by Elle Wright
“Lovely Grace Washington!” He bit out the words like she disgusted him. “I’m your father and you will respect me.”
“When are you going to respect me, Daddy? This man cheated on me and broke up with me via a text message. But you don’t seem to give a damn. Maybe because you did the same thing to Mom.”
“Lovely!” Dr. Leon shouted.
“No. I can’t believe you’re even entertaining Derrick after what he’s done.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it,” her dad argued. “You told me things just didn’t work out between you and Derrick.”
“Well, now you know. Do something about it.”
Drake wasn’t surprised Love had his back. She always did, willing to go into battle for him at any time. “Calm down,” he whispered against her ear as he massaged her shoulders. “This isn’t helping.”
Love jerked out of his hold. “No. I’m sick of being calm. Daddy, since you love Derrick so much, you marry him.”
Then she stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her. Turning on his heels, he went after her.
“Drake?” Dr. Leon called to him.
He stopped at the door, but didn’t turn around.
“We’re not done yet.”
“We are today,” Drake said. “I need to go see about my wife.”
Chapter 8
Love burst into the lounge area carrying her patient charts and her dreaded, ringing cell phone. It had been ringing nonstop since she’d stormed out of her father’s office that afternoon. Frustrated, she never even looked to see who was calling. She was pretty sure that Drake, her mother and Lana were among the many callers. But she didn’t care. She wanted to be alone.
In five minutes, she’d be safely outside in the frigid air. Anything was better than the hospital at that moment. She’d finish her chart notes at home. Luckily, she didn’t have appointments that day. Love pulled her bag out of the locker and dropped her phone and files inside.
She didn’t stop stuffing her bag when she heard the door open and close behind her. Instinctively, she knew it was Drake. “Go away.”
“Love, we have to talk.”
She groaned when a traitorous tear escaped. “No, we don’t. I’m done talking today. I’m going home. Alone.”
“You can’t just run away.”
She turned around, glared at him. “Why not? I need some distance between us right now.”
Because she couldn’t tell him that the way he was willing to go up against her father, his boss, for her made her swoon inside. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door.
“Wait,” he called.
When he caught up to her, she turned to him. “Just let me go, Drake. I have to go.”
“Why are you flipping out on me? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything, Drake. I’m irritated. And you know I hate to feel this way.”
“We’re in this together.”
She peered up at the ceiling. Last week, her life had been boring but she loved it. Today, her life was anything but boring and she was unraveling at a rapid pace. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Stop being emotional. I need you to talk to me, like you’re Love and I’m Drake.”
“Drake, please. I’m tired, and you’re damn right. I’m emotional.” As she talked, a different type of energy took over. Anger. “We are married. When I envisioned holy matrimony, I pictured a white dress, fresh flowers, soft music, my friends and family surrounding me, and my father walking me down the aisle. I wanted to remember the most important vows I’ll ever make and look back with fondness at my wedding pictures on my silver anniversary.”
It seemed odd to others, but after Derrick broke up with her, she’d wanted to abstain from sex until she found the man she was going to marry. She’d promised herself that the next time she made love to anyone, it would be her husband. Her goal was to replace bad sex memories with good ones, lasting ones.
“Not only did that not happen, my father basically said he didn’t give a damn that the guy he wants for me is the asshole of the century. My mother is running around planning wedding receptions.” She ticked off the reasons on her fingers. “And my best friend, my husband, is acting like we’re going to just get over the fact that we had sex and got married on a whim. As much as I’d like to believe that this will be a story we share with our real spouses someday in a fit of laughter, it’s unrealistic.”
“Love—”
“No, Drake. There is nothing you can say to make this better right now. Please back off. I want to be alone.”
“Okay,” he said simply.
That one word infuriated her even more. Pivoting on her heels, she stalked off and slammed the door behind her.
Twenty minutes later, she was in her home, climbing into bed. Closing her eyes, she took in the fresh linen smell. Her emotions were playing mean tricks on her and she couldn’t take it.
She had no idea what she was going to do. Drake had been her best friend forever. There was little they didn’t know about each other. But his presence was making it worse, with his kind eyes, and the way he cared about her. It was distracting, and she needed to get a grip.
Her father had hurt her. She’d purposefully withheld the real reason she’d broken up with Derrick. Instead, she’d chosen to downplay it as two people who’d grown apart and couldn’t take the weight of a long-distance relationship.
In reality, long distance suited her just fine. It was the infidelity that had made her blood boil. And the lies had sealed his fate. But instead of taking it like a man, he’d chosen to end it first with a short, harsh text message.
To have her father simply shrug it off like it didn’t matter devastated her. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did.
Her parents’ divorce had been absolutely the worst period of her life. Drake had spent countless nights holding her as she cried herself to sleep. Her father had moved to Michigan during her freshman year of high school, the same day her boyfriend had dumped her for not putting out. Drake had stolen a fifth of tequila from his father’s stash and shown up at her house to keep her company.
