“Can I come with you?” I ask, waggling my eyes at her. She laughs and nods, bringing me a little more comfort.
“California is always in a drought, right? We might as well conserve water.”
“Yes, we should.” I walk behind her with my hands on her hips as I try to kiss her neck. “We need to talk about livi
ng arrangements, too. My apartment is small and I have a roommate. Plus, I’ll be leaving soon.”
“Do you want me to stay in L.A.?” she asks as she turns in my arms. The thought hadn’t occurred to me that she could go home while I was filming. The only problem with that is the media will eat her alive, assuming we’ve split up again, and I don’t want her to have that kind of drama.
“No, I think tomorrow we’ll look for a place together.”
“What about your roommate?”
“I’ll help him find someone to take my spot.”
Joey turns again and pulls her hair to the side. She peers over her shoulder with a wicked glint in her eye.
“Can you help me?”
“With pleasure, Mrs. Wilson.”
“Ooh, I like the sound of that.”
“Mhm, I like the sound your zipper makes as it reveals your back to me.” I’m instantly hard, just by staring at her back.
She pulls the front off and lets the dress pool at her feet. My wife is rocking a white thong with a garter that I find incredibly sexy. When she faces me, her breasts are bare and my erection is playing tentmaker behind my trousers.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she says, pointing her finger.
My clothes start to come off quicker than I can count to five. Joey methodically removes the garters, one clip at time, teasing me with every flick of her finger, and begins rolling her stockings down her legs. As soon as my drawers are around my ankles, she shimmies out of her thong, letting it fall to join the rest of her clothes.
“Before we get into the shower, I have something to say.”
“What’s that, Joey?”
She steps closer to me, her taut nipples pressing against my chest. “You have a lot of making up to do and it starts now.”
Before I can respond, she steps into the shower and turns on the water. “Well fuck me, my wife has a dirty side.”
“What did you mean when you said you’ll be strong for me in the car?” My fingers play with Josh’s chest, roaming over the planes of his abs and pecs. His abs are like a maze, except I can’t solve it. Every now and again, he stills my hand because I’m tickling him, only to let it go so I can start over again.
“I think I spoke without thinking,” he replies. “But now that I think about it, it means I’m going to be taking the brunt of everything coming our way.”
“What does that mean?” Sitting up on my elbow, I look at him quizzically. The white sheet falls away, exposing my breasts. Josh takes his finger and runs it down over my breast, making me shiver.
“Drama,” he says, sighing. “I have a feeling that Jules isn’t going to go away any time soon, and I don’t want you to worry about her. I don’t love her, never did. You’re the one I’m in love with and I can’t imagine not telling you that every day, multiple times a day.”
Josh pulls me close, capturing my lips. Every kiss since I said yes has been different. Instead of butterflies taking flight, leaving me tingling, it’s fireworks on New Year’s Eve or the most thrilling rollercoaster at Disney. It’s the hairs on my arms standing on end, and goose bumps prickling my skin. It’s like he was reserved during our stint on reality TV and now that we’re together and the cameras are off, he’s being himself. The real Joshua Wilson and not the celebrity who I’m used to holding back on his feelings while in public. It’s still hard to think he was acting inside the house because I know he wasn’t, but that’s the only way I can explain it.
“She doesn’t scare me,” I tell him with a bite of authority, even though I don’t believe those words at all. She scares the shit out of me. I know I’m supposed to keep my enemies close and all that crap, but I don’t want her anywhere near me. In fact, if Josh and I could go live on a deserted island I’d be content. That would mean I’d be able to keep him all to myself.
“I won’t let her anywhere near you,” he says, reassuring me that I won’t have to deal with her. I’m not stupid, though. They run in the same social circles, attending the same parties and galas. Unless he’s intending on keeping me home, I’ll see her, and when she’s eyeing my husband I’ll be sure to flash my ring so she sees it every single time. It’s me who wears his ring, not her.
I know I sound petty and vindictive. I can’t help it. Right now I’m living this fairytale romance—one I never thought I’d have—and it would be foolish to think our lives are going to be perfect.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, nipping at my neck.
“A little.”