Page 90 of Curveball
“Max—”
“Nope.” I hold up a hand to stop her. “Maybe Iaman old man, because I’m old-fashioned about this. We’re married. You’re planning to live in my house. The house is yours, too.You’re not a guest there, and I don’t ever want you to feel that way.”
“All right, I’ll rephrase. Do you want to FaceTime the kids fromourhouse?”
Not gonna lie, I thought I’d get more of an argument from her. But she already knows I’m adamant about getting her a new car. There’ll be no talking me out of this. I want her in my house, and in my life.
“I do want to call our kids,” I tell her as I merge onto the freeway, heading home. “But first, I want to fuck my wife.”
Chapter 30
Palmer
How am I supposed to act calm after a statement like that?I want to fuck my wife, he says in the lower timbre of his controlled, confident voice, like he’s been planning the moment in his head all day. He’s still wearing his suit pants and dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his colorful tattoo sleeve on full display and drawing my eye. His hands lay casually on the steering wheel, the muscles in his bare forearms flexing with every minor course adjustment.
Every nerve ending in my body is exploding with tension and anticipation, and we still have some time till we arrive at his neighborhood.Our neighborhood. If you can even call it a neighborhood. I’ve seen the random luxury car come and go down the tree-lined street, but if anyone is out walking their dog or grabbing their newspaper from the driveway, well, between the shrubbery and the length of the driveways, nobody gets close enough to see that.
Unless they’re using a drone.
“So, what’s the reason you always eat so healthy?”
It’s a dumb question, leading to what I hope is a boring exchange about eating habits. But we have to kill a few minutes with random conversation or I’m going to crawl over the console of this enormous, luxurious, not-compensating-for-anything SUV and test how easily we both fit in his seat. And how easily he can see over my shoulder while he’s driving and I’m grinding on his lap. And if we can pull that off without having a random video posted by a fellow traveler—or getting pulled over by a cop.
Not something I want to discuss in calls with our children. Later tonight. Afterfuck my wife.
“What? What do you mean?” He jerks his gaze from the road, like his mind was somewhere far away and has to take a detour to catch up. “You want to know why I eat healthy?”
So far, so good, in the distraction department. Though, at this point, he must think the pinball in my brain is just pinging randomly.
He puts on his traffic signal and exits the highway, andthank God,since this means we’re closer to home.
“Yeah. I mean, even when we go for pizza, you have a huge salad, low-fat dressing only, and you only take one slice. I know you’re an athlete, but sometimes, don’t you want to eat whatever you want?”
He navigates a right-hand turn, and a stop sign, and then a turn to the left before he answers me.
“I’m playing the long game. I take care of my body, and my body takes care of me. We have an arrangement like that. It helps me stay in baseball.”
I understand discipline. But it has to bother him, at least, a little, doesn’t it? It would piss me the hell off. He pulls the SUV up to his driveway gate and presses a button on his visor rather than punching the code in the box. We’re close, so close, and my body senses it. I’m on edge again, my hands trembling against my thighs.
A couple more minutes, Palmer. Hold it together.
“But you don’t mind? It doesn’t bother you that you can’t eat whatever you want?”
Max pulls up to the house, shuts down the vehicle, and moves to stand in the lee of my open door before I climb down.
“Sometimes I mind, Palmer Girl. Sometimes I cheat with a piece of pizza or a small piece of something sweet. Today, though, before I think about my stomach or any other part of my body?—”
He scoops me from my seat and into his arms, and carries me the short distance to the front door. I wait for him to set me on my feet so we can go inside, but nope, the man opens the door and pushes in, then kicks it closed with his heel.
“Today, I’m carrying my wife over the threshold ofour home.”
My heart melts and I tighten my hold when he pauses in his—um,our—downstairs ballroom to kiss me without lowering me to my feet. Then, we’re off again, and he’s striding through the house like a man with an agenda.
“Max, where are you taking me?” I ask as I bounce along with him. My shoes jostle from my feet and clatter to the tile floor. “Are we going into the kitchen?” I’ve totally lost the plot. I thought he was all about thefuck my wife, but now, that doesn’t seem to be as urgent.
“Thought I’d get myself a snack. You know, something healthy and natural,” he tells me, and sets my ass on the kitchen island. The granite is cold through the thin gauzy fabric of my skirt, but his eyes are hot, burning for me, and the lust I’ve tamped down with random thoughts and inane bantereruptsinside me.
“Now, be a good girl and lay back,” he directs, and his hand goes to the back of my head to act as a cushion before my head hits the counter. His other hand tugs at the elastic neckline ofmy top, pulling it down my arms so they’re tethered at my sides, then reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. The cups lay loosely over my breasts until he pushes them up, into my neck.
