Page 44 of Mr. Brightside

After Jake makes friends with literally everyone around him, he places our order, sticks a twenty in the tip jar, and moves to the end of the kiosk to wait for our drinks. Once they’re ready, he returns, beaming as he hands me a cup and straw.

I eye the beverage skeptically, wondering if it’s what I think it is.

“Iced triple shot oat milk latte with vanilla syrup,” he declares.

I shift my gaze from the cup to my husband. How the hell did he know that?

His smile falters.

“Wait, did I get it wrong?”

The earnestness—the concern. I bite my lip and resist teasing him.

Just like everything he’s done for me over the last week, it’s perfect.

We meander through the terminal and stop in some of the shops to kill time before we board. Jake won’t let me carry my own bag, which is endearing, albeit foreign to me. I’m learning that that’s his MO: He shows he cares by the things he does. His actions say more than his words.

When we turn the corner toward our gate, I stop in my tracks. I’ve always wondered why airports have jewelry counters. Who wants to buy diamonds and precious metals before they get on a plane?

Apparently, me.

“I want rings,” I declare, tossing my empty cup in a recycling bin and striding toward the brightly lit kiosk in the middle of Terminal A.

Jake keeps up with my hustle, but questions my intent.

“What kind of rings?”

I side-eye him as I scan the glass display cases, my heart skipping a beat when I spot the men’s wedding bands.

“Those kinds of rings,” I confirm, pointing to the small selection of traditional wedding bands. We shift over and peer into the illuminated case. The display is so bright I’m tempted to fish out my sunglasses.

Jake sets our bags at his feet and snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me close.

He bows his head low to whisper in my ear. “You want to wear a wedding band so everyone knows you’re mine?”

His question sounds like liquid seduction and sends a shiver down my spine. Goosebumps erupt on just one side of my body as the warmth of his breath dances over my skin.

It’s his presence. His essence. That word.

Mine.

Except his claim on me isn’t what I’m interested in: he already has me in a vise grip—around my heart and my cock—whether he knows it or not.

I shake my head, then lift my gaze in challenge. I lean in and let myself get as close as I dare before leveling him with the truth.

“I want one, too, but it’s not what you think. I wantyouto wear a wedding band so everyone knowsyoubelong tome.”

I can’t stop staring at my ring. It’s a simple platinum band that matches his, and it fits like it was molded just for me. I saw Jake eyeing the blingier options, but I convinced him to get a matching set. Between the Ray-Bans, our wedding suits, and now the rings, he’s a sucker for matching.

I can’t stop touching it. Just like I can’t stop glancing over and looking at his.

I’m sure he knows what I’m doing. He smirks every time he catches me out of the corner of his eye. He stretches his hand and settles it on my thigh, sending bolts of electricity through my femur when he flexes his fingers, bunching the fabric of my linen shorts with each motion.

I grab for his hand and squeeze, silently pleading with him to stop torturing me. I’ll have to stand up and board the plane at any minute, and in these light-colored shorts, my hard-on would be more than obvious.

We’re surrounded by kids on all sides. Apparently, the Saturday morning flight is popular for families traveling to Florida, too. Two little girls whiz by, both wearing mini backpacks and oversized bow headbands. I catch him grinning as he watches them, smiling even wider when the little one catches up and pulls her sister’s bow off her head.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.