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neck. “I’m going to spend a little over sixty million on these teams when the ink is dry,” he said, the words low and husky. “That’s less than what I earn in a year before postseason bonuses, before endorsements.” He released my hair and let his fingers trail down my bare arm to circle my wrist. “Buy all the books you want, wife.”
It was Audrey—Audrey—who said, “I’d let him crack me like a glow stick.”
She let out a long breath. “We’re getting married.” Time to put it all out there. “You are,” I said with a shrug. “I got married last month.”
Grace: no, you fucking armpit, she’s not all right.
“You’re not using my underwear as a pocket square.”
