Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
I stand and head to the bathroom, then grab a towel and run some water on it before returning and wiping her off.
She takes the towel from my hand. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. I like taking care of you.”
“For now,” she says, but her tone has no bite.
I grin. “You adore me.”
“Hardly,” she shoots back, but she’s smiling as she says it.
And for now, that’s enough.
59
Molly
Did that just happen?
We’re back on the plane, and I can’t believe how different things are now.
It’s funny how much has changed since the beginning of the playoffs.
Back then, I didn’t want to sit next to Hudson. Now, I’m praying he’ll take the seat next to me.
The roar of jet engines fills the cabin as I settle into my seat on the chartered plane. I stare at every single person who walks on the plane and wonder . . . do they know?
They can’t know. Right? Hudson and I have been ridiculously careful. Or at least, as careful as two impulsive idiots who got drunk and married in Vegas can be.
I’m overthinking. It’s obvious I am, but I can’t stop myself from doing it despite knowing I’m allowing my intrusive thoughts to have a field day.
No one here knows what happened in Vegas.
No one knows I’m married to Hudson Wilde.
Married.
The word still makes me queasy.
I married my brother’s best friend.
Jeez, this sounds like a plotline for one of the romance novels Josie is always trying to convince me to read. I don’t need to read them now. I’m living it, Elvis ceremony and all.
How is this my life?
It’s fine. Totally fine.
Nothing to see here.
We’ll get an annulment, and no one will ever have to know that Hudson and I managed to go from enemies to not to . . . whatever this is in the span of one drunken, Elvis-fueled night.
“Wilde.” Mason’s voice booms across the cabin, interrupting my mental spiral. I glance up to see his trademark smirk as he gestures toward the seat beside mine. “Don’t look so glum. There’s an empty seat next to Molly. I was going to sit in it . . . You’re welcome.”
Oh, come on, Mason. I’m going to kill that man. He has a way of making everything worse without even realizing he’s doing it.
Making a mess of things might be his sixth sense.
Mason is too much to handle on a good day, but I’m still hungover and cranky from all that transpired in Vegas.
I blink, then glance at Hudson, who’s strolling down the aisle behind Mason, looking about as relaxed as someone who was just told he won the lottery. His lips twitch into a grin when he sees me glaring at Mason.
“Really, Mason?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “Can’t you just do everyone a favor and keep some thoughts to yourself?”
Mason shrugs as if he didn’t just say something that annoyed me. “You guys are good now, so why shouldn’t he sit next to you . . . unless.”
“We’re fine,” I grumble back. While I love Mason since he is one of my brother’s best friends, I also loathe him right now.
He claps a hand on Hudson’s shoulder and all but shoves him into the seat next to me. “Have fun, Hudson.” The smug bastard smirks before looking at me. “It’s on the bet contract,” he jokes. “You learn how to read the fine print.”
I’ll show him where he can shove his “bet contract.”
It’s somewhere where the sun won’t shine.
“I didn’t sign anything,” I deadpan, crossing my arms as Hudson drops into the seat.
“You didn’t have to.” Mason drops into the row across from us. “It’s a verbal contract. Binding by law.”
“Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yup,” Mason says, popping the p. “And just for fun, we’ve decided that anyone who loses the bet has to wear a crochet creation to the next charity event.”
“What is this, summer camp? I must have missed the memo that you were a teen girl separated at birth from your sister.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re funny, Moll?”
“Not often, Mason. Now, please tell me you’re making this up. If not, I’m seriously worried about you.”
“What do you think?” He raises an eyebrow.
Hudson leans back in his seat, placing his arm on the armrest beside mine. “I’d look hot in crochet.”
“You would look like an idiot.” I brush his arm off, pretending not to notice how warm it is.
“Careful,” Hudson says in a low voice, just for me. “People might think you actually care about what I do.”
“Meaning?”
“You care about my clothing choices? They might think you care.”
“I do care,” I whisper. The way he looks back at me makes my pulse quicken.
The way he makes me feel is unnerving. The way he makes my pulse race.
The problem isn’t that I don’t like him. It’s how much I like him. And that’s the scariest part. I don’t trust myself with feeling like this. Don’t trust myself not to fall for him.