by BJ Harvey
I snort at her explanation. That’s definitely one way to describe it. I suppose it sounds better than me challenging my ex-girlfriend to put her money where her mouth is and marry me.
“Wow. That’s so romantic,” she says softly, her eyes going dreamy.
Faith laughs. “I definitely didn’t see it coming. How about you, hubby?”
I can’t help but grin; I like her calling me that. “Let’s just say it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” One I’ve been thinking about my entire adult life.
“Still,” Skye says, grabbing another fry, “it’s pretty cool. Seeing someone after so long and knowing right then that you want to marry them.”
Well, when you put it like that…
“I don’t even know if I want to ever get married, let alone anytime soon. I can’t sort out my sex life, let alone my ‘forever’ life.”
It’s almost as if Skye’s thinking out loud. She definitely strikes me as a handful, and part of me wonders if that’s the kind of woman Cohen should go for. Not that he’d ever talk to any of us guys about his love life. She actually reminds me of my sister, and I wonder if that’s why Cohen kept Skye away from Abi at the end-of-flip celebration we had for Jax’s Barbie Dreamhouse.
“Hey,” Cohen says, taking a seat. Speak of the devil. He reaches over and nabs some fries for himself before turning to Faith. “How did the car shopping go?”
She sighs. “I can’t decide. Every time I thought I’d found what I wanted, the salesman would suggest something else and confuse the hell out of me.”
Co bumps me with his elbow. “Remember when Jamie got his first truck, and you two and Jax ‘borrowed’ it to go to the lakefront?”
Faith gasps, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “He was so mad. I swear he almost blew a gasket.”
“His face was so red I thought for sure he was gonna cause us real physical pain,” I say.
“Isn’t that when he ratted you out to the moms, and you were all on cleaning duty for both houses for weeks?” Co asks.
I grunt. “He was so no fun back then.”
Cohen snorts, shaking his head. “You say that like he’s fun now. He still doesn’t share his damn truck.”
“Says the only one of us without one.” My wide smirk earns me the bird.
“You guys have known each other for a while then?” Skye asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
Faith reaches out and roughs up Cohen’s hair. “Since this one was three years old.”
Skye’s brows go sky high. “Wow.”
“And yet, Faith Baker still can’t make up her mind about anything,” my brother says, rolling his eyes.
Faith freezes and I realize Cohen just hit a raw nerve. I wade in to divert the conversation back into safer waters.
“That’s why I decided burgers were needed—to clear the mind so she can make a decision,” I add.
“Am I that indecisive?” Faith asks.
Co and I look at each other before turning back to her. “Yes,” we say in unison.
“God, were you guys always this hot?” Skye says, gaining everyone’s attention. A side-glance at Cohen catches him rolling his eyes, while Faith giggles and I just shake my head.
“I grew up with all four Cook brothers, and let me tell you, the answer is yes, and my sister would agree with me.”
“Damn. How did you ever leave town with that around?” Skye asks with a giggle.
Faith’s gaze lazily slides across the table, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. She first does a quick up-and-down of Cohen, then of me. “I actually don’t know.” Her eyes flash with the intense determination I used to see all the time when we were young. “But I’m definitely not making that mistake again.”
Skye may not catch the meaning of Faith’s statement, but I do.
Obviously, so does Cohen. “Ah, so we better grab our order and get back on the road. I’ll call around to the house on Monday to help out,” my brother says.
I wave him off but can’t look away from my wife.
“What’s wrong? I thought they—” Skye starts to say.
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain in the rig.”
“But we didn’t say goodbye,” she says.
“I doubt they’d even hear you right now,” Cohen says with a chuckle before—I assume—they walk away.
“Do you mean it?” I ask Faith, my eyes locked with hers.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Every damn word. I’m not going anywhere.”
An hour and a half later, we’re walking out of the Ford dealership we visited earlier, my wallet a lot lighter, a dazed and slightly confused Faith by my side, and the keys to the brand-new white Mustang I just bought her clutched in her hand.
