling their hair and batting their eyelashes as they flirt, and the thought of one of them flirting with him causes something unfamiliar to stir in my gut.

Is that jealousy?

The feeling takes me by surprise because it's one that I've never experienced before when it comes to a guy, but I guess it's another first I've experienced since meeting Grant.

Even so, it's still a feeling that settles heavily in the pit of my stomach. One that I don't like.

Crossing the busy restaurant, I make my way toward the table in the back, and when I stop in front of it, Grant's piercing blue eyes flit to mine. The smile that spreads on his face makes it impossible not to mirror with my own. I couldn't stop my smile even if I tried. He looks happy to see me, and that does something funny to my chest.

My earlier nerves seem to wilt away, just like that, and all I can focus on is the man in front of me.

"Hey, baby," he rasps, sliding out of the booth and sidestepping the girl who was desperately trying to get his attention. The smallest sliver of satisfaction runs through me as he does.

Baby.

That's new. I think maybe I like hearing it even more than ArtGirl.

"Hi," I reply quietly, reaching up to finger the end of the braided pieces of my hair as he peers down at me with his lopsided grin.

His large palms settle on my hips and then slide along my lower back, gently tugging me to him at the same time his lips slant over mine for a kiss. He kisses me like he's… marking his territory in some way. And I think that I like it.

Letting him… claim me like this.

It's the hottest thing I've ever experienced.

His fingers press into my skin as he groans against my mouth hungrily, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. When I feel the trace of his tongue along the seam of my lips, asking me to open to him, my knees feel like they might actually give out.

How is it even possible that he kisses this good?

Not that I have anything else to compare it to, but still, I know it can't get better than this. It's all-consuming, and every inch of my body feels like it's on fire. It makes me wonder, if he's this good at kissing, what other things he must be good at. My cheeks burn yet again at the thought.

When his friends begin whistling and catcalling from the table, he groans against my mouth and then tears his lips away, leaving me breathlessly staring up at him.

His gaze lingers on my eyes for a moment before he drops down to my lips for one more quick peck and then leans in and brushes his lips along the shell of my ear, inciting a shiver down my spine. "I wish you could see what I do right now. You, thoroughly kissed by your husband. Those pouty, pretty little lips, swollen and red. Your cheeks flushed my favorite shade of pink. You look like a piece of art , Addie."

If I wasn't already about to melt into a puddle of mush at his feet, I am now. I bite back a smile as I glance up at him through my lashes.

I keep telling myself that this is supposed to be fake, but it's the moments like this when everything feels too real. It's both confusing and exciting, a hundred different emotions running through my head.

None of them are close to the feeling that pulls in my belly. A fire that he's somehow started with nothing more than a brush of his lips. It's dangerous because I know that if I'm not careful… I'm going to get burned.

"Guys, this is my wife, Addie," Grant says to the table of guys in front of us, lacing his fingers in mine and squeezing reassuringly. "Be respectful, or I'm beating your asses."

My smile is shy as I lift a hand and wave. I feel like I'm a new student standing in front of the classroom and having to introduce myself. "Hi. Nice to meet you all."

There's a chorus of hellos as everyone begins to greet me and offer their name, but honestly, I don't remember a single one… except Davis, since we'd already met. He gives me a flirty wink when it's his turn to introduce himself and says, "If you ever get sick of this guy and want a man to treat you right, you know where to find me."

Grant tenses beside me, and the only way to describe the look on his face is murderous, so I tighten my fingers in his. When he looks down at me, I surprise even myself when I rise on my tiptoes and press a sweet, quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Apparently, I'm not the only one who's been feeling jealous.

Rightfully or not.

After the introductions, I move to slide into the crowded booth next to Grant, but he wraps his arms around my waist and settles me into his lap instead, tossing me a playful grin. "You've got the best seat in the house, baby."

For the second time tonight, the term of endearment has my pulse racing. I keep reminding myself that this is all for show, that we're just playing the part that we said we would, but this man is the best actor I've ever seen. He plays his role effortlessly, without a single ounce of hesitation, so well that even I start to believe it.

"You like that?" he whispers into my ear when the guys get into a heated debate about whether cheerleading is considered a sport or not. Spoiler alert: it is.

