by Leddy Harper
She was so responsive to my touch. Always had been. Hell, there were times I only needed to say something the right way and her breathing would change. It’d slow down, become slightly labored. And rather than speak, she’d simply nod and say “yup” or “uh-huh.” But when I used my touch instead of words, I got an entirely different reaction.
With my arm around her waist, I dragged her warm back against my bare chest and curled my body around hers. Much like the week I’d woken up next to her, my hand immediately cupped her breast, as though it was instinct. She pushed her ass against my erection, an involuntary moan rumbling in her chest, and with that one move, every day, every hour, minute and second, between then and now vanished.
“Morning, babe,” I mumbled against the nape of her neck where I buried my face to breathe her in. “As much as I would love to make this morning even better”—I nudged her with my hard-on to let her know what I meant—“I don’t really want to wait another second getting your things into this room and put away where they belong.”
I didn’t have to see her face to recognize the smile on her lips. It sang in her contented sigh and danced along her skin as she curled into me more. Then she turned, shifted onto her back to meet my gaze, and I wanted to thank the heavens for the ability to witness it. The soft curl of her lips. The spark in her hooded eyes. The proof that I wasn’t in this alone.
“Where did you come from?” Exhaustion scratched through her morning voice.
With a smile, I pushed up on my elbow to lean over her, to see her better. “I’ve been right here, right beside you, this whole time. I haven’t gone anywhere, babe.”
“No,” she whispered with a slow shake of her head. Then she reached up and cupped my cheek, the heat from her palm spreading through me like a wildfire. “That night. In front of the club. When we met for the first time. Where did you come from? Why were you there?”
As much as I wanted to spin an elaborate tale of fate and divine intervention, I settled for a more realistic truth. One she’d understand better than the stars guiding me to her. “I was on my way into Rulebreakers to meet a friend.”
“That late?”
“Well…yeah. I was at the shop when Indi called, so I was close by. She’d gone out with her little sister but ended up getting ditched and asked if I could pick her up.”
Puzzlement pinched her brow, forcing me to fall onto my back. Yet that didn’t stop her from pushing for more. Reversing our positions, she lifted herself with her elbow and leaned over me, seeking answers I didn’t care to give. “But you didn’t pick her up.”
“No, I didn’t. I found you instead.”
“What happened to her? How’d she get home?”
“Uber, I guess.” I shrugged against the pillow beneath me. “It’s not like she needed a ride. That’s what she did—she’d go out with her sister, have too many drinks, and then call me for a ride. Sometimes I picked her up; sometimes I didn’t.”
Mercy was silent for a moment, although it seemed to be more of a quiet contemplation than doubtful hesitation. “I’m assuming you did more than pick her up and drop her off at her place when you did this?”
“Yeah.”
“And yet you chose to drive a stranger all over town, then take her back to your place—all without once making a move on her—instead of getting laid?”
One corner of my mouth curled just enough to create a burning ache in my cheek. “Yeah.”
“How’d she take that?”
I lifted the covers and sighed at my deflated erection. “Moby doesn’t like it when you spend naked time asking why I didn’t sleep with another woman.”
“Moby?” She pushed away with a smile brightening her entire face, lighting up her eyes until they resembled two shiny pennies. Sitting up, she shook her head and allowed the most infectious giggle to drift through the room like an easy breeze. “You named your penis Moby?”
“What else was I supposed to name him?”
Her laughter didn’t let up. “Is it strictly because of Moby Dick? Or because he’s as big as a whale? Wait…never mind. I don’t want to know. Pretend I didn’t ask.”
“All of the above, babe.” There was something about teasing her until her cheeks turned the color of cherries that made my heart speed up. I loved how innocent she acted. Even though we both knew how naughty she was between the sheets.
She’d checked off every last box on my list, and then added more, checking those off as well. And for the life of me, I had no idea how I’d gotten so damn lucky to have found her. All I knew was that I must’ve done something extraordinary in a past life to have earned a chance to have her in my arms. In my life.
“I can’t with you,” she said through rumbly humor as she climbed off the bed. “I’m going to start the coffee before you name my lady bits.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” I hadn’t, although admitting that wouldn’t have been as much fun.
As she bent over to pull up her panties, I smacked her ass. Hard. Earning a yelp and the most gorgeous grin I’d ever seen. And even though I didn’t necessarily want her to get dressed or leave the room, I needed coffee—purely for the energy required to keep her in bed all day.
13
Mercy
It’d taken a few minutes of frantic searching to remember I’d left everything in the car last night—my phone included. And once I’d retrieved it, I wished I hadn’t.
Thirteen missed texts.
Seven missed calls.
Don’t get me started on the emails or social media notifications.
Two of the messages were from my parents, as well as a phone call and voicemail. The urgent call us back! text was enough to move on and save that one for last. Skipping over the little blue dot next to Jordan’s name, I tapped Stella’s while pulling on a pair of leggings I’d managed to grab before Brogan moved every last piece of my clothing out of the spare room.
