Page 7 of Manhattan Heart

He kisses across my forehead and locks an arm around my waist, leading me down the steps to the nearest exit. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, but I missed you. Do you think I’m a big dumb sappy bitch?”

Something soft crosses over his face and he smiles so lovely I feel my heart spin. This is still the Gray effect. No amount of marriage years can wane what he has me feeling in giant globs of sappiness—how happy he makes me.

One little kiss on my forehead and I’m ready to melt into his arms.

“Always love you missing me, India. Noah had to stop me from coming for you three hours ago.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he grins like a mischievous boy.

I love that he doesn’t hide anything from me, nothing that he is feeling is off limits to me. It all just pours out of his heart and the longer we are together, the more he teaches me to be the same way.

“Did you lose your shirt at poker?”

“I broke even. Cal won the pot.”

“Asshole,” I hiss about Gray’s best friend. Gray laughs, knowing the animosity I once had…sometimes still do, for his friend. No getting around it, Cal Prince is an A grade asshole with an attitude not even another asshole would approve of. Also his ego is the size of Jupiter but with Pluto’s level of importance.

Basically, the rock star wannabe, school-teacher by day, is up his own ass.

He might be pretty to look at, if you like that kind of thing, which I don’t, but as far as I can see, that’s all he has going for him.

The first few years of being with Gray, I really tried to get along with him, sure that his prick face was just a façade. Turns out.. nope, that’s just Cal, but it got to the point with his snarkiness that I’d just tell him to shut the fuck up or get the hell out of my house. The egomaniac would just laugh and say he liked me.

Now we have a tentative truce. Only because I keep the limit down to maybe once or twice a month that I see him.

“Baby, you need to take him for every penny.” I scowl. “Ellison’s do not lose to Cal Prince.” I make anughsound to which Gray finds hilarious.

I’m deadly serious. Someone needs to drop kick his ego into the Hudson.

“I’ll see what I can do for the next poker game.”

“Was the hot author there?” I inquire, looking up at the man of my dreams just to watch his face morph into hot possessiveness.

He’s so easy to rile.

I made the mistake just once of saying that author guy they play poker with, Ashton Mckenna, is sexy. Gray made me take my panties off in the car that night and by the time he got finished finger-banging me, while poor Joe drove us home, I couldn’t even remember my own name, let alone the hot author man.

But it’s fun to poke my husband’s jealous crevices.

“Behave,” he squeezes my butt.

“Take me home, sugar D, so we can do some real nasty stuff while I’m drunk.”

He grunts, mouth against my throat. I don’t know how he gets me to the car because I’m too busy popping open a couple of his shirt buttons so I can touch skin.

“Your wish is my pleasure, baby-girl.”

Isn’t he just perfect?

C H A P T E R 3

India

I’ve been using my wifey abilities today.

---