Stopping in front of the car, she looks down at it, her eyes wide with wonder. She turns toward me and closes the distance between us. Flattening her palms to my chest, she leans in, staring at me. She looks at her dream car then back again. “I can’t believe you did that,” she whispers, her voice thick. “I just…” A lone tear slides down her cheek, and I lose hold of any resistance I had. I cup her face, my thumb swiping the tear away as my eyes roam her face. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“You’ve always wanted this car, ever since you drove Ezra’s when we came back from college that first summer.”
Her lips part, her breath catching. “I swear you have the memory of an elephant.”
“I remember everything about you,” I say, my voice rough. “But most importantly, now you’re my wife, I’m not going to let you go without because you don’t feel you should have your dream car.”
“It’s just not practical.”
“Fuck being practical. Life is too damn short.”
“Thank you, Bry.” She lifts up and brushes her mouth against mine. My hand on her hip grows a mind of its own and dips lower to cup her ass and hold her close. My lips part and her tongue slides against mine with purpose and promise. I lose any semblance of control—like I ever had any around her—and tangle my fingers in her hair and deepen the kiss, taking everything I can from her and groaning as she meets me stroke for stroke. When she whimpers into my mouth, it takes everything I have not to take her on the hood of her brand-new car.
A clearing throat breaks the moment, bringing me back to reality. We break apart, Faith’s hooded eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips my sole focus until George, the car salesman, interrupts us.
“Uh… sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Cook, I was wondering whether you needed anything else?”
Faith giggles and steps back, turning around to face the man who has miserable timing. I run a hand through my hair, my other arm dropping to discreetly adjust a somewhat disappointed body part of mine.
“We’re fine but thank you for all of your help. I can’t wait to drive Betsy home,” Faith says.
I freeze, my eyes bugging out at her. “Betsy?” I splutter. “You’re naming a car like this Betsy?” I wave a hand toward the vehicle with the new offensive name. “You need a better name than that.”
She grins and puts her hands on her hips in the universal women’s pose that spells trouble. “I’m sorry. Was it not my name on the papers?”
I clench my jaw and give a quick nod. “Then Betsy it is. Now I was going to let you drive her home,” she says, reaching down and running her palm over the hood, “but now I think Betsy and I need to get acquainted.” She turns back to the amused salesman. “Thank you for all of your help, George,” she says, shaking his hand. She spins around to face me. “And thank you, husband, for making my dreams come true.” Fuck that feels good. “But Betsy and I have a date.”
She walks around to the driver’s side door. “See you at home,” she says. Her smile is so huge, it’s almost blinding. Her eyes are bright with excitement, and I love that I was the one to help put it there.
“You’ve got your hands full with that one,” George says with a grin, both of us watching as Faith and Betsy drive down the road.
“The woman or
the car?” I ask.
“Both,” he says, turning to me and slapping my back. “Good luck, man. I think you’re gonna need it.”
With the memory of Faith’s lips on mine, her taste on my tongue, and the look of sheer delight in her eyes, somehow, I think he’s right.
Faith
It’s ‘move into your husband’s bedroom’ day, and I’m sitting at the dining table, steaming mug of coffee in hand, with a fresh pot ready for Bryant whenever he wakes up. The contractors are ready to strip back the rest of the house, leaving us with a barely-there kitchen, a couch, a TV on the floor, and a master bedroom and flimsy bathroom. It’s pretty much like our first studio apartment back in college.
Twenty minutes later, Bryant walks into the dining room, freezing when he sees me. He does a double-take, looking back out the way he came before turning back to me. “I’m sorry. Have I walked into an alternate dimension where Faith Baker is a morning person?”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m Faith Cook now remember. It’s even all official at work and everything.”
He opens his mouth and stops. “Already?”
I nod. “Well that is my name now, isn’t it?” I tilt my head, wondering if I read him completely wrong. “I always said I couldn’t wait to become Mrs. Bryant Cook.”