The number of unread texts in our thread made me laugh, roll my eyes, worry, and sigh with relief all at once. At least I knew the majority of those thirteen messages had come from my best friend and not my ex.
Message one: Have you seen the Google News feed??
Message two: Well, now that I think about it…I doubt Google chooses the same articles for both of us. Then again, I’m pretty sure you’ve searched Wrong’s name enough times for the bots to assume you’d be interested in them now.
Message three: You’re not reading your texts, which worries me. Knowing you, you’re freaking out and rocking back and forth in a corner somewhere. Should I come and feed you tequila? Binge on chocolate cake in bed?? (Wrong is welcome to join us)
That was enough to cause my heart to stop. I had no idea what she was talking about. And considering the abundance of notifications that currently littered my screen in the form of annoying red dots—my complete lack of a social life meant I rarely had to deal with them—I had a very bad feeling I wouldn’t like it.
Google. News. Freaking out. Wrong.
The combination of those things couldn’t have equated to anything good.
Without reading the rest of her texts, I exited out of the message app and tapped the icon with the colorful G. Breathing became easier when I scrolled through the generated list of articles—an odd mix of reputable news and trashy gossip—and didn’t see anything alarming. Well, aside from a headline about a woman who had a quarter of her ribs removed in order to make her waist smaller.
However, all that changed the moment I typed Brogan’s name into the search bar.
“Wrong Daniels, Star Of The Hit Show ‘Wrong Inc,’ Is Married.”
“Women all over are crushed to learn their favorite eligible bachelor, reality star and tattoo artist, Wrong Daniels, is officially off the market.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised that people had found out—considering Brogan had no qualms about announcing it to the entire shop anytime I visited. Honestly, I should’ve been surprised it’d taken this long for people to start talking.
After all, we’d been married for a month. Had I taken a second to contemplate the whole world talking about his relationship status, I might’ve expected it sooner. But for some reason, I never thought about it—after all, people in normal relationships don’t have to worry about their marital status popping up on Google alerts.
I’d just started to think this wasn’t as bad as I had initially assumed when another headline caught my attention, stopping me mid-thought. Dead in my tracks. My lungs nothing but two shriveled organs, and my heart ceasing to beat.
“Daniels’ New Wife Said ‘I Do’ While Engaged To Another Man.”
I tapped on the link and skimmed the words in search of my name. Halfway through the second paragraph, there it was. Mercy Wright. As well as my age and where I was from. I didn’t scroll any further. Didn’t skim other words. I refused to see what was said about me, knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“I’m not sure which drawers you want all your clothes in, so I left them folded on the bed in piles.” Brogan’s voice startled me, which made me gasp, effectively forcing me to take a breath for the first time in far too long.
When I turned to face him, the sight of his bare chest, covered in colored ink, calmed me in a way I hadn’t expected. And the way he leaned into the room with his hands gripping the edges of the doorframe filled me with a sense of protection, even from several feet away. Just like that, the anxiety that had riddled my entire body quieted to a slow sizzle, all because of his presence.
It was as though my soul knew he’d keep me safe.
“Oh, that’s okay. Thanks, baby.” I smiled and prayed he couldn’t see the remnants of panic in my eyes. “I’ll put them away in a minute.”
Brogan regarded me a little longer than usual. Eyes slightly squinted. Lips almost pursed. He’d obviously picked up on the unease that lingered just beneath my ribs. But at least he didn’t question it. Rather than point it out, he said, “No worries. Finish up in here, and I’ll go pour us some coffee. Meet you in the kitchen when you’re done.”
I held my breath until he disappeared from the doorway. Once it was safe, I released the longest, heaviest sigh that left me empty, and then went back to Stella’s texts. However, the paranoid thoughts wouldn’t quiet. Add in the constant fear of Brogan returning, and she might as well have sent me gibberish. So, I took the phone to the bathroom, turned on the faucet to drown out the noise in my head, and sat on the toilet to finish going through Stella’s rant.
Message four: Answer me woman!!!
Message five: That’s it. I’m getting on a plane.
Message six: Disregard that last text. The next available flight is tomorrow morning. I’ll be there at noon. Your ass better come pick me up, because I don’t know where the hell he lives. < -- That’s a discussion for another time.
Message seven: Flight is booked. See you tomorrow!
The sharp smack of my palm against my forehead resounded in the small, tiled room, followed by the low rumble of the groan that slipped past my constricted throat. I loved my best friend. I missed her more than I’d thought possible. And honestly, this was the time I needed her most—right when my entire world was on the cusp of exploding. Or imploding…depending on how this all played out. But I worried how Brogan would feel about Stella, someone he’d never met, invading his private life with nearly no warning at all.
I quickly typed out a response, explaining that I’d left my phone in the car overnight and had just seen the news. Then I asked if she’d gotten to the airport yet—hoping there was still a chance I could convince her to postpone her trip until after this all blew over.
She sent a picture of her sitting at the gate next to a hot guy.
