Page 2 of Just Forever

That.

I did do that.

And I didn’t stop there.

Oh, no.

I married him.

Also, fun fact, I married him way before I ever shacked up with him. Or slept with him. Or fell in love with him.

Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.

Let’s rewind a bit. To simpler times, if you will, which was about two years ago, give or take a few months. I was in college—junior year—trying to somehow get by and admittedly not entirely succeeding, when Ryker swooped in to save the day.

Handsome.

Funny.

Smart.

Perfect.

Ryker James.

Ryker, who’s also kind of, sort of my stepbrother. Or at least he used to be, once upon a time. I’m honestly not sure how those relationships change when it turns out your father isn’t really your father and disowns you as a result and then gets married again and?—

Let’s just say the family tree is a bit of a mess as a result. Lots and lots of unpruned branches. Obviously, what that chaos desperately needed was some more complications added to it, so long story short, Ryker and I got married.

In secret.

For money.

How’s that for making everything even messier?

I’m not even done yet.

Because then we slept together.

And—no, I’m still not done, thank you for asking—then we fell in love.

I send another glance Ryker’s way and try not to look like I’m swooning. It should be easy, seeing that I’m reallynota swooner, but I break my rules and patterns for Ryker all the time. Always have.

I lean against the wall. Ryker looks up and meets my gaze across the bar like he can feel me. The smile on his lips is intimate and private. Just for me. Just a taste of what’s to come later once we’re alone again.

I lift the beer bottle to my mouth, take a slow sip, and lick my lips as I lower it. His lips twitch, and he narrows his eyes the tiniest bit.

And I chuckle softly.

Flirting silently across the room has never been this loud or this exciting. Butterflies flap in my belly. Like always.

I’ve stopped trying to figure out why that is.

Thing is, on paper, Ryker and I don’t fit. At all.

On paper—and that paper is a mile long—there are dozens of reasons why we don’t make sense.

He’s a math nerd hiding in the body of a jock, whereas pickpockets zero in on me in a crowd because I have the strong air of that person who gets winded after half a block of running.

---