Page 3 of Only By You: Prequel
“You didn’t answer my question,” I pry. “How you been?”
Ignoring me, as I anticipated, she begins unraveling the ice pack from my hand. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here?” she asks, exposing my bruised and swollen finger with a pulse of its own. This might be the one time, other than my blown-out eardrum, I actuallyneededto see her.
“Truck hood slammed down on it,” I admit, noting the swelling seems to be covering up the fact it was noticeably crooked about an hour ago. “You have any dinner plans tonight?”
“My aunt is coming over,” she mumbles, turning my hand over. “Mom is making lasagna.” She gives my fingers a slight pull and I grunt. “Pain level? Scale of one to ten.”
After what she just did, I’d give it a goddamn nine, but I don’t want her thinking I’m a weak man, so I lie and say, “Five.”
She hums, eyeing me suspiciously enough that I’d venture to say she knows I’m lying. Little does she know, I know when she is, too. And my future wife can’t lie worth a crap.
“It’s definitely broken,” she says, rewrapping the ice pack for now. “I’ll get you something for the pain and have Becky take you for a quick x-ray down the hall. Dr. Boris is gone for the day, but Carol should be able to reset this before we splint it. Sound good?”
I chuckle low. “As long as you’ll hold my good hand, sweetheart. That’s all the pain meds I’ll need.”
Her lip twitches at the corners, tamping down the gorgeous smile that’s ready and waiting to greet me. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Montgomery,” she says, turning away from me and reaching for the door.
“What about tomorrow night?” I have to ask, expecting there will be two or three more people in the room with us shortly. She gets embarrassed at my blatant flirting in front of her coworkers, and the last thing I want is to make her feel uncomfortable. “I can pick you up around seven and we can—”
“I don’t like to eat that late,” she mutters, and I realize she’s halted her exit. Her hand lingers on the doorknob while she stares at her feet.
My ears perk up. This is the most she’s responded to my advances in months. “Would you rather I—”
“I have a date tomorrow, actually.”
Spine rigid, I can’t help the dark thought that crosses my mind.The hell you do, little wife.“With who?” I grind out, my jaw locked tight enough my still-healing eardrum pulls with an ache.
Julie shifts on her feet, suddenly looking more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen her. Her saddened expression meets mine and my chest knots—wanting nothing more than to reach out, pull her against me, and assure her that I could never be angry with her.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She opens the door to leave. “I’ll be back in a moment…Clayton.”
And with my name still lingering in the space between us, fresh off her delicate lips and swelling my heart with the pure bliss of progress—I’ve never been so fucking whiplash-confused in my life.
Who thefuckdares to take my wife out on a date before me?
Three.
Julie
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Iwhisper-hiss to myself in the mirror as I apply a second layer of mascara.
Whydid I tell Clayton I had a date tonight after he has asked me out every time I’ve seen him, without fail, for the last few months and I always turn him down? The shocked, yet hurt look on his face from yesterday has been burned into my brain over the last twenty-four hours.
I feel awful. Enough that I lost sleep last night thinking about him and how badly I want to apologize a hundred times for even bringing it up.
In truth, Clayton Montgomery is a good man. There’s nothing wrong with him unless you consider his inability to acceptnoas an answer. But he’s never pushed me too hard or made me feel uncomfortable around him. He’s always been sweet, shrugging off my passes as if the next time will be a different answer. AndI can admit, he’s attractive. With his strong jaw usually lined in a five o’clock shadow, his short chocolate brown hair always mussed. Of course, yesterday he decided to take his shirt off…again. Distracting me with his wide, muscular build, chest-hair-peppered pecs, and sultry smile.
He's a Golden Retriever of a man, and here I am, the biting Chihuahua who doesn’t want to be held.
But I do want to be held.
Just not by someone my father decides to choose on a whim—but by someone I love and who loves me in return. Someone I can look at and feel…something more than distaste for.
You mean like Clayton?
I should’ve taken him up on his offer and gotten out of this mess that’s happening in eighteen minutes—or less, if I’m that unlucky.
I take a deep breath, in through my nose, and out through my mouth. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” This date is a one-time thing to appease my father and get him off my back for at least the rest of the year. Which isn’t saying much since it’s late September already.
