Page 8 of Manhattan Heart

Not in the bedroom, sadly.

I’m still recovering from last night’s epic love fest.

But something is up, I just don’t know what yet.

It’s a feeling in my gut and in the air.

Gray has been quiet most of the day and I can’t figure out why.

Not in a moody way.

My man wouldn’t know a bad mood if it came up and bit him on his hard butt. And not in a busy work way either. He always,alwaysmakes time for me no matter what work has him in its grip.

We haven’t argued.

We fooled around last night, and he tickled me in the shower this morning when he slid in next to me, while I was slathered in a cucumber face mask and part way done shaving my legs. Such a freak is my sugar D, because sometimes he likes to hunker down on the shower floor and shave my legs for me.

I call it his freakish fetish and he tells me his only fetish is his India one.

Smooth talking hubby.

I suggested we go out to eat for two reasons. One, to get him out of the apartment in case it is work related that has him contemplative unlike himself.

And two, I’m craving hot cake with cold ice cream and there’s only one place that holds the crown for the best and that is atImani.

A restaurant co-owned by Tom Cohen … salty, beautiful model, and Noah Fierro who belongs to my best friend.

Gray’s hand rests on the base of my back, causing tingles where my dress dips really low and his fingers toy with the bare skin right above my ass crack.

His touches are sublime.

The subtle touches, the ones that shouldn’t mean anything but mean everything.

I turn to smile at him and find him already looking at me with that deep-set love in his iron eyes, but there’s an underline worry of something else there too in the depths and that just amps up my suspicions and worry some more.

Everything didn’t become perfect between Gray and I just because we started to wear matching wedding bands. No, we work on our marriage, every day.

It was agreed upon early on that we won’t have secrets, not the big kind that might impact our lives.

So though, I feel the worry in my stomach, I know if it’s something big, he will tell me.

Telling my anxiety to take the night off, I squeeze his hand and give the hostess our surname, all the while the thirsty woman in her black Stella McCartney belted dress and pinned blondie locks eyes up my Grayson like I’m not standing right here with his hand on my butt.

I don’t want to be a woman hater, really, I don’t.

Women who attack other women when we should be raising each other up really piss me off, but I only have one trigger button for my temper and that’s Gray.

He doesn’t even notice.

He’s standing taller at my side, smelling as good as he does and he’s squeezing one of my butt cheeks. Probably to keep me in line so I don’t go line-backer on this girl.

I can’t blame her, he’s out of this world fucking handsome and lickable but I still feel every inch of territorial instinct over who is mine.

He grips my hip and kisses the edge of my shoulder as if he can hear my thoughts about dragging the girl’s hair a little bit.

“Sorry, we don’t have Ellison down tonight.” She tells me in a voice that would so easily curdle milk.

Women raise each other up… I repeat the mantra a few times to myself. It was that thought alone that stops me from going postal…I remember tonight is to relax Gray, not make him bail me out of jail.

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