Page 22 of Married to Number 22
Aiden
I closethe door on my mom’s surprised accusations—something I know is the direct result of me denying that I’m dating anyone…
Precisely two days ago.
The thing is…I wasn’t.
I’mnot.
I just have a naked woman in my bed, her underwear and bra in my pocket…and a marriage contract on my kitchen counter.
With my mother in arm’s reach.
Fuck.
But…bigger problems first.
“Are you okay?” I ask Luns softly, hurrying across the room, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I…” I sigh. “I know that was a lot.”
She snorts, lifts a shaky hand to her forehead, pushing back her hair. “A lot is your family showing up out of the blue for dinner when the only thing I know how to cook is broccoli stew.”
“Broccoli stew?” I say, humor coiling in my belly.
“Shut up you,” she mutters. “That”—a jerk of her head toward the closed door—“was a lot if you call a freaking nuclear bomb a tiny little explosion.Thatwas a lot if you think a Category Five hurricane is just a bit of rain.That?—”
“Luns.”
“—was a lot if you think that Pedro Pascal is just another actor.”
Christ, she’s funny.
But I think if I start laughing right now she’ll pick up my lamp and brain me with it.
The Pedro thing, though,thatI’m storing away in my mind to bring back up later.
It’s gotta be the biceps.
Why did extra arm exercises suddenly get scratched onto my workouts?
“That—”
I lean down and slant my lips over hers, kissing her until she relaxes, until she sighs softly into my mouth. “I’ll fix this,” I tell her as I pull back, cupping her jaw lightly. “You just get dressed.”
A scowl. A wrinkle of that adorable nose.
“Thank you for reminding me that I was naked in front of your entire family.”
“Technically you were under the blankets.”
“Nakedunder the blankets.”
I tap her nose. “Which is another why you should get dressed.”
Her mouth falls open then clamps together, eyes flashing with irritation, the little sparks of lightning in the gray depths threatening to strike at me. “You?—”
But I just steal another kiss then push up to my feet, pull her bra and underwear out of my pocket and toss them at her. Then I snag her sweats and shirt from the floor, drop them beside her.
“Me,” I agree. “I’m a pain in the ass.”
