Patricia sat perched on the dresser, her legs swinging, wrapped snugly in Oliver’s arms.
Oliver was laser-focused, scrolling through her phone one message at a time. She’d just wanted to make a gesture, let him look over a few texts, but Oliver went all in, combing through hundreds—most of them just credit card alerts or random updates.
Patricia squirmed under his scrutiny, feeling more exposed with every second. She kept glancing up at him, hoping he’d let up.
But every time, Oliver just said, “Keep going. If there’s an issue, let’s handle it now. No point leaving problems to fester.”
Patricia gave up with a sigh. “Fine, I trust you, okay?”
Honestly, she never should’ve gotten herself mixed up in this mess for Sara’s sake.
Oliver gave a cold little laugh. “Too late now.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Ever heard ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’? Or do you just not get why being too soft ruins people?”
Patricia could see a lecture coming and muttered, head down, “I’m not her mom. Why should I care?”
“You—” Oliver started, but Patricia cut him off, looping her arms around his neck and putting on her sweetest voice. She nuzzled up to him like a kitten. “It’s not like I have a ton of friends! Chelsea’s always busy, barely has time for me. Sara’s the only one who sticks around. When she’s upset, I just want to help her. Can’t you see where I’m coming from? Please?”
She’d just showered after getting home, so the scent of her shampoo mixed with her body wash—something sweet and a little indulgent—drifted up to Oliver as she pressed closer.
He glanced down, and for a second, just took her in.
His breath hitched.
He tried to steady himself, but still couldn’t resist teasing her. “So, you’d throw me under the bus to protect Sara? She’s your friend. What does that make me?”
“You’re my husband!” Patricia shot back without missing a beat.
“Then who’s more important—your husband or your friends?”
Was he trying to trip her up? Patricia was quick.
“My husband. And my husband’s family. They’re all important.”
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