Aced

Hurt and hope: Colton’s unexpected speech last week as he left Sully’s Pub. Using my name and whore in the same sentence stabbed deeply into my resolve and stung enough that I’d picked a fight over it. But at the same time, I appreciated the fact he was saying something, doing something, to try and expose Eddie.

So many things, all unexpected, have caused my head to be in a constant whirl and our lives in upheaval even though I’ve never left the confines of our property.

“I wonder if your little speech the other night caused reporters to start digging up info on Eddie?” I murmur as I watch the top of his head.

He looks up and meets my eyes. “Not now, Ry. I don’t want to talk about any of that right now. I want to spend time with my wife, paint her toes, talk to her, and not let the outside world in, okay?” He nods his head to reinforce what he’s saying. “It’s just you and me and—”

“Nothing but sheets,” I finish for him, causing a huge grin to spread on those lips of his.

“I haven’t heard that phrase in a long time,” he says with a reflective laugh as he screws the cap onto the nail polish. I notice how much red is on his fingers from trying to fix his overage. He looks back down and shakes his head. “Not as good as when you do it, but—”

“It’s perfect,” I tell him without even looking at my toes. The overage of paint on my skin is almost like an added badge reflecting how much he loves me. “Besides, the part on my skin will come off in the shower.”

“It will?” he asks as he spreads his fingers out and looks at his own speckled with nail polish. My bad boy marked by the deeds of a good husband. “Thank Christ, because I was worried how I was going to get it off. I thought I was going to have to use carb cleaner.”

A giggle falls from my mouth and it feels so good. All of this does: his effort, his softer side, seeing him look so out of place, and simply spending time together.

He blows gently on my toenails to help them dry, and I find so much comfort in the silence. I lean my head back on the pillow and close my eyes as he moves from one foot to the other.

“I know you’ll do good at the race next week,” I murmur eventually, not wanting him to think from my whirlwind of emotions earlier that I’m as worried as I let on.

“I promise I’ll come home to you and the baby safe and whole,” he says, eyes intense and heart on his sleeve like the tattoos on his flank. And I know that’s a promise he really can’t make. After all these years together I know he can’t control what others do or don’t do on the track, but I hold dearly to the fact he’s cognizant of it because that’s all I can ask. “And with apple pie a la mode.”

The laughter comes again because that’s my go-to craving right now. Well, besides sex with him. “You know a way to a woman’s heart.”

“Nope. Just my woman’s.” His eyes light up as he shifts off the bed, and I immediately become saddened because I fear our time together seems over. I know he has a lot of work to do since he’s so behind staying home with me, so I won’t ask him to keep me company any longer. Besides he’s been more than sweet enough to me after how I acted in the kitchen.

So I’m taken by surprise when Colton reaches behind my back and under my knees and picks me up off the bed. He’s seriously trying to throw his back out by carrying my pregnant ass again but the only protest I emit is a startled gasp as I look into his eyes to find a mischievous gleam.

“Hold tight.”

“What are you . . .?” I ask, confused as he sets me down on the edge of the bathtub. I look longingly at the tub and think of what I’d do to climb in it and let the hot water swirl all around me. But no can do being pregnant so I just sit silently and wait to see what Colton is up to.

He steps over and into the tub and one by one picks my legs up so they swing into the oval haven. I stare at him, partially wanting him to tell me to break the doctor’s orders and take a bath, but also surprised that my husband—the man who never follows rules except for when it comes to what the doctor tells me I can and can’t do while pregnant—seems to be going rogue.

And of course I kind of like it.

“Stand up,” he says as he grabs my hands and helps to pull me up so we are both standing barefoot and fully clothed in the empty tub. With his eyes locked on mine, he drops to his knees and very cautiously pulls my shorts down. His eyes light up and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth as he carefully pulls each foot out of the leg holes to avoid messing up my polish. When he’s done and I’m staring at him like he’s crazy, he looks up at me and orders, “Scoot back on the edge with your shoulders against the wall.”

I do as he says, my butt on the lip of the tub and my back pressed against the chilled wall behind, and watch with curiosity as he drops to his knees before me. With his tongue tucked in his cheek, he scoots closer, hands pressing my knees apart as he moves between them.

I suck in my breath, eyes flashing up to lock onto his. My need for him still stronger than ever, but hidden beneath the layers of emotion this week has brought upon us, resurfaces. My body reacts viscerally to the thought of his hands on me: a warmth floods through my veins, my nipples harden, my heart picks up its pace, and my breathing evens.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, snapping me from the visions in my head of his fingers parting me and his tongue pleasuring me.

“Always,” I stutter, knowing the last time he asked me this, the video was released. I hold my breath as he moves the towel from the edge of the tub to uncover a razor blade and shaving balm. Well, maybe not so much. My eyes widen as I realize he’s trying to fix the second problem I complained about in my childish rant downstairs.