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Her laughter grows until she’s shaking with it, and I can’t help but smile because we were always good at this. I like that some things haven’t changed.

Finally, she tips her head back against the couch cushions and sighs. “I’d have to be crazy to marry you. I can name ten reasons it’s a horrible idea.” Laurel raises her head and challenges me. “You’d have to be crazy to marry me too. I’ll never be one of those girls who just gives in and does what you tell her to.”

Yes, you will, I think. I don’t say it. Yet. Tonight is one battle, and that’s a minefield I know to avoid until later in the war. What I say is, “We’re already together.”

“How do you figure that?”

Her green eyes are like stained glass and when the light catches them, it puts me off my game for a second.

“I text you every day. When I’m late, you want to know why. You also want details about my life, like why I’m wearing a suit. And you don’t just want answers, you want them immediately.” A blush warms her cheeks, and it’s fucking gorgeous. She’s gorgeous. As usual. Setting a hand on her leg, I rub her calf through the fabric of her jeans. “Admit it. You’ve got expectations. We’re already in this.”

The color that stains her cheeks answers for her.

“Come on. Put the ring on.”

“If I wear it, everyone will find out about us. I’m not sure I want anyone to know. Let’s see how it goes—”

“Everyone will know anyway.”

“Not if we don’t live together.”

“A piece of me is inside you, Laurelyn.” A beat passes. “Married. Nothing less.”

She swallows, looking away. “Everything I know about you makes me afraid to do this.” Laurel shakes her head, then picks up the ring.

Her sigh is heavy as she slides the ring on her finger.

I’m happy I won, but I’m careful not to smile. Tonight is one battle.

Chapter 8

Laurel

The bed-shaking sex is raw and intense, and so are my orgasms. The things he whispers in my ear are filthy and possessive, and they make me come again and harder, this time with him thrusting inside me, against my cervix. He comes inside me with a tight grip on my hair and my breast.

Afterward, as I lie boneless against the sheets, he’s asleep within moments.

In the distance I hear my phone ring. It’s been ringing on and off for an hour. As I remove his arm from around my waist, he stirs.

“My phone,” I whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

His eyes don’t open, and he settles. When I’m safely out of the bed, I glance back at him. Lying on his back naked, he’s disgustingly beautiful. I feel shallow admitting it, but it’s part of why he’s so hard to resist.

The calls and voicemails are from my mom. Monet went out for cigarettes and didn’t come back. She’d been getting calls that Mom thinks are about a party at her friend Dini’s. Monet’s not supposed to see Dini since they used together, and Monet’s definitely not solid enough in her recovery to go to a party.

Rubbing my forehead, I want to scream. Trying to take care of Monet and saving her from herself is exhausting. My phone lands on the counter with a slap. A hot shower and sleep are what I need, but I settle for the hot shower.

In the bedroom, I dress as quietly as possible because he’s still asleep.

A floorboard squeaks when I go to find socks. Trick stirs and opens his eyes.

“Why are you dressed?”

“I have to go out.”

Drawing in a breath, he looks at his watch before letting his arm drop again. “Where?”

“You can go back to sleep.”