Page 91 of The Most Perfect Wrong

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Whatever, Coop. I’m determined to get that sweatshirt off.”

“Dream on, big boy.”

“Are you calling me that because of my huge cock?”

Her smile widens. “You bet I am.” She leans across the table, her voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper. “I don’t forget a cock like that, Ryan.”

Jesus.That’ll do it. My cock only gets harder, and I let out a chuckle of defeat as I sit there in my boxer briefs. She’s barely holding in her laughter, fully aware of what she’s doing, and I move a hand to cover my very obvious problem.

I deal the next hand—and lose.

Standing up, I pretend I’m about to strip down completely.

“Ryan. Don’t.” Cooper puts both hands up, palms out, as if to stop me. “I’m telling you right now, if you take those off, I will be fucking you on the couch.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make menotwant to remove them?”

My hands slide to my waistband, thumbs slipping inside.

“Fine. Your morals go out the window, not mine. Where’s the popcorn?” She leans back, crossing her arms, ready for a show.

Dammit. She’s taken the upper hand, and I groan, gripping my hair with both hands. “God, I lose strip poker, and you call my bluff? Give me my fuckin’ pants.”

She holds them up triumphantly before tossing them over to me.

I step into them, adjusting myself as I pull them up. “My shirt?” I hold out my hand, ready to catch it.

She lifts it, flashing a playful smile. “Nah, I think I’ll hang on to this for a while longer.” Her eyes light up, a genuine happiness radiating from her, and it hits me right in the chest. My only hope for today was to take her mind off things—to make her laugh, have a little fun.

She grips my shirt with both hands, bringing it to her nose and breathing in deeply. “Mmm. Smells like you.”

“And I smell good?”

She nods slowly. “Oh, yeah. Really good.”

“What do I smell like?”

She brings the shirt closer, taking another deep breath. “Cedarwood,” she murmurs, inhaling again. “Cardamom,” another sniff, “and… man.”

I chuckle, watching her hold my shirt so close, breathing in my scent. She has no idea what that does to me.

“Careful, I’m blushing,” I tease, walking around the table until I’m standing right in front of her, my abs level with her face. I hold out my hand for the shirt.

But she just shakes her head. “No, I’m serious. I’m not giving this back. I’m keeping it.” She brings it to her nose again, closing her eyes, almost reverent.

“Fine,” I say, my voice low.

I’d give her anything she wanted right now.

A part of me feels guilty, like I’m harboring a fugitive—hiding someone else’s fiancée, having fun with her, wanting her. And it makes me think about Beth. Did she hang out at her boss’s place, playing games, laughing? I tell myself it’s different because I’m not sleeping with Cooper—but is it? Jesus, it eats at me, but not enough to push her away. Not when her boyfriend’s a narcissistic fuck, and she’s this close to leaving him.

I could tell her. Right now. About Brad. About the cheating. It would make her decision easier, maybe even solidify it. AndGod,part of me wants to. Keeping this secret is eating me alive.

But she’s already drowning. She’s had to deal with so much, and I don’t want to be the one to rip away this tiny moment of fun.

And then there’s that other part of me that’s genuinely worried about her well-being—and, yeah, a selfish part that wonders how it’ll affect my life if she leaves Brad. For me. Will she have trust issues? Will she need ongoing therapy?

I push the thoughts down, bringing myself back to the present—where the beautiful girl I’ve crushed on for ten months is in the kitchen, pouring more salsa into a bowl to share with me.

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