“Yeah… but then—”
“Then is in the past.” It isn’t, we both know that, but I’m not going to risk starting the day off on the wrong foot. “Present-day Faith Baker distinctly remembers saying I do, and taking your name is something that I know is important to you, which makes it important to me.”
He stares at me, his eyes burning with such intensity, I’m tempted to look down to make sure I haven’t been scorched alive. “You’re lucky then.”
“Why’s that?”
“Mom called and asked if we’d like to go over for a low-key BBQ this afternoon? She apologized for the late notice but said it wasn’t anything too fancy.”
“I’d love to. I mean, if you’re okay with going.”
“Is my name Bryant Cook? I was born to love Mom’s cooking. Besides, she said it was in my health’s best interests to have at least one nutritional meal a week.” His grin widens when my jaw hits the ground.
I narrow my eyes when he seems a bit too pleased with himself. “Did she actually say that?”
“No, but your reaction was priceless,” he says, laughing.
I shake my head with a grin. “I’m totally getting you back for that, you know?”
His eyes shine. “Looking forward to it, babycakes.” He moves into the kitchen, grabbing the mug I left out for him and pouring himself a cup of coffee. After turning back around, he leans against the counter and takes a sip. My eyes drifting down his body, enjoying the way the muscles in his forearms extend and contract.
“You okay there? You look a bit flushed.” My head snaps up and meets an amused and—dare I say—heated gaze.
“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine.” I’m not going to apologize for checking him out. It’s not like I haven’t caught him getting his fill a few times over the past week. Sharing a bed is definitely going to be interesting.
Since I kissed him last week, unfortunately, there hasn’t been any more physical contact. We’ve sat on the couch and watched mindless TV at night, and our legs might have touched, but on that drive home in Betsy, I decided that I need Bry to make the next move, whatever that may be. Call it a need for validation on my part, but sometimes a girl likes to be taken, and sometimes she likes to do the taking. This time, the ball is in my husband’s court.
“I’ll make a start on moving the furniture out of your room once I get back,” he says, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“I can help if you want to wait until I’m home?”
His face softens, and I decide it’s my favorite expression of his for today. My new mission is to make him look at me like that over and over again. It’s the same face he used to make when we were together. It was a dead giveaway that I’d done something he liked.
He nods. “That would be great.”
Grinning, I stand and down my drink, walk into the kitchen and almost brush against him as I rinse out my cup and leave it to dry by the sink.
“I better go get dressed so I can hurry back.”
“No rush,” he says warmly. “I might run a few extra miles to compensate for Mom’s cooking.”
I shake my head, laughing quietly. “I’m going to dazzle you with my culinary prowess one day,” I say, arching a brow.
“I look forward to it. My stomach, on the other hand…”
Rolling my eyes, I walk around him toward the hallway door. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I stock up on Pepto-Bismol just in case.”
“Maybe some adrenaline too? Or electrolytes, in case—”
“Haha, yeah. You think you’re so funny. I’m not that bad at cooking,” I say, flipping him the bird as I leave the room, the sound of his laughter waking up the butterflies in my stomach.
It’s not surprising that I’m still smiling when I slide behind the wheel of Betsy and drive off down the road. Two weeks into what I expected to be an awkward and maybe strained marriage and Bryant continues to surprise me. I’m determined to be the best damn wife he’s ever seen, but his open-mindedness is definitely going to make my task of making it all up to him a hell of a lot easier.
We’ve just got to get through our first family meal as a married couple. Then I’ll worry about tonight.
Four hours later, I’m all moved into Bryant’s room, and my bed and drawers from my makeshift bedroom are up against the wall, ready to be transferred to the brothers’ storage unit tomorrow.
Now to face the firing squad known as the four most important people in our lives—our parents.
Bryant parks his truck on the Cooks’ front grass, the driveway and nearby area filled with other cars. I look around, recognizing Ezra and Delilah’s cars in my parents’ driveway. “Is this an extended family BBQ?”
