“You’re a good friend, Raelynn Vos. And frankly, a damn good wife, too.”
The words were light—joking, but they hit too close to the mark of what had me so on edge and unusually emotional. And despite how light they were, they were also prodding. I could have pushed back. I could have taken the chance and finally opened up the conversation we’d been avoiding—but I couldn’t yet.
I couldn’t dismiss the comment either. Something about the way he said it. Something about being in that tiny bed, in the dark, in the small creaky house in upstate New York with a family bursting with love, I could admit that I didn’t quite want to push the word wife away.
I couldn’t quite accept it either, so I settled on matching his playful tone.
“I know. I’m fucking crushing this wife thing. I may start a blog.”
“Or a book,” he shot back, not missing a beat.
“It’d be a best seller in days.”
“It’d be full of pure genius.”
“I’d call it Ain’t Austin Lucky.”
He grunted a laugh before rolling over top of me.
I sucked in a breath, shocked by the quick move, and immediately turned on by his weight pressing me into the bed. I gripped his sides and stroked the flexing muscles. When he didn’t move or say anything, I looked up, and even in the dark, I caught the serious glint in his eyes.
“I am,” he admitted softly. “I’m very lucky. I’ll never regret the day you came up and asked me to fuck.”
I laughed, unable to stop it. “I still can’t believe you turned me down.”
“It was pretty hard but totally worth the wait.” He moved, and I sucked in a breath when his length pressed against my mound.
“Was it?” I asked, shifting my legs open around him.
He thrust against my core. “You know it was.”
“Hmmm…Maybe I don’t know. Maybe you should prove it.”
With his hands and mouth, because the bed was creaky and the walls were thin, he set about doing just that.
Chapter Twenty
Austin
“So, these are the great bars of upstate New York farm towns?”
“I don’t want to say we represent them all, but this is definitely one of the best.”
She gave the most doubtful look and laughed, and I couldn’t help but join her. I looked at the old brick building with the neon sign hanging out front claiming it as the best in town, and imagined it from her eyes. Rae had attended some of the most high-class bar openings in New York.
Kewpie’s was definitely not her usual speed, and watching her small cringe as she peeked inside at the all-wood interior through the open door confirmed it. I would have high-tailed it out of there if I also didn’t know she’d bar hopped from one run-down college bar to the next. Hell, I’d picked her up at some bars I didn’t even want to go to when she called.
No, I knew Raelynn well enough to know she’d never hide her thoughts, but I also knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t really care either. I loved it. The girl who presented herself as all about appearances never let appearances deter her from discovering something new.
God, I loved her.
“I don’t see why your grandparents didn’t want to come with us,” she joked.
“I think we wore them out at the fair.”
We’d eaten dinner and spent the past few hours at the county fair I used to look forward to as a kid. I hadn’t gone in years; it had lost its sparkle as I got older, but watching Rae experience it for the first time, brought it all back. She’d wanted to ride every ride and play every game. She’d laughed and ate more fair food than I thought was possible for a single human.
I half expected her to collapse at any moment, but when I mentioned the bar, she was all for it.
“Pshhh, they wore me out.”
“Yeah, you look super tired,” I deadpanned, watching her shift from foot to foot.
“What? I love this song,” she explained. “Also, it’s totally a sugar high. I’ll just burn it off with some dancing. Do they allow dancing on bars?”
“Dear God, have mercy on my soul.”
She laughed and tugged me toward the door.
The old bar looked exactly the same as it had when I snuck in as a teenager. Hell, it probably looked the same when it was first built in the seventies—wood-paneled walls and worn red leather seats. A band played a country cover song on the stage, and couples danced around the scuffed wooden floor.
Just as we grabbed seats at the bar, Rae pulled her phone out and ended the incoming call with an eye roll. That was about the seventeenth time she’d done it that day.
“Two beers, please,” she ordered before I could ask about it. “I briefly considered vodka, but this feels like a beer kind of place.”