Page 92 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Guess what, just because you asked, I’m going to go find some titty tassels to match with a pair of leggings to wear to etiquette. And when they tell me to put clothes on, I’m just going to shake my tits at them. I’m going to let those tits fly. Let them bounce up and down, side to side, flick them in the face with the tassel. Teach them a freaking lesson on payback.
They want to show me how to drink tea with my pinky out? Well, I’ll show them how to seek revenge on your husband/boss/man-child who can’t handle his champagne and salmonella-infused chicken.
Do I have an appropriate outfit?
I inwardly scream.
What a freaking tool!
I hear Hudson set his phone down, and he turns off the light. Internally, I wish him the worst of nightmares, possibly one more dry-heaving session out of nowhere just to remind him of his humility. What I wouldn’t give to hear him at the toilet tonight. Come on, second round!
He shifts on the bed, bumping around like an inconsiderate klutz until he finally settles in.
I half expect him to say good night, but the room falls to silence, and I can see that I’ve been taking care of an ungrateful?—
His hand slides over my waist and right to my stomach before he tugs me right into his bare chest.
A gasp falls past my lips from the surprise attack, and I’m about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when he settles his arm around me and snuggles into my body.
And let me tell you, at first, it’s not the most romantic scene.
I lie like a dead fish just washed up by the ocean, stiff as can be, mouth agape, and eyes wide because this, my friends, is confusing.
He is big-spooning me.
Yup, he’s the soupspoon that no one ever wants to use, and I’m the baby teaspoon that people pull out for their charcuterie boards when serving jelly with their Brie.
This is new.
This feels awkward.
But then…
His thumb glides over my stomach as his mouth inches close to my ear. “Relax.”
“Relax?” I laugh as chills spread over my skin. “You want me to relax?”
“Yes, Wife…relax.”
“Well,Husband, it’s hard to relax when I’m harboring a decent amount of animosity toward you. You can’t just swoop in here and act like everything is okay.”
“I know,” he says solemnly.
“You know? Then why are you trying to do that?”
“I…I don’t know how to navigate this, Sloane. I appreciate you. I appreciate everything you did for me today. But I fear that if I speak up about how I feel, I might slip up; I might forget what’s holding me back. And I can’t forget.”
“Hence why we don’t do things like this.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Then why?” I ask. “Why now?”
He clears his throat and his thumb slides over my stomach as he says, “Because I just want a piece of you. Even if it’s a small piece, I want a piece.”
“That’s pretty self-serving. You’re running hot and cold with me. How is that fair?”
“It’s not,” he admits.
