Read Wicked Bet: A Bad Boy Romance Online
Authors: Sophie Brooks
Wicked Bet: A Bad Boy Romance (12 page)
Sometime after seven, we ordered Chinese food and agreed to stop working when it came. The plan was to eat dinner and then check the poll one last time. Whoever was ahead at that point would be the winner.
We raced through dinner, not so we could get back to work for once, but so we could check the results.
Moments later, we were in the den, me perched on Ian’s lap. “Ready to read ‘em and weep?” he asked, bouncing me gently on his knee.
“I’m not going to cry, because I’m not going to lose, but it’s okay if you do. I won’t think you’re any less masculine.” Not after last night and this morning, I added in my head. Damn that’d been hot.
Wrapping an arm around my waist, Ian clicked open the forum poll and refreshed the page. The screen went blank momentarily and we both held our breaths. Finally, the page reappeared and ... and ... the poll was gone.
“What the—” Ian said, squinting at the screen. I did too.
Where the voting and comments had been half an hour ago, there was now just a single sentence: Content removed by forum owner.
“Fucking hell, he’s the one who set it up for us.” Ian was pissed, and I didn’t blame him. All this build up and we’d never find out who won?
Then I spotted something. “You have a new message,” I said, pointing at the mailbox icon in the corner of the screen.
Ian opened his inbox. It was a message from the forum owner.
Dear Too Busy to Get Busy,
Sorry about the poll. I know I said it was okay, but as the comments kept coming in, it started sounding more and more like grown-ass men catcalling women at a strip joint. This forum is about couples becoming closer, making their sex lives better. It’s not a place to see who can best tempt our members into typing one-handed. Not that you and Mrs. TBTGB didn’t paint a pretty erotic picture.
The other reason I closed the poll is because no offense, but I decided you folks need to get your heads out of your asses. I don’t know you, but I know people like you. Smart, driven twenty-somethings who dedicate their lives to moving up the career ladder. Then they hit their late thirties and early forties and realize they don’t have anyone to share their lives with.
You two are lucky. You’ve found the person you want to be with. But that doesn’t mean anything if you’re living like strangers. I’m not going to reiterate that crap about how no one regrets not working more on their deathbed. And I’m not telling you to quit your jobs. But maybe think about cutting back a fraction. Instead of being on the super fast track, maybe just be on the regular fast track. You’ll still get there, but hopefully not at the expense of your marriage. The way I see it is, you’ve had your day of kink and hopefully some headboard-knocking make-up sex afterward. Now it’s time to make some changes. One day is a start, but it’s not enough. You need a lifetime of connecting and reconnecting.
So here’s my unsolicited advice to you two. Competition is great for the workplace, but it’s not a good basis for a marriage. Sometime it pays to compromise. Like for your honeymoon. Pick a place you’ll both enjoy. The Italian Riviera has some gorgeous beaches, and you can catch a train to Florence or Milan. If you’re looking for a quiet spot that’s off the beaten path, there’s a little inn run by the Antonetti family outside of Portofino. If you go, tell them Ace sent you.
You two sound like you have a lot going for you. Don’t waste it.
—Green-Eyed Master
Wow. That was quite a letter. I stared at it for a moment longer, wondering how this stranger had figured out things about our marriage that had taken me a year and a half to learn. I turned my head and met Ian’s eyes. He was done reading. I wonder how long he’d been staring at me. “Are you still pissed?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“I think he was just trying to help.” Had Ian even read the same letter? It had nearly brought tears to my eyes.
“I’m not mad at him, I’m mad at
us
. He’s right, you know. We’ve said all along that we have no choice but to live like this, but maybe we do. Would it really kill us to only work a hundred and fifteen percent rather than a hundred and fifty? Would it really bring either of our careers to a halt if we sometimes scheduled each other in like we do work obligations?”
“Oh Ian.” Okay, now I
was
crying. I shifted around until I was straddling him, my arms and legs wrapped around him in a tight bear hug. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I want to try, too.”
Ian stroked my back, his face buried in my hair. “Don’t cry, hon.”
“Kind of have to. I’m just—I’m so glad we’re on the same page. That something has to change.”
“Yeah ... so what should we do, put some coffee dates on our calendars or something?”
I let out a shaky laugh and tried to pull myself together. “How about a real date? Maybe every other Friday night or something.”
“Could it be the kind of date we had yesterday?”
“Definitely,” I said. Then I smiled. “That guy really has us pegged. Smart, driven, and with our heads up our butts.”
“That’s us, all right.” Ian held me even tighter. It felt so right to be in his arms, my head on his shoulder, our bodies entwined. “And what do you think about July?”
“What?”
“For that Portofino place. Beaches, train access ... sounds good to me. Maybe the week after Independence Day? For our long-overdue honeymoon.”
The happy tears were starting again. Hugging my handsome husband closer, some of the stress that had settled on me when I first heard of Lori and Dan’s separation abated. This wasn’t a cure-all, but it was a start. A pretty good start, in my opinion.
“Sounds perfect,” I said, my lips finding his.
Finally, we were in agreement.
It was about damn time.
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Sophie Brooks
