Page 162 of Wild Then Wed
“I’m just saying. A lot of spatial awareness and critical thinking skills were required. Flexibility, too.”
I groan.
“Ten outta ten. Top five life experiences. She didn’t even know who I was or that I boxed, which was really hot.” Thenquieter, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, “But not just that—I think I actually…liked her.”
I blink. “Youlikedher? You never like anyone.”
“I mean—yeah.” He exhales, like the admission costs him. “I don’t know. She was actually cool. Like, smart. Kind of weird in a hot way. Didn’t pretend to know shit about boxing, which I respect. Just said what was on her mind. Kept me on my toes. Oh, and she didn’t look at me like I was a walking paycheck, which was a breath of fresh air.”
For a second, I actually feel a little bad for him.
Then he says, “Anyway. She also had really nice legs. Like, Olympic-level legs. Just throwing that out there.”
And just like that, the sympathy vanishes. “Dominic.”
“I know, I know. I’m not proud of it.”
“Yes, you are.”
He snorts. “Okay, I am, what can I say? I’m a man of many talents. No shame in that. But seriously, you can’t tell anyone. Especially not Wren. No offense, but your fake wife scares me a little. And I like my limbs where they are.”
“No promises if she finds out on her own and kills you.”
“Fair. But if I die, make sure they use a good photo at the funeral. One that accentuates my fantastic jawline.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I don’t need this sort of judgment from a man clearly in love with his fake wife.”
I grit my teeth. “We’re not—”
“Save it. You’re pussy whipped and we all know it. See you next week, lover boy. And tell Hank that Uncle Dom said hi.”
Click.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and drag a hand down my face, resisting the urge to slam my forehead against the steering wheel.
From the passenger seat, Wren doesn’t even glance up from her book. “That sounded entertaining.”
I side-eye her. “You have no idea.”
She turns a page. “Was that the boxer friend? The one who sounds like he gets hit in the head for a living?”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. That’s him.”
“That makes sense now.”
I glance over at her again. Her eyes are still on the book, but there’s the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth.
“He’s not alwaysthatmuch of an idiot,” I say.
She lifts a brow, still not looking at me. “No?”
I shrug. “Sometimes he’s worse.”
She laughs then—a small one.
The snow is still coming down, but slower now—less hurried, more certain. It clings to the fence posts and road signs, coating everything in a light dusting that makes it all look softer, quieter, touched by something gentle. The sky has shifted to a pale gray-blue, the kind that blurs the edges of things and makes the whole world feel hushed. Montana feels different in this light. Calmer. Like it’s finally exhaled.
