Page 47 of Walkoff Wedding

The tight purple leggings she’s wearing are molded to the curves of her hips and ass. Somehow, I summon willpower that I never knew I possessed and drag my gaze from her and shift it to Auggie, who’s still panting from our run at my feet.

Think about fat corgis. Think about Auggie, Grant.

About how you had to carry his cute but heavy ass for the whole last mile because he’d decided he had enough of your shit and promptly plopped down like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the street, refusing to move another inch. It was the laziest tantrum ever.

Don’t think about your new wife in those tight pants, or how flexible she is, or how you would sacrifice just about anything to see what other ways she can ben?—

“Grant?”

My head snaps up, eyes landing on her pink parted lips as she calls my name. My gaze follows a rivulet of sweat that languidly drops from her neck to the center of her chest, trailing lower and lower before disappearing between her sports bra–covered cleavage.

I bite back a groan. I’m getting hard just watching her fucking sweat. I’ve got to get my damn shit together.

“What’s up?” I reply casually, lifting my shirt to wipe sweat from my brow. “Didn’t know you did yoga.”

When I drop my T-shirt, I see her wide eyes, and a shit-eating grin lifts my lips. I love that I affect her as much as she clearly affects me.

“Careful, ArtGirl. People might think you’re checking out your husband.”

I’m teasing her simply to see her flush my favorite shade of pink, which she does immediately, averting her gaze and turning toward her mat. She begins rolling it up. “Yes, I love yoga. I try to do it at least three times a week. Usually if I have time before class after leaving the bakery. I find it centers me. Have you ever done it before?”

I shake my head. “Nah, but… maybe I should. Actually, it looks very bendy.”

If it means I get to watch her bending like that again, consider me the next yoga master.

“You should try it. I’ve heard of a lot of athletes using it to strengthen their core and to improve flexibility. It’s supposed to help prevent injuries.”

Before I can respond, there’s a hard knock at the front door, dragging both of our attention toward it.

Auggie’s pointy white ears perk up for a millisecond before he decides that it’s not worth leaving his spot to investigate, instead laying his head back down on the floor, eying us warily.

“I’ll get it,” I say, walking over to the door and wrenching it open.

When I see Davis on the other side, my eyes narrow. “Are we just showing up uninvited now? That what we’re doing?”

He reaches up and pushes the dark hoodie off his head, then shrugs, his signature shit-eating grin present per usual. “I was in the neighborhood, figured I’d stop by. See what was up since you haven’t responded to my texts. All ten of them.”

True, I didn’t text back. But also, I’m calling bullshit. He lives in the dorms, and let’s be real, he’s only here because, if I had to guess, knowing him the way that I do, he couldn’t last another second without coming over to find out whatever he could about Addie. Obviously, the thirty minutes he was around her at our wedding wasn’t enough to get his fill.

I’m not saying he’s the equivalent of a hormonal teenage girl, but I’m also not… not saying that.

Sighing, I lift my arm and open the door wider so he can step through. Even though I’d much rather shut it on his face and let him sit out there, I know I’m not getting rid of him that easily.

He’s persistent if nothing else.

He ducks beneath my arm and brushes past me into the apartment, and I slam it closed behind him with a little more force than intended.

“Hey, Addie. We didn’t have a chance to really talk the other day, but I’m Davis, Grant’s bestie,” he says as he crosses the living room to Addie. “Welcome to the family.”

I can’t hear what her response is because he reaches out and drags her against his chest in a hug so tight that it makes me want to rip his arms off and beat him with them.

Yeah, he can’t ever touch her again.

And trust me, I realize that’s a little fucking much, but I… just don’t like him touching her. Or talking to her. Or even looking at her, for that matter. Considering he’s one of my closest friends these days, I probably shouldn’t be so irrationally jealous. But here we are anyway.

A problem for later since he’s still hugging her, and that’s long enough.

“Hands off, Davis,” I growl in annoyance.

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