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Logan’s face was tense, waiting for Colton to crash onto the tiles. If
Colton stayed too long, he was going to take years off my husband’s life.
“How much cash?” Logan asked, pulling a bottle of wine from the
glass-doored cooler in the center of the refrigerator.
“Nah, nah. Dad said no handouts from you guys.”
“Oh, did you think I was going to offer you money? I was asking about
time.”
“Give me, you know… a month or two. I figured I’d house-sit while
you’re on your honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon’s on hold until next year,” Logan said.
I was about to ask Logan which glasses to use, but as the lady of the
house, I could get whatever I wanted. I pulled down three wine glasses and
made eye contact with Logan, who nodded as he drove the corkscrew.
“Cool, cool. I’ll stay out of the way. I’m not trying to witness all
your”—Colton waved his hand from me to Logan—“newlywed shit.”
“Not our kink,” Logan replied before yanking the cork with a pop.
“Did he just, like, make a joke?” Colton asked me.
“You didn’t laugh.”
“Still.” He pushed one glass toward Logan. “Fill ‘er up, brah.”
Logan stood behind me at my bedroom window, looking at the
guesthouse. Colton had all the doors open and the lights on, walking around
the pool with the phone to his ear. We’d unloaded his car into the back and
taken my things upstairs.
“Well, good thing I kept my studio.”
“Good thing.” When he spoke, I felt his breath on the back of my neck.
“How long do you think he’ll be around?”
In the window’s reflection, Logan shook his head, watching Colton kick
off his shoes and sit at the edge of the pool to splash his feet.
“We’re in virgin territory here.” He touched the base of my neck, and
the skin under his fingers came alive with such force, I had to close my
eyes. “You’re going to have to wife it up when he’s around.”
There was no telling how often that would be, but I’d made a promise,
and I was going to keep it. “Slippers and a martini waiting for you when