Page 62 of Pucking Curves

More happy tears well, spilling down my cheeks. Archer shakes his head, a soft smile on his face as he slips into the chair Micah just abandoned, reaching out to dry my cheeks.

“What am I going to do with you, little bird?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Love me.”

“Simple.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, Wren.”

Chapter Fifteen

Archer

ThreeWeeksLater

“Archer,” Wren groans, scowling daggers at me as I scoop her up into my arms at the bottom of the steps leading to the spectator area at the practice arena. “I can walk!”

“Mmhmm.” I brush my lips across her temple, tucking her up against my chest. “And I can carry you. So hush and let your husband have his way, little bird.”

I might be going overboard, but I don’t really care. She’s been having blinding headaches ever since the accident and tires out easily. Aside from that, she’s recovering well. The bruises are all but gone. The gash on her forehead is healing nicely. She’s pretty much back to normal.

Her doctor doesn’t think there is any permanent damage, thank God. But I still fucking worry. I’ll always worry.

The fact that Charles Montaque has been hanging around, trying to get the inside scoop on what happened in Detroit doesn’t make me worry any less. As if we’ll ever fucking tell him.

Because of him, she was released with a bevy of reporters waiting outside the hospital, waiting to catch a glimpse of us together. For that reason alone, Montaque will always be a prick in my book. She deserved privacy, and she had none because of him. She hasn’t had any in three weeks. I’m not letting him ambush her again.

I am surprised, though. Montaque didn’t drag me through the mud when he broke the news about our marriage and my role inHelping Hands, leaving very little for Alice to clean up.

“My husband is a pain in my–”

I cut Wren off with my lips on hers, earning cheers and catcalls from my idiot teammates as they emerge from the back of the arena. I ignore them, all my attention on the woman in my arms. At least until Micah’s voice rises above the rest.

“That’s enough already!” he growls. “Stop fucking kissing my sister, Graves.”

He’s not mad, though. I hear the amusement in his voice. It’s a change, a good one. Things between the two of us are almost back to normal. He bitches at me to keep my hands off his sister at every available opportunity. I ignore the fuck out him, also at every available opportunity.

She may be his sister, but she’s my wife, my world. I hold all the aces here.

I think he knows it.

We had a long fucking talk while she slept on the plane on the way home from Detroit after she was released. He apologized again for being a dick. I swore to take care of her for the rest of my life. He threatened to murder me if I didn’t. And I agreed to let him.

It won’t ever come to that, though. I came too close to losing her in Detroit. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that shit never happens again. I’ve told her everything now. The worst of my sins are out there…and she’s still here. She still chose me.

I may not deserve it, but I’m not questioning it, either. I’m not a complete idiot. The woman of my dreams loves that I’m wild about her. She loves that I’m a little fucking unhinged when it comes to her. I’m rolling with it.

I adjust her in my arms, flipping her brother off behind my back.

“Dick,” he mutters through a chuckle.

I break from her lips, resting my forehead against hers. “I almost miss when he wasn’t speaking to us, little bird. He was far less annoying then.”

Her shoulders shake with laughter. “Suck it up, buttercup. If you didn’t want the whole world to know about us, you shouldn’t have married me in Vegas.”

“No regrets,” I whisper. “Not a single fucking one, Wren.”

Her lips curve into a bright smile. “Me either, Mr. Captain.”

I brush my lips against hers again, my chest pulsing with emotion. Fucking hell. I want her beneath me right now, naked and screaming my name. I need her falling apart on my cock.

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