I'm quiet for a second as I consider the answer.

"Yes," I admit. "I do. It's… sweet." When I shift slightly in his lap, he sucks in a sharp breath, tightening his arms around me, causing me to freeze. "What? What's wrong?"

"If you keep wiggling in my lap, every guy at this table is going to see how hard I get for my wife," he whispers against my ear, the deep, gravelly baritone sending another involuntary shiver down my spine.

Oh my god.

Before I can respond, one of his teammates interrupts. "Grant, you want us to leave so you can have a date with your girl? 'Cause it feels like we're intruding."

The other guys snicker, each of them giving Grant a hard time until he shakes his head. "You mean my wife ? She's not just some girl, Heath."

"Ohhhh, you heard the man. That's his wife. Put some respect on it." The dark-headed guy beside Heath elbows him in the side, resulting in a smack on the back of the head from Heath in return.

The entire exchange has me grinning, and when Davis notices, he tosses me another wink before adding, "Stop giving my man shit, y'all. Clearly, he's in love and happy. Let him be."

It seems that way—with how well Grant handles all of this, he makes it so easy to believe that he's in love, that this marriage isn't just a means to an end.

Shortly after, pizza is delivered to the table, thankfully none with pineapple, and we all dig in.

"Mmm, lemme taste yours?" Grant asks after devouring his slice in 2.5 seconds flat. The one thing that never ceases to amaze me is the man's ability to eat. He's like a bottomless pit, and I truly do not understand where it all goes. He's the most fit guy I've ever seen, and apparently, everything he eats goes straight to his muscles.

My brow arches. "You want mine ? You've got an entire pizza right there."

His shoulder dips as he nods. "Yeah. But I'm fucking starving, and yours looks way better. What is it?"

"It's veggie."

I hold it out to him, and he takes a giant bite, licking away the excess sauce that clings to his lips while he chews. When he's finished, a playful smirk curves his lips. "I guess it tastes better because it's yours, baby."

The way he holds my gaze, his eyes darkening, it feels like we're not even talking about pizza any longer.

Once we've finished eating, Grant excuses us, and I say goodbye to all of his teammates, feeling much better. Tonight went way better than expected, and I'm feeling less nervous about the situation as a whole.

Only now… I'm feeling on edge. Tense. Completely wound and pulled taut.

After spending the night seated in Grant's lap, his fingers brushing delicately along my skin, his breath fanning hotly along my neck, a hundred little touches that have somehow surmounted into something much bigger, I'm nearly squirming in my seat as we pull up to the apartment.

He shuts off the engine, then opens his door and rounds the truck to open mine, offering his hand. Always the gentleman. When my palm slides against his, it feels like a current of pent-up electricity hums between us, and I wonder if he's as affected by tonight as I am.

It seems impossible that he couldn't be when the tension in the air feels so… tangible .

"Hey, Auggie man," Grant coos when we walk through the front door of the apartment, and I use the moment to escape into the kitchen for a bottle of water that I'm hoping will help the erratic pounding of my heart.

Twisting the top from the bottle, I bring it to my lips and take a gulp, hurriedly sucking the water down when I feel heat behind me, followed by the sound of Grant's low, gravelly voice invading my ear.

"You okay?"

A shiver catches my spine at his close proximity, a strange heat flooding my lower belly. His hands bracket the fridge in front of me, caging me in, and if he stepped any closer, he'd be pressed against me.

"Yes." My voice comes out steadier than what I feel, and it surprises even me. As I shift from one foot to the other, my thighs rub together, the friction catching me so off guard that my breath hitches audibly.

I feel Grant's breath on my neck, gliding along my skin like a caress. "You sure? You seem a little… jumpy."

Ducking beneath his arm, putting much-needed distance between us, I turn toward him and plaster on a smile. "Y-yep. Uh… I'm just going to go shower. Right now."

He laughs low and slow, and I'm nearly panting. "Cool. I'm going to hang out with Auggie for a bit, catch up on some game highlights. I'll be in later."

I muster a nod and then all but sprint from the kitchen to the bedroom. I desperately need a moment to collect myself.

Although I have a feeling that there's nothing that could help except the one thing I can't have.

My husband.