Page 82 of The Wedding Crush

I see it in her eyes that she’s recharged and ready to go again. This is how it is with us.

She’s my magnet.

I can’t be near her without touching, feeling, clambering to hear my name on her tongue as we bring each other to the edge and fall together.

Soon, my sweater and her wet dress are on the floor, and she’s fumbling with my belt and unfastening my pants. We’re a mess of lips, tongues, and wanderlust hands roaming freely over each other’s aching bodies like we’ve known each other for years and been apart for months instead of weeks.

And it feels right.

The fit and feel of us, makes me wonder why I wasted so much time trying to force my marriage to work when Avery is every dream I’ve ever had come to life.

With her panting in my ear and wilting in my arms, I deepen my strokes.

I want it to last.

I wantusto last.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Avery

By Tuesday, I’mpaying the price for chasing goose bumps.

My period showed up yesterday, so I’m not pregnant, just regular allergies, I think. Though, not just a few sneezes here and there. Stuffy nose, congestion, the works. To top off my flaming pile of garbage sinuses, the—heavily dairy-based—Alfredo on the pasta I ordered for Turn-Up Tuesday with my Sister Circle curdled in my stomach. Instead of updates about Seneca’s now-outdated resignation letter and the forearms on Valerie’s Fix-It Felix, I spent most of the night in the restroom, praying to the porcelain gods.

I may have felt like crap the entire time, but I didn’t miss our standing weekly appointment.

So, there’s that…

Another sneeze tickles my nose.

“Nope. Into the elbow.” Monica warns me for the umpteenth time tonight. She’s got too many high-paying Pilates appointments this week to come down with my “random cooties.”

Her face twists in disgust as the sneeze lurches out of me onto the gum-smeared pavement, sending Seneca, Valerie, and Morgan scattering and reaching for their tiny sanitizer bottles.

“And on that note…” Seneca slowly backs away. “Mon, y’all drove together, right?”

Her face lifts with false cheer. “Lucky me.”

I swat her playfully, my face still contorted with the threatening sneeze. After fishing out a restroom paper towel from my pocket, I gently dab at my rubbed-raw nose. “But I still didn’t get the scoop.”

In classic Morgan form, complete with animated facial expressions and wild hand gestures, she gives me the twenty-second recap.

“Felix and his forearms have moved on to Valerie’s bedroom where he’s been laying pipe. The ceremony dances will be the highlight of the wedding, following the actual vows, of course. I’m SUPER excited about the bachelorette party at Bramoso.” She squees. “Then there’s Monica. Some influencer took her Sculpting Pilates class, posted about it, and now she’s booked for months. And in a full-on plot twist, Seneca hasnotleft the bank.” She pulls in a long breath and releases it with an exhausted laugh.

Seneca rolls her eyes playfully. “We’ll see what’s a plot twist when Mike and I dance at your wedding.”

A surge of laughter vibrates over the circle like the wave until it gets back to me, culminating in—NOT the stupid sneeze that’s been hijacking my nose—but a queasy dry heave.

“Okay, so we’ve all got work tomorrow.” Valerie flips up the collar of her jacket to shield her nose and mouth as she hugs me. “Monica, get her home safe, please.”

I try to laugh, but it’s just gross, so I give up.

Morgan shoots me a sympathetic stare, though. “I’ve got late appointments tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home? Maybe get you some medicine? Make you some tea?”

“No, I’m fine.”

She tilts her head. “It could be food poisoning…”

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