And why do I like it? Why do I like how natural we’re becoming? Why isn’t she grating on my nerves so rigorously that I want to order Trent to load up her tiny sleeping body into his ridiculous Honda Hatchback in the middle of the night, and drive her out into the desert and leave her there?

Why? I ask myself.

I open the door to our suite, turn around, and lean my hip against the doorframe, blocking Winter from entering. She doesn’t notice, of course, and walks right into my chest.

For the first time since we left our cake tasting, Winter peels her big, beautiful eyes from her phone, and looks up at me. Every blink making her honey-browns sparkle more than the last.

“Who are you texting, Grimm?”

She pockets her phone with a teasing smirk. “Why, you jealous?”

“Pfft! I don’t get jealous. But we just picked out our wedding cake, so I was just wondering if you’re going to rejoin your fiancé anytime soon.”

“We just picked out Sondra and Preston’s wedding cake, babe.”

“Tomato, tomato, babe.” I stay planted in the doorway, looking down at Winter. She stares back, brazen rebellion shining in her eyes.

“Can I see your phone?” I ask, holding out my hand.

She smiles and I realize this girl is possibly the first person in my life who is one hundred percent unaffected by my need to assert my dominance. Any other woman on the planet would melt under the way I’m looking at Winter now. She simply shrugs, laughing at my request.

“No. Want to let me in the suite, or are we going to camp out in the hall tonight? We could make a blanket fort and do each others’ nails. You probably have a Kaboodle in your things. I know for a fact you have cuticle cream, so—”

“Are you done?” I step aside, letting Winter enter. She shoulder-checks me as she passes, making me laugh as I shut the door behind her.

What I really want to do is lift her onto the island and feast on her pussy until she happily concedes that she wants me. And maybe one day I might, but for now, I’ll let her think she hates me.

“It’s just a group chat with my friends.” She kicks her flip-flops across the room and plops down on the couch, stretching out with her legs stretched across the length of it.

“Are you ladies talking about me yet?” I loosen my tie, then fold the sleeves of my shirt to my elbows while Winter’s eyes soak up every movement.

“Talking about you?” A laugh puffs her chest. “What would make you think I care about you enough to talk about you?”

I unpack my pockets onto the island counter, then meander to the sofa. Lifting Winter’s feet, I sit, laying them in my lap. She watches me with a flirtatious little smile that makes my dick jerk in my nine hundred dollar tailored dress slacks. I return her smile, pressing my thumbs into her arch as I start to massage her foot.