Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,50

any of the same pictures. Plausible deniability, right?”

Wade frowns.

But then Grace is edging past me. “Davey, come here.”

His face splits into a wide grin as he steps into her hug.

Everyone starts talking at once, about the drive down, wedding prep, Wade’s sweatpants, and the “trouser snake” Walt can’t unsee.

Grace shoos her oldest off to change and ushers everyone into the kitchen, where she pulls a pitcher of tea from the fridge. I get the glasses down and hand them out as she pours.

When Wade reemerges, he’s wearing the cargo shorts and T-shirt I picked for him. I hand him a glass and tuck myself into his side. The smile he gives me as he pulls me closer isn’t that far off from the ones he’s given me while we were deep in the fake, but somehow it feels completely different.

All grins, Grace pats the counter. “So talk about a small world. How do you two know each other now?”

This is not a big deal. “David and I both work at PHR.”

David’s head bobs. “I’m in HR, so we don’t work together. But of course”—he shoots me a smile—“I know her.”

Walt raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching as he exchanges a look with his brother. I want to tell Wade it’s not what he’s thinking—that there’s nothing between us. Because the possessive way his arm circles around me says he’s thinking there is.

Grace’s lips purse. “Harlow, honey, I know you said banking. But what do you do there?”

My belly drops. David knows. I can’t just brush over it. If I say I’m still working in compliance, it will seem like I’m embarrassed and lying. There’s no other choice. “I’m sort of between positions right now.”

And those muttered apologies make it even worse. “No, it’s not—”

David shakes his head with a laugh. “Grace, she’s fine. ‘Between positions’ isn’t the same when your dad owns the bank.”

Wade chokes into his tea and David’s eyes bug, all the color leaving his face. “Dude, you didn’t know her dad owns the bank?”

My boyfriend should totally know.

Real or fake. I should have mentioned it earlier, and now—

“What? No, man, of course I knew.” Wade chuckles from behind me, easy as can be. “New to the whole swallowing thing.”

Walt snorts and Grace rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what her youngest is thinking. Wade steps away from me, wiping his chin with the back of his arm. He’s only setting his glass in the sink. That’s all. It’s reasonable. Normal.

Except Wade is so good at weaving fiction into the fabric of what’s real. What if he’s not just putting his glass away? What if he’s upset because I didn’t trust him with the truth?

A cold sort of dread snakes through my belly, different than the one that lives there most of the time. This one feels… worse.

I watch the muscles of his back as he washes his hands. He turns around, drying his hands. “It’s no big deal about the bank. But not what we lead with, you know.”

David gulps air, looking more relieved than I feel. Grace waves her hand in the air, moving on.

It’s very polite, and I’m trying to be polite too. Trying not to give in to this almost soul-deep pull to go to Wade. To make sure we’re okay. Which is ridiculous because this thing between us is only a week. It’s not real in a way that should matter.

But it does.

It matters. And when he crosses back to me, brushing a light kiss at the corner of my mouth, my breath rushes out in relief. And then he’s holding me close again, and I’m turning, wrapping my arms around his middle to hold him tighter still.

It’s only a week. But I don’t want to give up a second of it.

Wade

We hang out at the house for a while. Catch up with Dave, share my snafu with the place cards, and hear about Janie’s cousin who eloped this past weekend. Harlow stays close to my side, but it’s not enough. I want to be alone with her. After what I’m calling a reasonable amount of time passes, I pull her to her feet and tuck her into my side.

“Guys, we’ll see you later. I’ve got a call with my agent in not too long, so we’re going to cut out.” It’s true-ish. The call isn’t actually for another couple hours.

Mom nods, grabbing a baby carrot from the dip plate she set out. “Don’t forget your clothes from the dryer.”

Right. We