Page 85 of Call You Mine
I hate that he’s pulling this reaction from me.
But I hate the thought of pulling away from him even more.
“Maybe I should jog her memory.” His hand gently rests on my hip—tentative, a stark difference compared to the confidence in his voice. “If I remember correctly,” he continues, not waiting for me to respond. I don’t know if I could even if I wanted to. My body reacts to his touch before I can think better of it. My head leans back, perfectly finding the space just below his neck. My eyes close, and his grip on my hip tightens. “Mywifelistens very well when I tell her exactly how I want her to ride my?—”
A series of knocks sounds at our door, followed by the muffled voices of our friends.
My eyes pop open, and my head finally catches up to what the fuck is happening.
I jump away from Anderson, so quickly as if his touch burnt me—so hot it could’ve branded me.
And honestly, I think it did.
CHAPTER 26
AVA
“What about this one?”Rumi holds up a long white dress, cluttered with enough ruffles to make me dry-heave.
“Is that a joke?” Emerson asks before I can say something worse.
“I wasn’t sure what look she’s going for,” Rumi says, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s not like she’s being very forthcoming with what kind of dress she’s looking for.”
“Sheis right here,” I say, swiping through the hangers of white dresses.
After Emerson and Rumi knocked on my hotel door last night, the hazy memories of telling them on the plane that Anderson and I were planning on getting married this weekend all came back to me.
They stopped by to tell me they found some thrift stores in the Art District for us to go to before the concert, so here we are. Stop number three, and I never want to look at white dresses again.
“I already told you both, I don’t want this wedding to be a huge thing. We just need the marriage certificate for now. The real wedding can come later.”
The lie flows seamlessly off the tongue, and I hate how easy it’s getting to lie to my best friends.
The word “real” doesn’t even sound like a word to me anymore.
“Then how about this one?” Emerson asks, yanking out a sleek satin slip dress —simple and understated—something I could picture her wearing, her tattoos on full display, the white looking even starker against her black hair.
Rumi squints at it. “That’s less bride, more eloping-with-a-rockstar.”
Emerson grins, wiggling her brows. “Wearein Vegas.”
I press the fabric between my fingers, soft and cool. “Closer, but it’s still too much for a generic ceremony and some paperwork.”
Rumi arches a brow. “Just some paperwork? Come on, Av. Where’s your sense of occasion?”
“Back home, where we’ll have our real wedding,” I lie again, grabbing the dress from Emerson and shoving it back on the rack. “This was your guys’ idea. I was just going to wear the sundress I packed.”
Emerson nudges me with her shoulder. “The yellow one? Don’t you think Anderson wants to see his wife in white?”
The mention of Anderson—being hiswife—makes my stomach flip, my mind darting back to last night. His darkened gaze, the feeling of his body so close to mine, the bruising grip on my hip.
And I hate it.
I can’t believe I let myself get so close to him. Again.
After Rumi and Emerson left last night, Anderson went to explore the Strip with Jack, so I could get some rest. It took me a good twenty minutes to fall asleep, my adrenaline having spiked from Anderson’s dirty words in my ear. The exhaustion I’ve been carrying this last week finally took over, and I slept like the dead for a few hours before I woke up to the hotel door clicking shut softly.
With only half an hour until we had to be downstairs, Anderson and I got ready both quickly and quietly, and then hurried to meet Rumi, Jack, and Emerson in the lobby.
