I’m pretty sure my mother will have her bags packed by morning.
“Sounds delightful,” she purrs. “I’d love to come.”
“We can’t exactly kick her out.”
Loren steps into the room, pointing her wet toothbrush at me. I’m sprawled across one of two matching armchairs opposite the king-sized canopy bed.
Stop looking at her lips.
Stop looking at her lips.
Stop looking at her lips.
Yeah, thanks, brain. I’ll get right on that, just as soon asyouerase the memory of how those lips felt when she kissed me for real. Because honestly, that one small taste I got in the kitchen makes me want to do nothing but kiss her for real.
Forever.
But as soon as we found ourselves alone, behind closed doors, Loren and I agreed to table any talk about us as a couple until after my mom is gone. Oh, and also any action with us. As a couple.
I officially hate tabling.
“Can’t we, though?” I grumble.
“Hold that thought.” She wipes a drip of white paste off her chin and ducks back into the bathroom. Water runs in the sink over a series of loud slurps and spits. And if you think this isn’t adorable, you don’t know my wife.
Everything she does is incredibly cute.
Unfortunately, moving forward with whatever’s evolving between us is just too risky right now. In too many ways. Forone thing, we’re officially sharing a bedroom, which in and of itself is a temptation, and I’d absolutely never put her in a position of … romantic escalation … just because our proximity made said escalation too simple.
Then there’s the fact that my mom is in this house watching us like a hawk. If anything about our vibe suddenly shifts, she could get suspicious. And suspicion is not our friend. So. For the sake of the trust, and for any romantic relationship Loren and I might pursue, our number one goal right now has to be solidifying my mom’s belief in our marriage. And that means sticking with the image we’ve already established. Consistency is key.
Consistency is also torture.
Especially because, honestly, sharing a bedroom with Loren doesn’t even feel all that weird. We’ve been living together for weeks, and I’ve observed her in all different types of sleepwear and workout clothes. Our casual daily wardrobes. Even wedding attire. So seeing her brush her teeth in her pink tank and shorts combo seems almost … normal.
In the most irresistible way.
Which is why I’m gonna have to push these armchairs together so we won’t have to share a bed, too.
Thatmight do me in.
Also? I've got to get my mom out as soon as possible.
Loren returns to the room, toothbrushing done. “Okay. Where were we?”
“Kicking my mother out?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “We can’t. I mean, yes, she’s tried to control your life for the past decade.”
“True.”
“And because of her, you almost married some expensive debutante named Rosalind.”
“Also true.”
“And we’ll probably have to get a cat if your mom hasn’t left by the weekend.”
I puff out a laugh. “What part of all this makes you not want to kick her out?”