Page 52 of Never Been Worse

“Hey, Wes,” a familiar and irritated voice says, and almost instantly, I shift away from Wes, his fingers sliding out of me as I rearrange my sweatpants nervously. Wes’s eyes never leave me, that smile playing on his lips. “Oh, don’t worry, I walk into this kind of thing all the time, doesn’t faze me at all,” Laurel says with a smug look.

A blush burns across my cheeks.

“Laurel,” Wes says in warning, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying, it’s not the first time I’ve walked in on you making out with someone. It’s just what happens when you’re someone’s right hand.”

I picture myself tearing out her hair and bitch-slapping her.

“Did you call that person I asked you to contact?” Wes asks, clearly annoyed. With his words, her face goes a bit cold.

“They didn’t have any availability,” she tells him, the conversation unclear to me, but with the way she twirls her hair around her finger, I get the unsettling feeling she’s lying to Wes.

“Did you try the one in Hudson City?”

“You didn’t ask me to try the one in Hudson City,” she says, and I’m half surprised she doesn’t pout.

Wes’s jaw goes tight before he sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair and mussing it more than I did just moments before. “I’ll do it myself.”

He reaches in his pocket for his phone, but before he moves, he turns to me.

“I have to go on a bit of a press junket tomorrow,” he says, and I scrunch my nose up. “It’ll be another four days, but when I get back, we have a press thing. Willa Stone’s last tour stop is on Saturday, and we’re in the VIP box,” he says. His hand moves to my cheek, making me forget all about the nuisance in the room.

“Oh. Okay,” I whisper.

“I also have to take my wife out on a real date soon, wine and dine her.” I giggle—actuallygiggleat his words, and his eyes twinkle with the sound. “When are you free?”

“Hmm?”

“When are you free, Harper? For dinner. Or lunch?”

“Oh, I, uh…” I try and think, but he’s so close to me, blurring my mind, and I can’t piece words together, much less make myself sound more interesting than I am. “I have no life.” He smiles wider. “Except you,” I add like an idiot, and his smile goes to a straight-up grin. “Shit, I didn’t mean, I just…”

“Got it. You’re at my mercy.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I really like the sound of that, little wife.”

“Me too, Wes.”

He stares for a long moment, then leans forward, pressing another, softer kiss to my lips. “I look forward to finishing this later,” he says. “Now go make something beautiful, baby.”

Then he’s walking off, stupid Laurel scurrying behind and leaving me in my new design room, body buzzing and, for once, my mind not even a little bit confused.

Because surprise, surprise, I like my husband.

NINETEEN

WES

“Have you seen—” I start, staring at my phone as I walk into the ensuite bathroom in my room—our room—but the words die on my lips when I catch sight of my wife. She’s in a short dress, the darker green, which makes her hair and her fair skin stand out beautifully, makeup full out, all dark and sexy with something that makes the freckles across the bridge of her nose more prominent. Her hair is long and loose, with soft curls at the ends, and she’s wearing a pair of heels high enough to bring her to my chin. The only jewelry she wears is her wedding rings and the W necklace, making me feel the sudden urge to buy her more, to see her dripping in things I bought for her.

She looks breathtaking.A fucking wet dream.

“Jesus, Harper,” I murmur, stepping closer and reaching for her, whatever I walked in here to show her long forgotten.

She laughs and steps back with a shake of her head, putting a hand between us. “No, no. I worked too long on this, and I’m not having you fuck it up.”

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