Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Then we do it again.
I’m not unhappy, exactly. I’m not happy either. Mostly I exist in this gaze of exhausted worry.
I’m nervous for Kim and afraid she won’t ever fully recover.
I’m afraid for Julien and worry the war won’t end anytime soon.
Basically, my whole life is a haze of anxiety, and I know there’s one thing that might help alleviate some of my anguish.
Except he’s off limits.
Especially when he’s out lifting weights, which is what he’s doing on this beautiful Saturday morning. I drink good espresso and lounge in the living room flipping through channels and trying not to notice my extremely good-looking, extremely ripped husband doing bicep curls on the other side of the glass.
Unfortunately, it’s really hard not to notice.
The sunlight is perfect. Like, seriously, it’s almost as if someone’s filming a movie out there, or like God herself is trying to make me want Julien more than I already do.
It streams through his thick, dark hair, and sparkles off the sweat on his tan skin. Even his tattoos seem more vibrant this morning.
And the faces he makes. Oh, my sweet baby Jesus, the way he grunts and grimaces as he gets tired during his reps.
It’s enough to put me in the hospital right beside Kim.
Honestly, I’d probably be safer there.
Safer from myself, anyway.
Instead of here, sitting on this couch, staring at my gorgeous husband and fantasizing about all the filthy things I absolutely do not want to do with him.
He comes back in and makes a show of getting water from the kitchen. I glance over as he wipes himself off with a little towel, and it’s almost like something from a dirty movie or a music video.
Men aren’t supposed to look that obscenely good.
And yet my husband absolutely does.
“Got big plans for today?” he asks, standing at the end of the couch.
I force myself not to stare at his muscular chest. Eye contact, Brianne, get it together, you’re not a horny teenager… anymore, anyway. “I was going to visit with Kim, that’s all.”
He grunts and nods. “You’re a good friend.”
“Not good enough, apparently. If I were, she probably wouldn’t be in there.”
“Still blaming yourself?” He sits on the arm of the couch. I glance at his muscular thigh—since when did I turn into a freaking thigh girl?—and lick my lips at my mouth watering. God, this man.
“Just stating a fact, that’s all.”
He grunts, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, make sure the guards are following.”
“I always do.”
“You are a good girl, aren’t you?” My eyes snap up to his. He’s got a little smirk on his lips. “What’s the matter? You follow the rules. That makes you a good girl.”
“That’s not really a phrase most people use casually. I know what you’re doing.” I hop up from the couch and feel his eyes staring at my body as I walk away.
“What am I doing then?”
“I’m not playing the game, Julien.” I refuse to look at him as I toss back the last of my coffee and put the mug in the sink.
“No game, wifey. Just stating a fact. I told you that we need to make sure you’re guarded at all times, and you’ve done a very good job sticking to it. That makes you a very good girl.”
He’s grinning now. I glare at him, arms crossed, getting annoyed. This is the most he’s said to me in days and he’s wasting it on stupid teasing flirtation? This man knows how to piss me off, and he’s not afraid to do it.
“Why don’t you go stare at yourself in the mirror and lift some more weights and leave me out of it,” I mutter at him, trying to move past.
He catches me by the waist. I yelp and look up at him in surprise. His smile is gone, replaced by something else. A serious stare, something hard and unyielding. “I’m getting tired of the silent treatment.”
“There’s no silent treatment. Let me go.”
“You haven’t so much as glanced in my direction since I got you off that night.”
I shiver and suck in a breath before I think to hide my reaction. We haven’t talked about this at all—even though it’s been running through my mind on a constant loop since it happened.
“That’s not true. We’re just… on different schedules.”
“Right, I forgot. You sit in here avoiding me, while pretending not to watch me working out, because you’re desperate for another taste of what it’s like to be with me, right, little wife? But you’re too stubborn to do anything about it.”
“That—that’s not—it couldn’t be more—” I stammer at him before putting both hands on his chest and pushing.
I gain about two inches of space, and also a handful of delicious and impressive muscle, which does nothing for my case.
“We can just talk about what happened. Clear the air and move on. Is that what you want?”