Page 29 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

In front of everyone.

But the truth is, I meant every fucking word.

CHASE

* * *

I didn’t expect her to say it like that.

She just blurted it out in front of everyone in a tone that sounded like she was ready to throw down over me.

When she said “he’s mine” like it was her fucking birthright, something inside me cracked open.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.

I find her beside the house on a dune, she’s sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and her sunglasses on like they can hide her from the world.

They can’t.

I know her.

I know that silence.

It’s her “I just told the truth, and I hate how good it felt” silence.

“Hey,” I say gently. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just… me. She doesn’t look up. So, I ask, “You gonna yell at me for stretching too hard?”

“No.” The word is breathy.

Nodding, I squat down in front of her, “You gonna deny you marked me like a dog peeing on a mailbox?”

She scoffs. “It was the moaning, Chase.” Her lips press together.

“I wasn’t the one moaning.” I remind her.

“She was breathing like a backed-up air fryer.” She snaps. “Over you. If front of me.”

My baby is jealous.

God, I love her.

I sit next to her, close but leave space between us.

She won’t look at me. “I didn’t mean to say it,” she mutters.

“Liar.” I chuckle and reach for her hand. She opens her fingers and links our hands. Fingers entwined, palm to palm.

“I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

Admitting this is killing her.

I smile softly. “You meant it though. I’m your husband and your man.”

She pulls her sunglasses off, finally looking at me and whispers, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re telling the truth.” I reply softly and tighten my hand around hers.

Silence.

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