Page 37

Alex Sebring

The music hits me first—soft country twang with a beat lazy enough to say the night’s winding down but not done. I follow the sound to the back of the house, charred meat and whatever’s blooming in Laurelyn’s backyard clinging to the air.

The patio glows with string lights. There’s glitter on the table, someone’s shoes on the steps, and an empty pitcher of margaritas beside a bowl of tortilla chips that looks like someone declared war on it.

The women are mid laugh—loud, tipsy, glowing. Magnolia’s in the middle of it all, cheeks flushed, head tilted back, her laugh ringing out. And Violet’s draped across her, laughing.

Margarita Monday, apparently, is a full-contact sport.

Jack meets me at the edge of the patio, a beer in one hand, and a grin that only comes from watching chaos unfold and knowing you’re not responsible for it. “I just got here, but I can tell you this much. Enter at your own risk. I don’t want to guess how many margaritas deep they are.”

I scan the scene, zeroing in on Magnolia’s smile. “Think it’s safe to go in?”

Jack chuckles. “Safe? No. Entertaining? Absolutely.”

Laurelyn spots me and lifts her glass. “Alex! Come collect your drunk wife and her bad influence before Violet convinces her to pierce something that shouldn’t be pierced.”

Hmm… that could be interesting.

Magnolia spins around, eyes lighting up when she sees me.

“Hey! There he is—my hot husband with a mouth like sin and the stamina of a god.”

“Must run in the family,” Violet slurs without missing a beat.

I shake my head, grinning. “Too much information, Violet.”

Magnolia raises her margarita. “Take me away, sexy chauffeur husband.”

I step forward, catching Magnolia by the waist as she teeters sideways on her heels. “Okay, favorite, let’s get you home before someone hands you a microphone and regrets it.”

“Ruuude,” she slurs, grinning up at me.

I steer them toward the gate. Violet stumbles and grabs my arm. “Don’t tell Elias I said this, but I think I’m… maybe… aggressively in love with him.”

“Are you now?”

She sighs. “I am. It’s disgusting. I hate it.” She squints up at me, dead serious. “It’s either love or low blood sugar. But I’m leaning toward love because I ate three lemon bars. Okay, it was four.”

Jack pats me on the shoulder as we pass. “Good luck, mate.”

“Thanks. I think I’m gonna need it.”

Magnolia flops into the front seat of the G-Wagon and starts playing with the radio, landing on a song she likes and cranking the volume.

“Woo-hoo!”

I reach over and nudge it down a few notches. “I’m pretty sure we can hear it fine without blowing the speakers.”

“Party pooper,” she says, but she’s grinning.

I ease out of the driveway, glancing at her. She’s barefoot now, humming off-key to the radio with a contented smile.

From the back seat, Violet mumbles, her cheek mashed against the leather: “Your name is Alexander Bjorn . Like Baby Bjorn . You give off such intense dad energy they named a baby carrier after you.”

I glance in the rearview mirror, then over at Magnolia. “What is she talking about?”

Magnolia laughs low. “No idea. She’s drunk. Ignore her.”

“You’ll love it. Tiny sneakers. Chubby cheeks. Your genetics wearing a onesie. It’s gonna be great.”

A minute later, she flops to one side and starts snoring. It’s the type of sleep only tequila can deliver.

Magnolia glances at me, her smile lopsided, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

We pull up in front of Elias’s townhouse, the porch light casting a warm halo over the steps.

He’s already coming down them barefoot, in sweats and a white T-shirt, looking equal parts amused and concerned.

His gaze flicks to the back seat, where Violet lies slumped like a rag doll, one arm flung over her face.

“You ordered one drunk American who’s in love with you?”

Magnolia smacks my arm. “She said don’t tell him.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “What the hell happened to her?”

“Tequila,” Magnolia says, deadpan. “Lots of it. And lemon bars.”

He laughs under his breath, reaching for the door. “Tequila and lemon bars. Great. At least I’ll know what I’m looking at later.”

Violet stirs, peeling her cheek off the leather seat. “Eliasss,” she says, reaching for him with all the grace of a drunk wombat. “I want to climb you and make bad decisions.”

“Okay, babe. I think we should get you to bed.”

She stands and wraps her arms around his neck, using him to steady herself. “You look like husband material and birth-control failure all wrapped in one tall, devastating package. It’s upsetting how into it I am.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Husband material and birth-control failure, huh? Is that code for you want to marry me and have babies?”

She pulls my brother’s face down to hers. “Elias, I want to be your baby mama.”

He leans in, voice low. “Careful, Violet, before I take you seriously. You could wake up with a ring and a stroller.”

She kisses him hard. “Take me inside and don’t let me eat cereal in the bathtub.”

“Okay, champ.” He throws a nod my way. “Appreciate the drop-off.”

“Anytime,” I say. “Good luck.”

I glance at Magnolia. She’s curled sideways in the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath her, dipping a cracker into a little plastic container of leftover cheese dip.

She licks some from her finger and sighs, blissed out. “Why is this dip so damn good? I swear I’d fight a raccoon for it.”

I laugh under my breath. “It’s a good thing we don’t have raccoons in Australia.”

I look at her, really look. Her cheeks are still flushed, her hair a little wild from the wind and tequila. And I think—God, I love her this way.

Soft. Unfiltered. Mine.

She stumbles into the house with my help, giggling as she misses the step. I catch her, one arm around her waist. “Watch it, favorite.”

“I’m fine,” she says, dropping her shoes by the door. “Just gravity being aggressive.”

It’s late, so I don’t bother with lights or the couch. I take my tanked wife straight to the bedroom.

I fall onto the bed with a groan while she does her thing in the bathroom.