Bry leans an arm against the steering wheel and shoots me an amused look. “Since when did Mom ever arrange a ‘last-minute’ event?”
Realization hits me like a wrecking ball, my mind quickly running through the possibilities. Then it comes to me. “This is something to do with us, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” He accentuates the P, drawing my attention to his mouth.
“Faith Marie Cook,” he warns, his voice low and rumbly. “You need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I whisper, in a lust-fueled daze, made worse by the fact he said Cook instead of Baker.
“Like you’re starving, and I’m a tasty snack.” His lips twitch, breaking the spell. My eyes snap to his.
“Stop making me hungry then,” I snap before I can think better of it, taking in his surprised expression and knowing I’ve revealed too much. “Men!” I mutter, quickly opening the door and jumping out.
By the time I reach the bottom of the Cooks’ front steps, Bryant is at my side, my new Saran Wrap-covered salad bowl in one hand, his arm wrapping around my waist and turning me toward him, stopping me in my tracks.
The look he gives me is no longer amused. It’s heated and sexy, and I’m forced to lock my knees so I don’t melt right then and there. He dips his head, his warm breath caressing my sensitive skin. “Suddenly, I’m really looking forward to sharing a room with you tonight.”
I lose myself in those amber bedroom eyes I’ve loved for as long as I can remember. He kisses the tip of my nose, his lips curving up in a mesmerizing, swoon-inducing smile. Then it’s as if a force field lifts and his words—and insinuated assumption—sink in, and I find my forgotten backbone.
I step back, putting my hands to my hips and glaring at him. “Let me tell you something, mister. I’m only sharing a room with you because I have to.”
He quirks a brow, but in for a penny, in for a pound… I narrow my eyes and poke my finger into his hard chest. Part of me wants to flatten my palm against him and slide it down to see wh
ether there are some divots to add to the firm pecs. No, Faith. Eyes on the prize… or at least up to his face again.
I jerk my gaze up to his knowing expression. His hand covers mine, and he steps toward me, crushing my arm between us as he pulls me in hard against him. Our bodies are plastered chest to hip and everywhere in between.
I open my mouth to tell him to move back but freeze when his lips press to the corner of mine.
“I missed this cute crooked dimple of yours,” he murmurs, sending a shiver through me. After dragging his lips along my jaw, he gently rakes his teeth against my sensitive throat. “I really missed that famous Faith Baker surliness, but what I missed more than anything…” He sucks my earlobe between his lips. There’s no stopping the tilt of my head to give him access or the throaty whimper that escapes me. His husky, rumbling chuckle tells me he didn’t miss it. “Really fucking missed you in my bed, babycakes.”
My entire body goes still, but before I can try and retreat, the front door to my new in-laws’ house rattles, and we both turn our heads as if in slow motion to find the smirking mirror image of my husband grinning down at the two of us.
“Guess that answers that question then?” Jax says, making my head jerk back.
“What question?”
“There’s a pool going as to whether you’ve jumped each other’s bones yet.” His smirk widens. “I voted the first night under the same roof.” He waggles his brows. “Was I right?”
My mouth drops open, and I expect Bryant to chastise his brother. Instead, he pulls me tighter against him, throws his head back and bursts out laughing. “Yeah, no, my less-endowed brother. There’s no way I’m going to answer that.”
I let go of the breath I’m holding when Bry’s fingers rub slow calming circles against my back.
Jax shakes his head, his eyes shining in approval. He holds back the patio screen door and sweeps his arm out. “Well unless you want to give the neighbors even more of a Hallmark show, then come inside. Everyone’s out back.”
“Of course they are,” Bry mutters, moving away just far enough to grab my hand and tangle his fingers with mine before leading me up the stairs and into the house. It seems like a lifetime—not just two weeks—since I was last here, my heart in my throat and my future happiness in my hands, wondering what Bryant’s reaction was going to be when he saw me again.