Smiling, she recalled her first foray into the world of tequila. They’d spent hours talking about nothing and taking shots, before she’d hurled on his brand-new sneakers. There would be many more nights of them being there for each other. When Drake received word that his mother had died, she’d been the only one who could console him.
The sound of her phone buzzing drew her out of her memories. She glanced at it and read Drake’s text:
I know you’re pissed. I’ll give you a few hours, then I’m coming over for dinner. Make something good. I’ll bring dessert.
She couldn’t help the small laugh it elicited. He always could cheer her up. Then she typed in her response: I’m not cooking. But I want a decadent and expensive dessert.
Love turned her phone off and rolled over on her side. A nap was exactly what she needed. As she lay there, her eyes feeling heavy, she prayed sleep would come sooner rather than later. Yawning, she burrowed into the down pillow.
“I, Lovely, take you, Drake, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“I like the sound of that,” Drake murmured against her lips. Nipping at her ear, he whispered, “I, Drake, take you, Lovely, to have and to hold from this day forth. Forever.”
His mouth brushed against hers before kissing her fully. The searing kiss that followed curled her toes, it was so good. His lips were soft, but firm. And she was lost in him.
“Did we really just do this?” she asked, peering into his hooded eyes.
“Yes.” He swept his thumb under her chin, down her neck.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her eyelids, her nose, then her mouth. “Drake, did we make a mistak
e?”
“If we did, it’s the best mistake I ever made.”
He kissed her again, pulling her flush against him. Without warning, he picked her up and carried her out of the chapel.
Love’s eyes popped open, and she sat upright as their wedding night replayed in her dream. Again. Every detail filled her mind—from the touches, the kisses, the—Shit.
He’d kissed her with a sweet tenderness she’d never felt from him before, and she’d wanted him like no other man before him. It was a perfect wedding kiss, one that could and should go down in the record books. He’d at least given her that. As butterflies tickled her stomach, she relived the moment they’d come together, him inside her, filling her completely. A soft moan escaped from her parted lips at the memory. It was everything. He’d made it everything.
Squeezing her eyes—and her legs—closed, she screamed into her pillow. How the hell was she supposed to look at him and not think about it?
A little while later, Love shuffled into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she pulled out a casserole pan, humming to herself when she looked down at the delectable vegetable lasagna she’d made the night before. She’d been so wired from thinking, she’d decided to put that energy to good use and cook.
Her phone rang and she looked down at her mother’s face staring back at her. Not going to answer that. Not now. The last person she needed to speak with was her giddy mom, Gloria. Most conversations with her ended up being about Love’s lack of companionship or her mother’s lack of grandkids. But that was before the eventful reunion. Now that she’d gone and married Drake, she was sure the conversation would turn to wedding receptions and the six grandkids Gloria couldn’t wait to have. This event was bound to be a spectacle.
Despite her mother’s weird ways, she’d made a name for herself as an event planner for many years before retiring to open a flower shop. Love admired her for not letting the divorce send her to the bottle or catapult her into a sinking depression. Gloria Washington had made great strides to become a formidable businesswoman. She’d started out with a few small jobs creating floral displays for her neighborhood church. One Sunday, an executive at the Bellagio Hotel in Vegas had visited the church for a function. The visitor had been so impressed by the display, she’d insisted on meeting Gloria. That meeting had turned into a job at the hotel in the Sales and Catering Department. Gloria’s career grew from there, and she eventually went out on her own and opened her own shop.
Even now, no matter how she was feeling, her mom managed to get out of bed every morning and make it to work. Love couldn’t be more proud.
Love checked her voice mail and text messages just in case it was an emergency. No messages, so it must not be important. I love you, Mom. But I still don’t want to talk to you.
Cutting a hefty piece of lasagna, Love set it on a plate and put it in the microwave. While it warmed, she went to the wine rack and pulled a bottle of pinot noir from her reserves. Once she’d poured a nice glass for herself, she swirled the liquid around and took in the fruity, yet earthy, aroma. Love took a sip and let it rest in her mouth a moment before swallowing. Perfect.
The ding of the microwave signaled it was time to eat and she hurried over to retrieve her dinner plate. She heard the front door open and close, but stayed put. She knew it was Drake. He was the only one who had a key.
Her phone rang again, and she was tempted to answer if only to stop the constant calls. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Drake stroll into the kitchen and slide a box onto the countertop. She didn’t have to look inside to know what it was. The box was from her favorite bakery. Distracted, she almost didn’t see the hands reaching for her plate of lasagna.
Love smacked the back of one. “Don’t you dare. Get your own piece.”
“Damn. Okay.”
“I knew I was asking for it when I gave you a key. You’re always letting yourself in and helping yourself to my food. Maybe you should leave a twenty on the counter for groceries.”
