Not So Nice Guy(62)

“Bad Ian.”

I spin around and he tugs me into him. My hands hit his chest.

“Sorry, I guess things are happening so fast it’s taking my brain a little while to catch up.”

“We can slow down if you want.”

“How?”

He thinks about it for a second and shrugs. “I’m not sure, actually. I could sleep on the couch if you want?”

I think I give him a perfectly executed look that says, Are you fucking insane?

Later that night, I walk into our bedroom after brushing my teeth and find Ian, shirtless, reading in bed.

I hide my smile and scurry to crawl under the blankets beside him.

“Thanks again for being my fleshy axe shield.”

He grunts before going back to his book. I follow his lead and pull my Kindle onto my lap, but there’s no reading happening. I sit there, studying Ian’s bedroom and taking in the newly added details. A candle and delicate jewelry case sit up on the dresser beside his cologne. One of my spring scarves hangs on the doorknob of the closet because I don’t want to forget to wear it in the morning. My antique floor lamp in the corner brings a feminine touch to the otherwise masculine space.

Sitting here, I have a giddy, anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I wonder how long it will last. Days? Years?

I glance toward Ian out of the corner of my eye. His gaze is on his book. He’s been a source of calm throughout all this, and I wonder if, under all those abs of steel, maybe he feels anxious too? If maybe he’s just a little bit better at hiding it?

He doesn’t say a word as I study him. He turns a page in his book and I scoot closer until our hips touch. Then I reach over and drag my pillow over so I’m propped up beside him. He has a king bed, so we don’t have to be crushed together in the very center, but feeling his skin on mine unknots my stomach. I take the first deep breath of the day.

For three years I’ve trained myself to ignore my feelings for Ian. I never imagined he could possibly feel the same way I do, and now here we are married, living together, reading in bed.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod and lean my head against his shoulder. His arm dips around the small of my back so he can grab my hip and drag me even closer. I’m basically sitting on his lap.

He must realize my brain is going a million miles a minute because he asks if I want him to read his book aloud. I nod and close my eyes and listen to his voice, deep and steady as he picks up right where he left off. It doesn’t take long for my heart to mimic the rise and fall of his chest so we’re breathing in sync.

His voice is so soothing, like the sensation of sinking into a warm bath on a cold winter day.

I’m so close to drifting off when I speak up. My voice sounds drowsy and soft.

“Hey Ian?”

He pauses reading.

“You know I’m in love with you, right?”

His heart thumps against my back and his breathing quickens. There’s a long, heavy silence, and I blink one eye open to look up at him. He’s staring down, studying my face with intense focus. My words clearly caught him off guard.

“Once again—years.”

I smile.

“Say it again.”

“Which part?”

His mouth tips down and captures mine. His poor book doesn’t stand a chance now. We’re supposed to be sleeping and resting up for work tomorrow, but instead, Ian strips me out of my pajamas and presses a kiss to every patch of skin he can find. His lips hit the center of my chest and he tells me he loves me too. He moves lower and kisses my naval and tells me again. The words are muffled, but he says them so many times there’s no way to miss them.

We fall asleep tangled up in one another, and in the morning, I wake up to “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher. It’s Ian, calling me from the kitchen.

I smile and reach over for the phone.

“When did you have the time to change my ringtone?”

“Last night after you drifted off. You were snoring.”

I groan and sit up so my feet dangle off the side of the bed.

“Tell me the truth—what’s the point of these songs?”

“Haven’t you guessed?”

“I think you just like to torture me.”

“No. I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel.”

I think back on the last few I can remember. I just thought they were cheesy songs. Now, I realize I should have read between the lines.

“They were all love songs by dynamic duos, just like us.”

“Awwwwwww! Ian Fletcher, you big softie!”

He hangs up on me and shouts from the kitchen for me to get my butt out of bed.

He loves me big time.



“This isn’t fair. Our honeymoon wasn’t nearly long enough.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t skip school. I checked my email while you were showering and Principal Pruitt wants us to be at the PTA meeting later today. He thinks a public apology would go a long way to settle tensions.”

“An apology?” I sound affronted by the idea. “This O’Doyle lady is a terrorist! We can’t negotiate with her.”

“We’re married now, so it shouldn’t be a problem anymore, but I’m worried she’s gotten everybody so worked up our new wedded status won’t matter. Maybe I should look into going back to work for my old company.”