Chapter 232
-LUCA-
I was still laughing when I got back to the suite.
Quietly. To myself.
Especially since Marco was the one in this mess and not me.
Beatrice had been boring. Difficult to listen to.
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Marco had worn the eldest–son face until it cracked. Then he had taken a bathroom break and did not come
back.
I stayed fifteen minutes. Waiting for him to show his face. Our parents were getting impatient.
Beatrice looked bothered in the polite way people looked bothered when they realized the product they had been sold was no longer in the building.
When he still had not returned, I decided he had made a run for it.
Good.
He deserved minutes of freedom from whatever this was.
I also decided I had left Charlotte alone for too long.
I needed to see her. I rushed to the suite. Then opened the door.
She was there.
She looked surprised because I was smiling.
“You’re in a surprisingly good mood after spending time with your parents.”
I shrugged. “They brought someone here for Marco to apparently marry. It was quite an interesting exchange. You should have seen his face. It was entertaining.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you having fun because it isn’t you in this situation?”
“You know me so well,” I teased. “Believe me, he would have been the same way if it was me. The only difference is I wouldn’t put up with that shit for long.”
The laugh came back. Smaller. Then I felt bad for it.
Not enough to stop seeing his face when mother said he would be marrying soon. Just enough to know I should not enjoy his misery this much. He had tried to get me to talk. I had shut him down and gone downstairs to watch him drown in misery.
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The Hockey Captain’s Unwanted Wife
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She looked more like herself again. Much happier than this morning. Still in the clothes she had changed into. Dangerous anyway, because now I knew what was under them.
Then I remembered what I had wanted to say.
Because staring at her for too long already had my body reacting.
The longer she stood there, the worse the idea got.
Just fucking say it.
The other night was not enough.
I want you again.
Forget the rule.
Best friend. Remember? She was the one person I was not allowed to ruin for a week of passionate sex. If 1 crossed this line again, what happened if it went wrong? Would I lose her for good?
If I said it wrong, I could make her pissed.
I could not do it.
I took the coward’s way out.
“Goodnight,” I said instead. “I’m a little tired.”
Her face flickered.
Confusion.
Then she covered it.
“Goodnight.”
I went to my room like a coward with a trophy.
Sleep did not come.
I lay there and stared at the ceiling like it had answers. It did not. It had the same crack I had been ignoring all weekend and a replay I could not shut off.
Her mouth.
Her clothes on movie night.
The skirt on Saturday.
Turn 3.
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Her crying out of fear for my safety
Calling her my girl.
The almost kiss after the race.
My mother calling her a distraction.
Calling her my life in front of my parents.
I lasted a few hours not doing anything.
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Then I got up because I could not spend the entire night staring at the fucking ceiling and pretending I was a man with discipline.
I went back out.
I had not expected her on the couch.
In fucking lingerie.
Eating ice cream and watching a movie.
What the fuck?
Thin straps. Black lace. The kind of thing that was not for sleeping and not for a best friend walking out of his room at two in the morning.
It clung. It did not cover enough. I could see the shape of her breasts, the dark edge of lace over skin I had put my mouth on, the marks that had faded and the ones that had not.
Her legs were folded under her. Bare. Smooth. The pint in her hand like this was a normal night and not an attempt to kill me.
Again.
She froze with the spoon halfway to her mouth.
I froze in the doorway.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said.
“I thought you were wearing clothes.”
Colour hit her cheeks.
She did not cover herself.
She set her jaw like she was daring me to make it a joke.
“It’s hot,” she said. “And I was hungry.”
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Hot.
So she wore lingerie to watch a movie.
…
“There are shirts,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse. “Thin ones.”
She said nothing.
I dragged a hand down my face. Looked at the wall. Looked back anyway.
Remember how to breathe.
I had written rules in my head so I would not stand here like this.
I was failing.
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The lace sat too low on her chest. When she breathed, it moved. I wanted to put my mouth there. I wanted to take the ice cream out of her hand and lick whatever she spilled. I wanted to put her on her back on that couch and forget every sentence I had said about one night.
“Charlotte.”
“What?”
“That is fucking lingerie. We live together.”
“Observant.” She ate another spoonful, slower than she needed to. “You said goodnight. I didn’t think you would come back out here.”
“My brother usually barges in here,” I reminded her. “He could have seen you.”
That thought made me angry.
The idea of Marco walking in on this. On her. On lace and ice cream and the body I had already decided was not for anyone else to look at.
“Well, he isn’t here, is he?” she asked.
That irritated me more.
I should have gone back to my room.
I stayed in the doorway like the floor had glue on it.
“My parents,” I said, because I needed words that were not let me fuck you. “They were worse than usual.”
“I noticed.”
“My mother had no right to talk to you like that.”
“I know.” Soft. Then, after a beat: “You defended me. Thank you.”
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“I will always-”
The ice cream slipped.
A drop hit her throat.
It slid.
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Slow.
Into the lace.
Her throat moved as she swallowed what was left on her spoon.
I forgot how to speak.
We looked at each other too long again.
I was not going to sleep.
I was going to stand here and die quietly with my cock already hard and my best friend on the couch dressed like the opposite of the rule I had made.
Once a night.
Once a week.
Once a day.
None of it was going to be enough if she kept looking at me like that.
“I’m going back to bed,” I lied.
She held my gaze. “Okay.”
Neither of us moved.
I kept staring at her like a man who would die if he did not get her into his arms soon.
The movie kept playing.
I did not hear it.
I heard her breathing.
I saw the drop of ice cream on her skin.
I thought about licking it off.
I thought about the door, and my parents, and Marco downstairs with a girl named Beatrice, and the fact that
I had come out here to stop thinking about Charlotte and had found more of her instead.
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“Goodnight,” I said again, stupider the second time.
“You already said that.”
“I know.”
Still neither of us moved.
If I took one step into the room, the lingerie was coming off.
If I took one step back, I would hate myself until morning.
I stayed in the doorway, losing my mind, and called it control.
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11:46 Tue, Sep 29
》。76
The Hockey Captain’s Unwanted Wife
Dex Morgan
Dex works to elevate each story with clean writing, emotional balance, and thoughtful flow for readers.