Page 37 of Speak of the Devil

Do I have feelings for my wife?

12

Shane

I checkmy watch like I haven’t been checking it every couple of minutes already.

Why am I nervous?

I don’t take Cat as the type who rushes out the door at five but more the kind of person who gives everyone the time they need with her. Leaning against the back of my car, I’m willing to wait however long it takes.

Thirty-seven minutes.

The doors slide open, and she walks out in her white coat, black pants, and a white shirt. I shouldn’t have thoughts of her in that coat while fucking her, but the mind works in pretty obvious ways when I find someone attractive, and fuck me, I haven’t stopped thinking about her.

“Need a ride?”

She glances over, a smile blooming across the delicate features of her face as soon as she sees me. The way she practically floats on air as she hurries over has me feeling like I’m king of the world.And she’s not even my girl.

Though that’s also crossed my mind a few times lately.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, just shy of jumping into my arms. I would have caught her. “When did you get back?”

I want to reach out. The temptation to help her cover the distance she left between us is strong. I don’t, but I wonder if I’ll kick myself for not doing it later. Cognizant of the bruising and welt on my head, I keep the right side tilted away from her and thumb behind me as if it relates to the story in any shape or form. “Two hours or so ago.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and her pretty eyes widen. Tucking hair that’s fallen loose from the ponytail she’s wearing, she then tilts her head. “And you came straight here?” Her eyes shift to the car, then her head wobbles. “I mean,” she says, shrugging, “after you went home.”

“Yeah. I went home first, though I’m regretting that now.”

“Why is that?”

“Because of how happy you were when you thought I hadn’t. I wouldn’t have, but I needed my car to get here.”

The apples of her cheeks pink, and the corners of her eyes soften just looking at me. “You don’t owe me anything, Shane. You’ve done more than your share already.”

“My share of what?”

“Favors. I owe you more than one.”

“No, you don’t. We’re in this together, remember?”

“Yeah.” She shifts, dipping her gaze between us. Shoving my hands in my front pockets, I take her in subtly. Or I thought I had until she laughs, looking away from me.

When she looks back, she asks, “Were you checking me out?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth opens as if no man tells her the truth—she’s fucking sexy. “Oh, um . . .” A shake of her head appears to remind her of what she was saying. “Anyway . . .”

“Are you done for the day?”

Shifting her bag as if the load is too heavy to bear for much longer, she holds it in front of her. I reach out, slipping my hand next to hers, my roughness against her softness. Neither of us moves, the connection making my heart thunder in my chest so loudly I wonder if she can hear it. I’d forgotten what this felt like while on tour. The way the simplest things with her—sandwiches at the beach, joking like old friends do, the thrill of spending time with someone who makes you feel alive again—are magnified to make life exciting.

“Shane!”

I’m startled from falling into her soulful eyes any deeper. “What?”

Releasing the bag, she reaches for my forehead.Oh, that.“What happened?”

---