Page 78 of Bad Run

I just hope she likes this place. I’ve been here for the past two years, and it still doesn’t feel like home to me.

Maybe with her here it will?

Maybe. I’m just worried about the possibility of the plan I concocted blowing up in my face. Gwen has already been quick to remind me that our marriage is temporary, and that scares me.

Closing my eyes, I breathe. Four counts in and out.

My brain feels as if it’s going to explode. I can’t seem to get out of my head. It’s become a quicksand of thoughts, feelings, and questions, and the word temporary is like hands grabbing my feet and pulling me under, and the more I fight them, the deeper I sink.

Temporary.

Fuck that.

It didn’t feel temporary when I was planning our wedding or saying “I do.” Or when we filled out the wedding license. Or when I booked the hotel and planned the ceremony.

It didn’t feel temporary when she walked in wearing the pink bridal gown I picked out for her.

Our marriage didn’t feel temporary when the officiant announced us husband and wife. And it sure as hell didn’t feel temporary when I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her senseless.

Sparks flew when I claimed her lips and reignited the fire between us.

I know Gwen felt it too. She melted into me, kissing me back with equal fervor. If I hadn’t broken the connection when I did, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to stop.

Fucking hell.

I think I’m going crazy.

Crazy for Gwen.

I can’t get the image of her looking drop-dead gorgeous in the dress I picked out for her to wear. One look at Gwen, and my heart skipped a beat and my cock roared to life. The high ponytail, the curls, the soft pink lips—she was exactly how I’d envisioned.

Bewitching.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and check the time again. It’s close to sunset. Gwen texted an hour ago, letting me know she was on her way over. I offered to send a car, but she was adamant about driving herself.

Guilt gnaws at my intestines. I kind of feel like an asshole for forcing her to move into my house without asking about her living situation. I don’t know where she lives or if she has a roommate.

Yup. Total asshole.

I’ve had plenty of opportunities to ask. When I was on the road, Gwen and I texted each other every day. Multiple times a day. Any chance I got, I asked about her day and what she was doing. I asked about her likes and dislikes, gathering details and gaining insight into who Gwen is and what makes her tick. She’s incredibly witty, slightly sarcastic, and a tad goofy. And I am so fucking here for it.

The security alarm for the front gate chirps, and my heart leaps behind my ribs, hammering against its cage.

I click open the video feed to find Gwen staring at the gate and her knuckles squeezing the life out of the steering wheel. Seeing how nervous she appears on camera helps me to find my center and recalibrate. She needs me to be calm and supportive. Moving in with me is a big deal.

Hell, marrying me was a big deal. It’s a lot of change for both of us.

Taking a deep breath, I focus on bringing my heart rate down, then tap the button to open the gate. I slip on a pair of shoes by the door and make my way outside.

Seconds later, a small white Mini Cooper rolls up and around the circular driveway, and I can’t help but chuckle. The few times I’ve seen Gwen in the parking lot at work, I couldn’t figure out where she came from, and now I know why.

In a sea of sports cars, SUVs, and trucks, her tiny car goes unnoticed.

The compact car stops in front of me, and the passenger window rolls down.

I squat low and peer inside. “Hey.”

She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head, giving me the perfect view of her eyes. Gwen smiles, taking my breath away. “Hi.”