all the way, hitting a resistance that explodes like a bomb going off inside me. It blows apart any resolve to stay quiet, and my throat tears with a scream that Gage muffles with his hand. Then his thighs shudder and a violent energy surges through, launching me forward. I fall on my elbows, Gage digging his cock deep as he buries his yell in my neck. I feel him pulse, the last hard shoves. Then he melts over me, his hands fluttering over my body. He kisses me over and over, his touch no longer coarse.
I roll onto my back as Gage tangles his fingers through my hair and lays a smoldering kiss on my burning lips. It’s so deep and long that I gasp when our mouths part. Then I look at him, or I try to.
His face is framed with stars. “Don’t go.”
My heart beats faster. “What?” I can barely hear my voice.
“Don’t go back to the city. Stay here.”
Seven
Gage
I’m an asshole. It’s been hurled at my face countless times. Acting like a jerk was better than letting a woman in and having her reach inside me to rip my guts out. It's easier to fuck them and toss them aside than another humiliation like Kara.
What am I supposed to do with Olivia? We’re married, for God’s sake. And I can’t bring myself to be an asshole to her. Somewhere at the bottom of this drink, there’s an answer.
I tip my head back and swallow the last dregs of my Hefeweizen.
“Hey, Gage.”
I cringe against Jack’s familiar voice. At least it’s not Chris again. There’s no way I could tolerate another speech from him. He slides into the stool next to me, crossing his arms over his chest. I grunt to acknowledge his presence.
“How’s married life suiting you?”
Great. Now I can’t even drink just to spare myself from answering his dumbass questions. “Shut up.”
“You know, I’m really surprised she’s still sticking around here.”
I make another grunt.
“Sometimes I think you might be the direct descendant of a caveman.”
“We’re all descendants of cavemen, jackass.”
“Yeah, but modern men typically use speech to communicate, not grunts.”
Goddamn, he’s annoying. “Is there something you want?”
“Geez, you’re salty today.” Jack’s wide grin stumbles. “I came here to talk about Ma. She wants to meet Olivia.”
My fingers whiten around the glass. “It’s only been four days since we got fake married.”
“It’s not fake married if you’re actually married, which you are. I mean, there was a priest and everything.”
“And a shitload of guests who should’ve stopped me.”
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “I could have, but I would have looked like an asshole. Stopping true love is kind of a dick move.”
“You know what’s a dick move? Pretty much everything you didn’t do the night of that wedding.”
“Well, you two sure are taking your sweet time on dissolving your disastrous marriage. You can’t blame me for thinking I did the right thing. I mean look at you! You’re smiling for a change.”
The smile disappears. “Fuck off, Jack.”
I slide a ten-dollar bill on the bar counter as Jack laughs it off. I’m not angry with him, really. Just on edge. Cranbury still hasn’t left town. A day should’ve been enough to pack his shit up and leave, but the asshole seems determined to test my patience. He’s still hanging around town, drinking himself to death in the only bar.
That’s why I went there in the first place: to “bump” into him. And I’m glad to rub the fact that I married his fiancée in his face—that she’s mine. That the “trailer-trash loser” got his girl out from under him, fucked her, and married her. And it only took me a few days. That’s really the only thing preventing me from taking a tire iron to his fucking Benz.
I walk back to my house, deciding against stopping by the auto shop. Business is starting to ramp up now that out-of-towners are driving to Yosemite. Lots of flat tires and people whose belts blow out. I should go there and make sure Hank is not fucking things up, but my feet steer me into the direction of my in-law and Olivia.
It’s a clear day outside, the heat beating down on my back where the sunlight escapes the trees. It’s blistering hot—or it must be inside that in-law. I never installed air-conditioning. I spot her sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap. She’s wearing her daisy dukes again, exposing miles of leg that I’d like to run my tongue