“God, my back’s shot. I pushed too hard tonight.”

“You were working out while I was gone?”

“Babe, I’m always working out, trying to get back to where I was three years ago. Season’s coming.”

She comes out of the bathroom, hair tousled, that teasing smile in place. “You’re in ridiculous shape. You could bench press a horse.”

“You didn’t see me three years ago.”

She leans over, her fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt. “I see you now.” Her eyes spark. “And what I see makes me want to sin.”

“We’re married. Pretty sure it doesn’t count as sinning.”

She grins. “We can pretend it is. I want to do very dirty things to you.”

She starts shimmying out of her clothes, pulling it over her head with such determination she nearly elbows herself in the face.

“Whoa there, cyclone,” I say, sitting up a little, watching her with barely contained laughter. “That top’s not going down without a fight.”

“Shh,” she mutters, head popping through the neck hole, hair wild and tangled. “Let me seduce you in peace.”

I bite back a grin.

After a brief but valiant battle with her jeans—one she barely won—she’s finally naked and crawling over me, all warm skin and wicked smiles as she straddles my hips.

“You’re sore and aching,” she says, pressing her palms to my chest. “So lie back. I’ve got this covered.”

She tugs my shirt over my head and her fingers hook into my shorts, wiggling them down.

“Feels a little wrong,” I say, hands skimming up her thighs. “Taking advantage of my wife while she’s drunk.”

“Impossible,” she says, leaning in until her mouth grazes mine. “I always want you. Especially when I’m drunk.”

She starts slow—fingers drifting like they’ve got all night to get where they’re going. Her mouth trails warm, deliberate kisses down my chest, her breath a tease that dances over skin still buzzing from her touch.

There’s a confidence to her tonight—soft and playful––but sharp as a blade. Like she knows what she’s doing to me and she’s enjoying every second.

And I’m letting her. Willingly. Desperately.

I’d let her do anything to me.

She sits back enough to study me, her eyes dark with mischief. Then she dips her head again, her tongue tracing the line of my abs as she maps the territory before claiming it.

“Jesus, favorite,” I say, aching to be inside her.

She grins without looking up, acting innocent. “Hmm?”

My laugh is low, caught somewhere between pleasure and disbelief. But it cuts off fast—transforms into a groan that punches out of me when her mouth finds its mark.

She takes my cock into her mouth and moves slowly in a way that says she’s not here to please me but to ruin me. Every bob of her head and movement of her mouth is precise and unhurried.

Her hands slide up my thighs, palms dragging, and my legs twitch beneath her grip. I swear under my breath, hips stuttering forward in a motion I can’t control. She doesn’t flinch, just hums low in her throat, a soft vibration that coils through me.

My fingers fist the sheet beside me, jaw clenched tight as I fight the pull.

But it’s useless. She’s got me. Completely.

Every graze of her mouth sends me spiraling closer to the edge, and she knows it—savors it.

She eases back just enough to breathe me in, tongue flicking over the crown of my cock in a way that makes my vision go black at the edges.

And the worst part? The best part?

She’s not even trying to finish me. She’s playing. Exploring. Enjoying the slow unraveling of a man who usually has all the control. But tonight, she’s stripped it right out from under me with nothing but her mouth and a wicked little smile.

Her nails skim the inside of my thigh, and I bite down on a groan, my whole body taut, held together by threads. One more pass. One more breath. I’m?—

But then she pulls back, eyes blazing, lips swollen, face flushed with heat and power and something else entirely. She lets go with a soft, wet sound and glances up, her eyes burning. Her fingers curl around my hips, keeping me there.

She moves up my body with a kind of grace that shouldn’t be possible when you’re tipsy and naked, but somehow, Magnolia makes it feel like poetry.

Her thighs frame my hips as she straddles me again, the warmth of her skin brushing mine in all the places that matter. She kisses my neck, my jaw, then my mouth—slow and deep.

And then—she takes me in.

My breath punches out of my lungs in a sharp exhale. My hands move on instinct, locking around her hips. She moves, hips rolling in a rhythm that’s unhurried, intentional, devastating.

She knows what she’s doing.

I slide a hand up her spine, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades as I pull her down to kiss her.

“I want you to come inside me.”

“I always come inside you, babe.”

My head tips back against the pillow, eyes shuttering closed for half a second. I force them open because watching her this way––her body silhouetted by the light from the bathroom, hair wild, lips parted, eyes locked on mine––is its own kind of high.

When I come, it’s with her name on my lips, and her body wrapped around mine.

She collapses on top of me, breathless and boneless, her cheek against my chest, our skin slick and tangled and real in that way only the aftermath can be. My arms slide around her, pulling her closer, anchoring us both in a quiet that hums with afterglow.

Her fingers trace lazy shapes on my ribs, and I think she might be falling asleep until she blurts out, “I want a baby.”

My entire body stills beneath her, every nerve suddenly on alert.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first. I heard her––clear as day––but some small, stunned part of me wonders if I really did.

And then she lifts her head, looks me in the eyes. “The IUD––I want to take it out.”

A beat.

“I want to get pregnant, Alex. Soon. So the baby’s born at the start of your off-season. I know we haven’t been married long, but I’ll be thirty-two soon, and you want a big family, and I don’t want to wait.”

My heart pounds hard and hope unspools in my chest like a runaway thread.

She’s serious. She wants this.

“You know that’s what I want. If it’s what you want too, I’m all in.”

She smiles. Soft. Certain. “It’s what I want.”

I wrap my arms around her, tighter than before.

“Okay,” I whisper into her hair. “We’re gonna make a baby.”

And bam. The rest of my life and everything I’ve ever wanted tilts into place.