Read Online Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 1) by Kendall Ryan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kendall Ryan
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wait for me? I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”
He raises his bushy eyebrows. “That long? You sure? I’ll have to drive around the block, and the meter’s runnin’ . . .”
“I can afford it.” For now, anyway. Tate & Cane isn’t totally underwater yet.
He shrugs. “Okay, lady, whatever you want.”
I step out of the cab and he’s gone before I reach the front door.
The tiny boutique has an entire wall devoted to tea gear—cups, pots, kettles, infusers, strainers, paper filters, little wire racks for organizing boxes, airtight jars and tins for storing loose leaf. I consider the display, tapping my lips with one finger.
Finally, I choose a squat, Japanese-style ceramic teapot with a mottled forest-green glaze. Its shelf tag reads: Ao-Oribe ushirode kyuusu, tenmoku glaze, sasame filter .
I haven’t the faintest idea what any of that means. And the price is slightly horrifying. But its color and elegant shape are perfect—tasteful, yet eye-catching, not too masculine or too feminine. A symbol of compromise, a hope for harmony. A gift that I chose myself, but in recognition of a ritual that Noah holds dear.
Just for the hell of it, I take a pair of matching cups too. I’ll definitely stick to coffee in the mornings. But maybe, late at night, it wouldn’t be so bad to share a hot cup of tea with Noah.
I make my way to the front of the store, smiling to myself, feeling calm at last.
Chapter Nine
Noah
“I’m in the mood for red meat,” Sterling says as we walk down the crowded sidewalk after work.
“Damn. Dry streak, buddy?” I rub my chin thoughtfully.
“What?” He squints at me in the fading light.
“A craving for red meat usually means a lack of sex. A desire for a certain other kind of meat, if you will.” I grin at him.
“Shut it.”
Oh yeah, he’s in a funk. I know for a fact he’s been going through some type of dry spell, but I have no idea the cause. Before I can pry, he’s chuckling next to me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re so misguided, it’s not even funny. You’re the one who’s going to be in for the world’s biggest case of blue balls—marrying someone as hot as Olivia Cane and not getting to fuck her?” He makes a pitiful noise. “That’s just a damn shame.”
“Who said anything about not getting to fuck her?” I pull open the door to the Grassland Steakhouse and gesture for him to enter.
He shoots me an odd glare, but approaches the hostess to request a table.
Once we’re seated with our drinks—a whiskey neat for me, a pint of imported beer for him—Sterling leans closer. “Did you and your lovely bride make more headway on your relationship than I’d realized?”
I shrug. “Not yet.” She’s far from being my bride, for one thing. “But I, for one, am not giving up hope.” I take another sip of my drink. “In fact, after dinner, I’m meeting her at our new apartment. A gift from her father.”
“No shit?”
I nod.
“Living together, huh. That’s a big step.”
“Indeed.”
For a moment, I put myself in Sterling’s shoes and wonder if he’s feeling like he’s suddenly lost his best friend and wingman. We used to go out every weekend together hunting for pussy and fun—in that order. Now, I’m practically a married man with a new housemate, and probably a curfew.
But when I glance back at Sterling, he’s grinning at me like the cat who ate the canary, and I’m certain he knows something I don’t.
• • •
After dinner, I arrive at the penthouse first. It’s a stunning apartment in the heart of the city.
I take my time looking around, flipping on light switches as I go. Expansive views from an airy twentieth-floor balcony, a modern kitchen with a little Italian coffeemaker on the counter that I’m sure Olivia will love, and expensive finishes everywhere I look—from the thick crown molding to the marble countertops to the hand-scraped oak flooring. It looks every bit like a marriage retreat. The
He raises his bushy eyebrows. “That long? You sure? I’ll have to drive around the block, and the meter’s runnin’ . . .”
“I can afford it.” For now, anyway. Tate & Cane isn’t totally underwater yet.
He shrugs. “Okay, lady, whatever you want.”
I step out of the cab and he’s gone before I reach the front door.
The tiny boutique has an entire wall devoted to tea gear—cups, pots, kettles, infusers, strainers, paper filters, little wire racks for organizing boxes, airtight jars and tins for storing loose leaf. I consider the display, tapping my lips with one finger.
Finally, I choose a squat, Japanese-style ceramic teapot with a mottled forest-green glaze. Its shelf tag reads: Ao-Oribe ushirode kyuusu, tenmoku glaze, sasame filter .
I haven’t the faintest idea what any of that means. And the price is slightly horrifying. But its color and elegant shape are perfect—tasteful, yet eye-catching, not too masculine or too feminine. A symbol of compromise, a hope for harmony. A gift that I chose myself, but in recognition of a ritual that Noah holds dear.
Just for the hell of it, I take a pair of matching cups too. I’ll definitely stick to coffee in the mornings. But maybe, late at night, it wouldn’t be so bad to share a hot cup of tea with Noah.
I make my way to the front of the store, smiling to myself, feeling calm at last.
Chapter Nine
Noah
“I’m in the mood for red meat,” Sterling says as we walk down the crowded sidewalk after work.
“Damn. Dry streak, buddy?” I rub my chin thoughtfully.
“What?” He squints at me in the fading light.
“A craving for red meat usually means a lack of sex. A desire for a certain other kind of meat, if you will.” I grin at him.
“Shut it.”
Oh yeah, he’s in a funk. I know for a fact he’s been going through some type of dry spell, but I have no idea the cause. Before I can pry, he’s chuckling next to me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re so misguided, it’s not even funny. You’re the one who’s going to be in for the world’s biggest case of blue balls—marrying someone as hot as Olivia Cane and not getting to fuck her?” He makes a pitiful noise. “That’s just a damn shame.”
“Who said anything about not getting to fuck her?” I pull open the door to the Grassland Steakhouse and gesture for him to enter.
He shoots me an odd glare, but approaches the hostess to request a table.
Once we’re seated with our drinks—a whiskey neat for me, a pint of imported beer for him—Sterling leans closer. “Did you and your lovely bride make more headway on your relationship than I’d realized?”
I shrug. “Not yet.” She’s far from being my bride, for one thing. “But I, for one, am not giving up hope.” I take another sip of my drink. “In fact, after dinner, I’m meeting her at our new apartment. A gift from her father.”
“No shit?”
I nod.
“Living together, huh. That’s a big step.”
“Indeed.”
For a moment, I put myself in Sterling’s shoes and wonder if he’s feeling like he’s suddenly lost his best friend and wingman. We used to go out every weekend together hunting for pussy and fun—in that order. Now, I’m practically a married man with a new housemate, and probably a curfew.
But when I glance back at Sterling, he’s grinning at me like the cat who ate the canary, and I’m certain he knows something I don’t.
• • •
After dinner, I arrive at the penthouse first. It’s a stunning apartment in the heart of the city.
I take my time looking around, flipping on light switches as I go. Expansive views from an airy twentieth-floor balcony, a modern kitchen with a little Italian coffeemaker on the counter that I’m sure Olivia will love, and expensive finishes everywhere I look—from the thick crown molding to the marble countertops to the hand-scraped oak flooring. It looks every bit like a marriage retreat. The
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