Guess there was no changing her mind now.
There were still four more unread texts, and considering the only name with a blue dot next to it was Jordan’s, they were all from him. My only saving grace was that I’d taken off the read receipts for his messages, so he wouldn’t know if I’d seen them or not. I wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d believe me if I told him I hadn’t looked at them, but at this point, I didn’t care.
And I really didn’t care what he believed once I saw what he had to say.
The first one had come in just before eleven the night before. I miss you. A part of me felt bad for him. For what I’d done to him—providing he’d been truthful about who he was with that night. But a little over an hour later, at a few minutes after midnight, he’d sent another. Thanks for making me look like a fool to everyone I know, which was followed up with I hope you’re happy.
The last one was at two in the morning, and I could only imagine how much he’d had to drink by that point. I take it this means you’ve made up your mind. It really shows what kind of person you are that you didn’t bother to tell me and made me find out from other people. I used to think he’d ruin you, but now I think maybe you two are meant for each other. Enjoy your ride to hell.
If I checked Facebook, I’d probably find pity posts on his profile, or memes meant to garner sympathy. I couldn’t handle seeing those. Not because I’d feel bad for him, but because they’d anger me and cause me to respond, and that was the last thing I wanted. So I ignored the red number in the corner of the blue app with the white f and opened my voicemail.
This ought to be fun.
Checking the time of each notification aided in figuring out when the news broke. And so far, the earliest timestamp was from my parents’ missed call—at a quarter to nine. I couldn’t for the life of me recall when I’d arrived at the shop for the fundraiser, or when I’d left. There was a chance I hadn’t seen the alert after running out to find Brogan. My mind had been on getting to him, so I could’ve had a hundred missed calls from the Pope, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
“Mercy, honey…what’s going on? We got a call from your Aunt Grace, and she said something about you eloping with some guy. We’re just wondering what she meant by that. Please call us back when you can. We love you.”
Knowing my aunt, she’d called for gossip. She was the kind of lonely old woman who got out of bed every morning to stick her nose in everyone else’s business. I was pretty sure the only reason people still spoke to her was the friendly smile she wore while making you feel like she was genuinely interested in what you had to say, somehow leaving you convinced that she only gossiped about others, never you.
Apparently, I was the only one who saw through it.
Considering the urgent, call us back! text came almost thirty minutes after the sweet, calm, please call us back when you can voicemail, I could only assume that meant they’d received additional information regarding the news. However, without returning their call, I wouldn’t know for sure what they’d heard.
And I wasn’t in the mood to call them back quite yet.
I’d need coffee for that.
In fact, I would need extreme levels of caffeine to deal with the rest of the notifications that riddled my screen. So I decided to disregard the others in favor of making my way to the kitchen, where Brogan stood—still shirtless, thank God—holding a piping hot cup of coffee in his hand.
“Sorry about that,” I rasped as I took the offered mug and brought it to my lips. “I jumped out of the car so fast last night that I left my phone in the front seat. And it just so happened to be the one night everyone and their brother decided to call or text. Or email. Or send me messages on Facebook.”
Brogan moved to stand in front of me, so close I could smell his skin, and took my coffee from my hand before I could take the first sip. He placed it on the granite next to his, and then lifted me by my hips to perch me on the edge of the counter. All without saying a single word. Then he stepped forward, sliding between my legs and bringing his face closer to mine. I could see in his eyes that I hadn’t pulled one over on him—he more than likely knew something was up before finding me in the spare room earlier.
Being so connected to someone that they could sense things without reason had its downside. Suc
h as right now. All I wanted to do was play it off and pretend a wrecking ball wasn’t headed our way. I’d just made it back into his arms, and I worried that everything I’d discovered this morning—the news, my parents’ concern, as well as Stella coming for a visit—would ruin it all. I simply wanted to enjoy what little time we had before our world came crashing down around us…but no. Brogan wouldn’t let me avoid it. Even though we still had so much to learn about each other, this was a piece of him I’d discovered from the beginning.
“You’re acting eerily calm, babe.” He kept his warm gaze on mine while holding me in place with a firm grip on my thighs. “Either you’ve gotten really good at hiding your fears, or you’ve finally accepted this. So, which one is it, Mercy?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He was no fool. Tilting his head to one side, he called my bluff with his raised brows and intense eyes. “Are you trying to tell me it’s merely a coincidence that everyone and their brother contacted you on the same night the internet blew up with stories of us?”
Ironically, I hadn’t once contemplated the idea that he would’ve already heard about it.
“When did you find out?” I asked in a hesitant, whispered tone. I prayed he wouldn't tell me that he’d seen it last night. Because that would mean he’d kept it from me, knowing how I would’ve reacted. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Right after you left to make coffee. I checked my phone and caught the Google alert.” Thank God he wasn’t a manipulative person. “So tell me, which is it? Have you gotten that good at faking your emotions? Or am I worried for no reason that you’re about to freak out and take off?”