Page 104 of Seale the Deal

So much for talking.

ME: Just grabbing a shower, then I’ll be there.

WRENLEY: See you soon.

Those three words make me practically run to the shower.

Twenty minutes later, I’m clean and no longer smelling like a mud pit. I pull open the door to Alpine Brewing and am met with the smell of stale beer and the sounds of warm conversation. I barely notice it because I’m looking for Wrenley.

I spot my sister sitting at the bar, so I walk over and gently spin her toward me. Where’s Audrey and Wrenley?

Audrey couldn’t make it, and Wren is— Remi sputters, spraying spit across my neck and chin, then starts laughing as she points to her right. My gaze follows her finger… and lands on Wrenley. I think the drinks and travel exhaustion aren’t mixing well.

She’s in the middle of the room, swaying her hips to the beat, slow and loose, every curve outlined in a fitted black tank and hip-hugging jeans. Everyone in here knows she’s my fiancée, and yet, they’re looking at her like she’s free to take home. Something low and sharp coils in my chest. I grab her flannel off the back of a chair and start toward her.

Ruger. Your woman— Timmy Grant, because of course he’s here, starts to say before I cut him off with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

She’s not my woman, I grind out. She’s my wife. Show some damn respect, you Neanderthal.

Timmy throws his hands up. I’m just trying to say she’s hot. Good job, man.

I don’t dignify that with a response.

Hot is what you call a one-night stand. Wrenley is something else entirely. She’s so beautiful she makes me forget what I’m saying in the middle of a sentence. I could spend the rest of my life looking at her and still feel like I’m seeing her for the first time.

I reach her and take her hand. We should go, baby.

Hey! I’m having funnn, she singsongs, dragging the last letter.

It’s time to go home.

She yanks her hand free and holds it to her chest like I burned her, then goes right back to dancing, eyes locked on mine.

Wrenley. My tone is a warning.

I’m not trying to be overprotective. Wrenley can make her own decisions, but right now, she’s in no state to judge her limits. Maybe she’d keep drinking if I left without her. Maybe she’d be fine. But I’m not willing to gamble with her safety, and I need to know that she gets home alright.

Please, I say, my voice soft.

Fine, she mumbles, grabbing her jacket from me. She fumbles with one sleeve, missing it twice before I take the jacket from her.

Hey, I say. Come here.

I hold the jacket open and wait until she turns, then guide one arm into the sleeve and then the other. You’re drunk, you’re tired, and you’ve had a long couple of days. You need to go home and sleep it off.

The fight seems to drain out of her all at once.

But I was having fun, she repeats her earlier sentiment.

I know. I pull the jacket over her shoulders and straighten the collar. And now you’re going home.

What would Remi think if she saw this interaction? Wrenley asks as she folds the jacket tighter around herself.

She’d assume we were playing our roles, I answer.

Is that what we’re doing? she asks.

Her eyes stay on mine, and for a second, the noise of the brewery around us dulls.