Page 122 of Big D!ck Energy

“Sam told me everything.”

Three words. Three words that somehow explained nothing while suggesting everything.

“Sam,” I repeated the name slowly, trying to make sense of it. “My publicist, Sam?”

“How many Sams do you have?”

“Just the one, but I don't…” I shook my head, confusion mounting. “Sam was here? Today? Why?”

“To deliver the news, because apparently you couldn’t do it yourself.” Davina's voice had gone flat. Controlled. The voice she used in business meetings when she was trying not to show emotion. “About the divorce. About the timeline. About the movers coming to pack up my things.”

The word divorce hit me like a body slam I hadn't seen coming.

“The what?”

“Don't.” Her voice cracked, the control slipping. “Don't pretend you don't know. She told me you called her yesterday. That you asked her to start planning the separation. That you wanted recommendations for attorneys to make everything go smoothly.”

I stared at her. The words filtered through my brain one by one, each one more incomprehensible than the last.

“Davina.” I stepped closer, ignoring the way she tensed. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“She said you told her to get the plans together. That this was always the timeline. That…” Her voice broke completely, tears spilling fresh down her cheeks. “That I was never your type.”

Anger ignited in my chest. “She said what?”

“She said…”

“I heard you. I just…” I ran my hands through my hair, trying to process the magnitude of what I was hearing. “Davina, I never talked to Sam about a divorce. I never asked for attorneys. I never said anything even remotely close to any of that.”

“But she said…”

“I don't care what she said.” I closed the distance between us, catching her face in my hands despite her attempts to pull away. Her skin was damp, her cheeks flushed, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, even now. Especially now. “I haven't talked to Sam in over a week. I have a meeting scheduled with her this afternoon, but I haven't spoken to her about you or our marriage or anything else.”

Hope flickered in her eyes, fragile and uncertain. “But she was so specific. She said…”

“I don't know why she said any of that.” I brushed the tears from her cheeks, gently, desperate to erase the hurt from her face. “But none of it is true. Do you hear me? None of it.”

“Dallas…”

“You think I want a divorce?” I laughed, but it came out rough, raw. “Davina, I spend approximately ninety percent of my waking hours thinking about you. The other ten percent is divided between protein intake and wondering if you're also thinking about me.”

Her lips twitched despite everything. “That's a lot of thinking.”

“It's an obscene amount of thinking. It's probably unhealthy.” I leaned my forehead against hers, breathing her in, the salt of her tears, the familiar scent of her shampoo, the warm reality of her in my arms. “I am obsessed with you. Genuinely, pathetically, embarrassingly obsessed. Ask Matt. Ask my mom. Ask literally anyone who's had to listen to me talk about my wife for the past four months.”

“But Sam said…”

“Sam is wrong. Or lying. Or… I don't know what the hell Sam is doing, but I'm going to find out.” My jaw tightened at the thought of that conversation, at the cold fury building inside me. But that was for later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the woman in front of me. “You're not going anywhere. Do you understand me? You're my wife. This is your home. I don't want a divorce. I want you. I want this. I want forever.”

She was crying again. “I thought…” She hiccupped, her hands fisting in the front of my tank top. “When she said I wasn't your type, I thought…”

“Not my type?” The words came out incredulous, almost angry. “Davina, you are the only type. You ruined the entire concept of types for me. There's just you. There's only ever going to be you.”

“That's…” She laughed wetly. “That's a lot of pressure.”

“You can handle it. You handle everything.” I cupped her face again, tilting it up until her swollen eyes met mine. “I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me, and I am not letting you go. So whatever Sam said, whatever she's planning, it doesn't matter. We're not getting divorced or separating. You're stuck with me, Davidson.”

The old nickname made her smile. “You haven't called me that in a while.”