“Ha. You’re funny.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slapped a crisp twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “You know I don’t eat homemade meals unless you cook for me.”
Love ignored the cash and the man in front of her, and finished her glass of wine. She burped. “Get that dirty money off my counter.” She cut another piece and put it in the microwave.
Once again, her phone chimed. “Is that your mom?” Drake asked.
“Why?”
“She called me and asked where you were and why you weren’t answering her calls.”
Great. “Did you tell her I was asleep?”
“I did.”
She pulled his lasagna out of the microwave when it was done and set it in front him. He’d refilled her glass of wine and poured one for himself. They settled in for a quiet meal.
“So, I called the chapel today,” Drake told her. “Everything is legit.”
Love knew that. Her dreams proved that much. They’d gotten married in a cheesy, gold trimmed chapel by a minister in an Elvis costume for heaven’s sake. It was too odd to not be true.
After a few minutes, Love said, “Did you know you’re the third man I’ve had sex with?” Drake choked on his food, covering his mouth with his napkin. She waited until he finished chewing before she spoke again. “I realized that we’ve never been the type of friends to talk about sex—especially my sex life.”
“Maybe it’s because sex should be kept between the two people having it?”
She tilted her head, assessing him. Drake was her best friend for a reason. Sure, he was loud, annoying, and he could be a jerk some days. But he was sincere, sweet and loyal every day. She smirked. “Still, we’ve shared so much with each other and it’s never come up. Weird, huh?”
For some reason, she couldn’t stop staring at him, letting her eyes wander over the clean lines of his face. He was focused on everything but her, yet she found herself entranced by the mere strength of him—his strong hands, the tiny scar under his right eyebrow, the way his dark rinse jeans hugged his thighs, the tattoo on his arm that poked out from beneath his short-sleeved shirt. He was a beautiful man. She’d never really appreciated it before, but it seemed to be all she could think of in that moment.
“You’re staring,” he muttered, pushing his food around his plate.
“Sorry.” She finished her second glass of wine and moved to the sink. As she rinsed the dishes, she heard him stand up and walk over to her. Pausing momentarily to breathe, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as he leaned his hip against the sink.
“Love, I’m sorry.”
She swallowed. “Why?”
“I can’t help but feel like I took advantage of you that night.”
“Is that what’s been bothering you?”
He nodded, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.
“We were both drunk, Drake. It’s not an excuse, though, because we both know better. I make it a point to tell the women I see every day to watch their alcohol intake. But things happen. If I had to get drunk and throw my inhibitions out the window, I’m glad it was with you.” Their gazes met. After swallowing hard once again, she said, “I mean, it’s good that I had sex with you and not some random guy in a bar.” Shut up, Love. Except she couldn’t stop talking. “I’m just saying...well, I trust you more than anybody.” Just stop talking. “And it wasn’t like it was bad sex. It was good.”
He picked up her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. “It was,” he agreed, his voice low and husky. His thumb traced the length of hers, and her nerves stirred. “But don’t you wonder why we chose that night to...”
“Have sex?”
He nodded. “We’ve been friends for almost thirty years. It’s not like we haven’t been drunk together before. Why this trip? Why now?”
“Does it have to mean someth
ing deep?”
“Shouldn’t it?” He squeezed, and her gaze dropped to their joined hands. “You’re a beautiful person, not the type of woman that any man—including me—should take to bed without it meaning something.”
“Do you love me?”
He gaped at her and she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Drake, it’s not a trick question. I’m not asking if you’re in love with me. Do you love me?”
“Of course I love you. You already know that. You’re the most important person in my life.”
“Then it means something. We can’t dwell on it, though, so let’s move forward.”
Drake arched a brow. “And ignore that it happened?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think we could ignore it if we tried.”
The room descended into silence. He stood there, his eyes locked on hers, his hands holding hers. He inched closer to her.
“Love?”
At that point, she wasn’t sure why she’d even started the conversation. It was bad enough that just being near him was doing all kinds of things to her body. “Yes?” she said, her voice coming out more whispery than she’d intended.
His thumb swept over her palm. “I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s not that simple.”
Oh, God. He smells so good. His cologne washed over her and she couldn’t help but lean closer to get another whiff. Today he smelled like black pepper, leather and wood.
“I don’t think it’s going to be so easy to move on from this,” he added.
She looked at his fingers as they drew tiny circles over her wrist and up her arm. Her heart beat in her ears as a warmth spread from her belly to her toes. He was talking, but she had no idea what he was saying. She was too entranced with his mouth, the feel of his breath on her skin. Her eyes wandered down his neck to the top button of his shirt.
Stop picturing him naked, Love.
“But you’re right,” he said.
Confused, she frowned and peered up at him. “Huh?”
He chuckled, and she couldn’t help but smile. Touching her face, then her neck, she let out an airy giggle. Breathe, Love. Focus.