Give Me War - Kate McCarthy Page 0,48
against me and I pull her in tighter. “Then we go home.”
“There you go, babe,” I say, setting a drink down on Evie’s bath caddy, finding space amongst lit scented candles, puffy scrubby things, and other bits of feminine paraphernalia that confound me.
My wife is buried to her neck in bubbles. She swipes them from her hands, sitting up a little as she reaches for the glass. It’s expensive heavy crystal. A wedding gift from Casey. The only reason I know this is because he likes to mention it every time he comes over and we use them.
She lifts the liberal dose of whiskey with a dubious expression. Ice clinks together with buoyant cheer as her eyes move from me to the glass and back again. “What?” she asks, watching me watch her.
“Nothing,” I reply, raising my brows as if I don’t understand her hesitation. “Drink up.”
Her gaze narrows as she slowly lifts the glass. She eyeballs me over the rim, scrutinising my expression carefully.
I know she can’t have alcohol. But she doesn’t know that I know. I’m playing a ridiculous game of chicken here, but I want her to hurry up and tell me about the baby. Then we can celebrate the news. After that I can bury my cock deep inside her until I don’t know where she ends and I begin. And after that we can talk. I’d just prefer to do the talking last because I’m a coward. I don’t want her telling me we need to take a break. I’ve seen enough episodes of Friends to know that shit does not end well.
“Would you prefer a wine?” I ask with all the innocence of a clueless child.
It clicks then. I see it in her face. She scowls and sets the glass back on the caddy with a huff. “My friends have big mouths. Who told you?”
I don’t answer. Instead I peel my shirt away, dropping it on the floor. Her head dips, and my dick twitches when her eyes roam my chest like she wants to traverse the length of it with her tongue. I’ve bulked up a little more over the years, adding more muscle. Mostly due to frustration. It’s harder to think about failing her as a husband when I’m lifting heavy on the bench press.
I shove my pants down and off and step inside the tub. There’s room enough for two but the tub is full. Water sloshes over the edge as I sink down opposite my wife with a slight wince at the scalding temperature, her little bath caddy a barrier between us.
Snatching up the glass Evie abandoned, I take a hefty gulp as she watches me. The alcohol glides down my throat like warm silk as I eye my wife and throw my friend under the bus. “Casey told me.”
Her voice is a hiss. “He’s a dead man.”
“Okay,” I reply mildly, taking another sip of whiskey before setting it back on the caddy. With both hands now free, I rest them on her calves, sliding my palms up and over her smooth, luscious thighs. “How should we do it? A bit of torture first?” I arch a brow teasingly, not missing the way Evie shivers as my fingers skate along her bare skin. “I can start by breaking a couple of fingers for you, or his legs if you prefer?”
“I have a better idea.” Her eyes take on a wicked glint. “His surfboard.”
Even I pause at that. My wife is evil. “You want me to break his prized board in half for you? We can make it look like an accident,” I tell her, because I can be evil too. “Maybe drive over it at the beach parking lot like we didn’t see it.”
“You’re a sneaky man, Jared Valentine. Let’s do it,” she jokes, her laugh throaty. Sexy. And I like that I’ve been able to take her mind off today. Even if it’s just for a moment and at Casey’s expense. I’ll take it.
“We make a good team.”
She pauses for a moment, her expression turning sad. “We used to.”
Fuck.
I want to punch myself for saying the wrong thing. It was meant to remind her how good we are good together, but all it’s done is remind her that we aren’t good anymore.
The drive home today had been sombre. I’d refused to let go of her hand while she looked out the passenger window and told me everything that happened, from the moment Rossi appeared on his bike, until the