Page 73 of Love in Fine Print

I exhaled in frustration as I sat in my car trying to rebuild the walls of indifference and independence that Ben, just being Ben, jackhammered each second I spent with him.

He cooked. Cleaned. Watched reality TV. And was the best kisser and lover I’d ever had.

How was I supposed to remain immune to him?

I didn’t know the answer to that, but I needed to figure it out. This arrangement had an expiration date. My head knew that and was trying its best to keep walls in place so that I wouldn’t be hurt when this was over. My heart and hormones were taking a different approach. They wanted to take advantage of the time we had and really lean into the experience. Lean-in meaning having as much sex as humanly possible.

Two nights ago, when I’d gone up to bed, I’d nearly kissed Ben.

A shiver ran through me at the memory. Dolly had been a little too enthusiastic bounding up the stairs, and she’d knocked my knees out from under me. This time, unlike our meet-cute, Ben had been there to catch me. The moment his arms wrappedaround me the thin thread of self-control I’d been hanging on to for dear life snapped like a twig under a road roller.

Once I was back on my feet, his arms remained on my waist to steady me. Our faces had been mere inches apart. I’d closed my eyes and felt myself leaning toward him when my phone rang. It had snapped me out of my momentary lapse in judgment and I’d hurried into my room.

When I closed the door, I told myself I should be thanking Trevor for stopping me from crossing a line I had no business crossing. But I’d yet to feel grateful for his unintentional interference. I had too much pent-up sexual frustration to find the silver lining in his cock blocking cloud.

This entire experience was a test of my resoluteness to adhere to the boundaries I’d set, and I feared, for the first time in my life, that I was going to fail miserably.

I was still caught up in the memory when I saw Dolly’s black nose pressed against the glass of the large bay window that faced the street. She knew I was home. Procrastination time was over.

It was go-time. I could do this. I refused to be held captive by my attraction to Ben. This was a mental game, not a physical one. I just needed to keep my eye on the prize. The prize was making partner and not walking away from this with a broken heart.

With a less-than-confident sigh, I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and headed inside.

As I put my key in the lock, I could hear Dolly whining happily on the other side. When I opened it, she sat, like a good girl, her butt wiggling on the floor excitedly. We’d been working with her to not jump up on people, and she was doing much better. Not perfect, but better.

“Hello, my beautiful girl!” I scratched her behind the ears and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Hey, how was your day?”

I looked up and saw Ben, my husband, standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweats, looking more delicious than the roast he had cooked smelled. His arms were above his head as his hands rested on top of the doorframe. The position showcased the chiseled lines of his triceps and I felt my heart and va-jay-jay flutter.

“Good,” I managed to squeak out as I slid off my high heels and started up the stairs, doing my best to avert my gaze from his arm porn. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lower his arms.

“Dinner will be ready in five.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right down,” I responded as my heart pounded harder than my bare feet rushing up the steps.

I walked into my room and tried to get myself under control as I unbuttoned my silk shirt and took it off. After stepping out of my skirt and placing them both in the dry clean only bag, I saw the basket filled with my machine washables and realized I’d fallen behind on my laundry.

For as long as I could remember, Sundays were laundry day. Even before I left to go to college at age sixteen, it was a habit I’d gotten into when I spent weekends with my dad. Every Sunday, we’d spend the day at the laundromat. At the time, I’d been upset that my mom had renovated our laundry room several times, and my dad didn’t even have a washer and dryer in his apartment when he was the sole breadwinner, while my mother never worked a day in her life.

Once I lost my dad, I started doing my own laundry on Sundays because it made me feel close to him. But last Sunday, Ben had asked if I wanted to go with him and Dolly to Golden Gate Park.

And the Sunday before that, he’d asked if I wanted to go to an outdoor jazz festival. Dolly had jumped on stage with one ofthe performers, and I’d drank a little bit too much wine, but we’d had a great time.

Today was Friday, which meant it had been nearly three weeks since I’d washed my clothes, and I was running out of leisure wear. I grabbed my gray Stanford shirt that had been washed and dried so many times the material was so thin my nipples were visible through it. Normally, I wore a bra or tank top beneath it, but I didn’t have either clean. As I pulled it on and looked in the mirror, a little thrill raced down my spine.

I wondered if he’d notice how thin my shirt was. If he did, would he say anything? I wasn’t trying to be a tease, but I couldn’t deny the thrill of thinking of him looking at me the same way he had on our wedding night. He’d looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive, and that’s exactly what he’d done.

After pulling on my last pair of clean sweats and fuzzy socks, taking off my makeup and putting my hair up in a ponytail, I grabbed my phone and headed down the steps. The savory scent of roast filled the air and warmed me from the inside out. In the four weeks that he’d been cooking me dinner, this was the fourth time we’d had this meal. It was, by far, my favorite. The meat was so tender and flavorful that it gave me a foodgasm, which I desperately needed since I wasn’t getting any gasms of the O variety.

Since living under the same roof, I’d abstained from using any of my toys, which were what my sex life had consisted of pre-marriage. I’d left all of my adult pleasure stimulators at my condo because I’d been self-conscious about him hearing the noise and being all the wiser about what I was up to under my covers. Over the past four weeks, I’d tried and failed to take care of myself the old-fashioned way, but I’d not been able to get there with only my hand and imagination. I’d never been a big porn watcher, so that was no help. My aversion probably stemmed from being privy to hundreds of search history reportsfrom private investigators. I was acutely aware of the digital record that was left. Being as painfully private as I was, the thought of someone seeing what I’d viewed horrified me.

All that to say, my self-imposed celibacy was starting to get to me, and I could not wait to sink my teeth into a delicious bite of roast.

I had just entered the kitchen when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw it was my mother. With a sigh, I silenced it.

“If you need to take that, I can put this back in the oven to keep it warm.”

---