Page 17

17

ALLISON

A lthough it took me a long time to fall asleep, I finally did.

Now, I regret it.

I’m barely conscious, but I feel the solid ball of warmth beneath me.

A heavy arm is wrapped around my waist. A muscular thigh is slotted between mine. My hand is pressed against a wall of steel.

What I feel beneath my palm is bare. Naked.

The warmth penetrates my skin. A steady heartbeat thrums against my palm.

Oh, fuck no.

I’m curled into Connor again like a goddamn koala bear.

Like I actively sought out his warmth in my sleep.

I cautiously lift my head.

Connor is watching me, a smug smile curling his far too kissable lips.

Amusement dances in his eyes.

He looks comfortable and lazy, like he could stay like this all day.

I open my mouth, but a squeak comes out when he tightens his arms around me.

In the slowest, most devastatingly smug morning voice, he rocks my goddamn world. "Good morning, wife."

I immediately try to pull away. To put distance between us.

But he refuses to let go, his arms imprisoning me against his sculpted body.

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" I scream at him, fully unhinged, smacking at his chest.

He easily catches my hands, smirking at me. "You don’t like it?"

I stare at him like I’m about to strangle him. "NO, I DON’T LIKE IT!"

His smirk deepens. "Hmm," he hums. "Sure seemed like you did when you were clinging to me all night."

My entire face burns, and my mouth drops open like I’m about to catch flies. I blink at him slowly, trying to understand why I’m reaching for him in the middle of the night.

Is it my abandonment issues?

Though my father was physically present, emotionally he was cold and distant on a good day, cruel and hateful on a bad one.

My mom passed away when I was ten, which wasn’t her fault.

But as a child, I didn’t understand that.

I blamed her for leaving me with a monster.

That has to be it.

My abandonment issues led to me clinging to the first guy I shared a bed with—which just so happens to be the manipulative, annoying, smug as hell hockey player currently gripping me like a vice.

My eyes meet his.

The annoying left-winger hockey asshole is enjoying himself entirely too fucking much.

He flexes his abs beneath me before ruffling my hair, delivering a final blow like we’re playing Mortal Kombat.

"You’re cute when you’re in denial, sweetheart."

With a force that surprises me, I shove against him.

Maybe it’s because he loosened his grip, but I’m able to bolt out of bed.

I storm into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.

* * *

When I finally emerge, Connor is still lounging in bed, his back against the pillows, stretched out like a king on a throne.

He scrolls on his phone for a few beats before finally glancing up, then back down, dismissing me.

I fume.

He reaches over, grabs his coffee, and takes a slow sip, his eyes dancing mischievously over the rim.

He sets it on the nightstand, then nods his head at the other nightstand. “I got you one, too.”

I blow out a breath, desperately needing the caffeine.

My hand curls around the cup, and a feeling of relaxation courses through me as I lift it to my mouth, moaning when the taste hits my tongue.

“Wife.”

I sputter, spitting out the delicious, life-sustaining nectar as I cough and choke.

He chuckles darkly. “What? You act like it’s not the truth.”

“It’s NOT!” I choke out, rage boiling through my veins. “We aren’t married.”

He leans back, that devilish smirk never wavering. “Yet.”

“Connor. I swear?—”

“If you’re not attracted to me,” he interrupts smoothly. “Why do you keep reacting like you’re trying to convince yourself you’re not?”

“I—”

I swallow hard, shaking with frustration.

“You’re delusional.”

“Maybe.” His gaze flicks over me, slow and consuming. “But you keep coming back to me, don’t you?”