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“Ah, shit, stop, stop!” he laughed as he tried to fend her off a beat too late.
“Take your punishment!” she howled back, digging in instead.
The chair rocked as he tried to shove her back and get away. Vespa grabbed at it to help make sure he didn’t fall, sliding off the table and onto his lap in the maneuver.
Montrell grabbed her hands before she could make another move. “Don’t even think about doing it again,” he warned, trying to make his voice firm, but he was grinning too hard.
Vespa jerked free of his hold to wipe her hands against his shirt. “Fine. But eww, take your sweat back.”
A throat cleared from near the door.
Vespa’s head snapped up, and she scrambled off of him.
Vespa never looked embarrassed, but she was doing a good job of it now.
Montrell wanted to laugh, but the stillness on his wife’s face made him blink instead.
“Sorry,” Beatrice said. “Am I interrupting?”
“Hell no.” Vespa crossed her arms, with both hands hidden underneath them. “We were done here.” She stalked past Beatrice, her shoulders hunching.
“We’re not done talking about this!” Montrell called after her, but she’d already made her escape.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow as she looked at him.
Montrell was grateful for his beard. Seeing her reminded him of the night before, and his face was already flushed from the quick grapple with Vespa. “Good morning,” he managed.
She was the one to look away. “It’s fine, you know.”
Montrell frowned as he let some of his worry fade. “Last night? It was more than fine, Bea.”
She was the one to stiffen. “No, I didn’t come to…” She cleared her throat. “I meant you and Vespa. You don’t have to feel bad about it. You’ve been together a long time. It’s natural for you two to be close.”
“Yeah, she’s my best friend,” Montrell said with a shrug. Then his head cocked as he watched her lips thin. “Wait, are you jealous?”
Beatrice’s gaze snapped back to his. “Of course not!”
“Yeah.” He laughed as her makeup didn’t quite hide her reddening face. “Am I horrible if I kind of like that idea?” He did. A lot.
Beatrice let out a harrumph that was cute as hell.
Montrell waved a hand at the door. “It’s not like that between Vespa and me. It’s not a sexual thing. A lot of people get confused about us.” He was used to it; Vespa probably even more so.
Beatrice frowned at him as her hand moved to her hip. “She was on your lap, Montrell.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, so she could tickle me. Vespa knows all my weaknesses.” He tugged at his beard. “It’s just a bit of teasing. Did it bother you?”
She shook her head—a little too fast, he tried to tell himself—but she looked more like she was considering the possibility than annoyed. He shouldn’t have felt disappointed by that, but he did.
“It’s not like we have a love match,” Beatrice said. “I don’t expect monogamy.”
Montrell frowned. He hated how her expression became so damn remote sometimes. He couldn’t read it. “I’m all in on this marriage, Bea. I’m not going to sleep around.”
A frisson of surprise widened her eyes. “You told me to fuck your men.”
“No, I—” Montrell broke off as he scrubbed at his temple. He’d almost admitted that he didn’t want her to. “I said you could. If you wanted to, that is. For healing.” He hated that thinking of her kissing that younger soldier made him want to growl. Who was fucking jealous now? She didn’t need that.
“You’re splitting hairs. That’s still an open marriage.”
