Page 57 of Breathing Wisteria
Flynn
My arm is numb. Pinned under Wyatt and holding her to me, it’s doing its job, but I haven’t been able to feel it for the last ten minutes. Giving up on the idea of not waking her, I make a fist a few times, trying to bring the feeling back.
My movement jostles her and she moves slightly, pushing back against me so my morning wood is nestled in between her ass cheeks, giving him all kinds of interesting notions. Maybe if I just moved this way—
“Don’t even think about it, Irish.”
Her morning voice is all throaty and sexy as fuck, and my dick isn’t the only one with some interesting ideas, but before I can start anything, Wyatt turns to face me, her expression grim.
“Do you think she’ll post it today?”
To say I was furious when Wyatt told me about her altercation with Giselle last night, would be the biggest understatement that had ever been understated in the history of understatements.
I was livid and ready for blood.
Thank fuck one of us has an ounce of sense, because Wyatt was able to talk me off the ledge and realize that Giselle had fucked up by warning her. The point of this whole thing is to hurt Wyatt, to drive her away, but now that she knows it’s coming, my girl has her armor up and is ready to fight.
We called Campbell right away and explained the situation to him. I think he might have been as angry as I was if that was possible. Although, to be fair a lot of his pissiness was directed at us, frustrated that we had left ourselves open to this situation when he could have protected us. But he immediately launched into action, setting up an interview with Ophelia Winters, so we can get ahead of the story.
“I think her plan would have been to wait a few days, maybe a week, to see if you followed through.” I run my thumb along her cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin. “But she has sources everywhere in this industry and knows everything that goes on. My guess is that as soon as Cam started calling people last night to organize the interview, she would have found out.” I cup her face in my hands and place a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I would bet my life that our misery is entertaining the masses right fucking now.”
She presses her body into me, her head nuzzling in under my chin.
“I feel like I’m completely prepared and completely unprepared to deal with this all at the same time.” She groans against my skin.
“We got this, Cherry. We’ll do the interview, give people our side and make it fucking clear what we think of scum like Giselle who feeds off other people’s grief, and then we shut the fuck up.” I kiss the top of her head. “It’ll be news for a few days until the next DUI or affair hits the headlines, and then no one will give a fuck anymore.”
“You’re probably right.”
“No, I am right. I’m always right, babe. You should know that by now.”
She rolls her eyes at me. So fucking cute.
“I think I’ll call the girls and see if they—”
The sound of banging on the door interrupts her and she looks at me with wide eyes.
“It’ll be Cam.” I sit up and look for my jeans from last night, which I hurriedly pull on. My stomach is churning, and I have a horrible feeling that the shit is about to hit the fan. “Take your time getting ready.” I lean over and place a chaste kiss on her cheek, only to have her take hold of my face and bring my mouth to her own. Her lips graze mine, her tongue sliding along the seam before she slips it into my mouth, kissing me deeply. A breathy whimper escapes her, and I pull away, knowing that if I don’t put a stop to this now, thirty seconds from now, I won’t be able to.
“Get ready.” I slap her ass, hard, with a smirk and make my way to the door, where, I’m assuming, Cam is still hammering away.
“Relax.” I swing the door open. “Jesus, Cam, Give us a minute, it’s only seven in the fucking morning.”
“Have you seen it?” He pushes past me, cell phone in hand, and my stomach drops.
“How bad is it?”
He hands me his phone, Giselle’s blog already pulled up and a scowl settles on my face as I quickly scan the story.
“This is fucking bullshit,” I bark. “There’s not one shred of truth in there.”
I toss his phone on the sofa and begin pacing the room. Blood is pulsing through my veins, and the rush of it is all I can hear.
Abortion.
They’re saying Wyatt terminated our pregnancy out of spite because I had an affair.
Giselle has painted her as some kind of psychotic bitch who got rid of our baby for revenge; and I am a cheating douchebag who did the dirty on his pregnant wife.
