Page 210 of Accidental Husband

"Why do you have the lights—" The orange glow of sunset fills the room as he opens the door. "Fuck."

"You like it?" I pull my arm over my chest.

"Yeah." His gaze shifts around the room. The Dodgers blanket hanging over the couch. The matching royal blue pillows. And the bright red ones that highlight his Angels blanket.

The posters taped to the wall. I had to drive to three music stores to find all those band posters, but I managed to cover most of the living room.

His lips curl into a smile as he takes in the posters. His gaze shifts to me. His tongue slides over his lips. "Fuck, Jules."

"You like it?" I try to make my voice seductive, but it's more stilted. My stomach is too full of nervous energy. I want him to like the decorations. To like the outfit. To like me.

I want him to love me.

I want to stand up in front of the world and screamI love you, Griffin Prince.

But I'm not there yet. I can barely write it on a piece of paper. I'm not sure what possessed me to apply for an MFA program—some masochistic streak, I guess.

I'm going to spend the next two years learning how to communicate in writing. Maybe I can offer him that.I know I suck at talking now, Griff, but in two years I'll be halfway decent. At writing. We can always text, right?

"Do I like it?" His voice gets low. Breathy.

My nod is shy.

"Fuck." He closes the distance between us. Brings his hands to my hips. Runs his fingers over the sheer fabric. "You look gorgeous."

"That's not a yes."

"Fuck yes." He leans down. Presses his lips to mine.

I part my lips to make way for his tongue. His kiss is hard, hungry, intense.

Mmm, he tastes so good. Familiar. Like home.

It's been twenty-four hours, but this does feel like home. Maybe it's the posters or the blanket or the rose decals I put up in the bathroom.

Or maybe it's him.

He's my home too.

I…

I love him.

My heart thuds against my chest. It's fast. Hard. It drowns out the song. And the whisper falling from his lips.

I love you. Not like a friend or a brother or a roommate. Like a wife loves a husband.

I'm madly in love with you.

"Baby, where are you going?" He brings his palm to my cheek.

"I just… you promise you like it?"

"You really asking if I like your scrap of white fabric?"

I shake my head. "The apartment."

His expression softens. "Yeah. What I can see of it." He nods to the light. "But I can look after if you're trying to set a mood."