Page 43 of Unmatched

But what if it hadn’t been me with him in that hotel room last night? What if I had wished him a good business trip and gotten up for work this morning, blissfully unaware? What if, while I walked the dog, sipped my coffee, and worked on payroll, he was waking up naked with someone else?

A weight settles in my chest.

It feels like I need to do something. But when I have so many other pressing things to think about, staying in bed, staying home—just to have sex—almost feels irresponsible. I wish it could wait till this evening. Or tomorrow. The weekend. Until I realize this sort of thinking is probably how we got to this point.

With a heavy sigh, I put the phone face down on the bedside table. Tomás still thinks I’m on “vacation.” The Pooch Park should be okay, at least for the morning. Ooh La Pooch doesn’t open until eight. I don’t even have to get up to let Heartthrob out.

But...what do I do? I glance at Anton’s form next to me. Do I reach for him? Speak to him? This seems like something I should understand, but I don’t even know where to start. I study his face, turned slightly toward me on the pillow. It could just be the weak morning light, but something about him seems different. In the surface of his forehead, or the angle of his brows. It takes me a minute, but I finally notice there are no lines creasing his face or tightness to his jaw. He looks peaceful...relaxed. Younger, even. Like when we first met.

Totally different from the scowling man at the hotel last night.

His breathing hitches, and I freeze as he shifts onto his side. I clutch my hands in my lap. Will he open his eyes? Catch me watching him? Should I kiss him? Touch him? For heaven’s sake, we’ve been married seven years. Why don’t I know what to do?

Self-consciousness takes over. What if my breath smells? What if I have mascara under my eyes? I’m probably a wreck, and that’s not going to make this go any smoother. I slip out of bed, grab my phone, and tiptoe to the bathroom. Pee. Check myself in the mirror. Fix my hair. Brush away my morning breath. And while I do this, I ask my therapist, Dr. Google for advice.

Turns out there are an overwhelming number of opinions about how to improve one’s sex life. Unfortunately, many of them feel one hundred percent beyond me.

Wear sexy lingerie - Been there, done that. He was plenty able to resist.

Watch a sexy movie - I’m not sure whether this means Fifty Shades of Grey or actual pornography. Either way, six thirty in the morning doesn’t seem like the time to curl up with a bowl of popcorn.

Role play - I cringe, picturing myself dressed up as a schoolgirl and Anton pretending to be the teacher. Ew.

Bring accessories into the bedroom - That’s not something we’ve done before, but I’m not sure where to start. Handcuffs? Riding crops? My face goes pink in the mirror. Who has those types of things, anyway? I know what my mother would say.

Do a sexy striptease - I pause on this one. While the idea of acting like a stripper makes me cringe, taking my clothes off is something I am capable of that doesn’t seem totally off the wall. It’s not like he’s never seen me naked; then again, he’s already seen me naked. What’s exciting about that? So I guess the question is whether I could do it and actually manage to entice him.

I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if this is even the right approach. Arousing Anton isn’t really a problem—quite the opposite. I just need to convince him the only person he wants to be aroused with is me.

When I step back into our bedroom, the air has shifted. I can tell he’s awake, but he hasn’t moved. I’m not sure if he’s watching, but I have to assume he is. The music I put on repeat last night still plays low over the speaker, and lucky for me, it’s on a slow, sexy song. I take a deep breath and walk purposefully toward the bed, exaggerating my footsteps in an attempt to roll my hips. The way I’m sure I’ve seen actresses do in movies—women who’ve either been directed or feel confident in what sexy looks like. The strap of my nightgown falls off one shoulder, and I go with it like it was planned. It seems like a good idea. But once I reach the foot of the bed, I’m suddenly not sure what else to do. I’m only wearing my cotton nightgown and underwear. Can you do a striptease with only two pieces of clothing? I could really use more time to sit and think this through. I raise my hem to reveal a peek at my underpants, then let the gown fall back down.

He’s watching me openly now, but I gauge nothing from his expression. There’s no clear interest. No heat. He could be watching a vacuum commercial on TV. My face warms. Maybe I should just give up and go make coffee...or maybe I need to step it up.

I slide down the other strap of my nightgown, then slip my arms out carefully, keeping my breasts covered for now. His face is still flat, but is he sitting up straighter in bed? The song changes to something faster, but I keep moving. I’m holding the nightgown up with one hand, using the other to play with my hair as I jut my hip to the right. But then I realize my left boob has crept out, exposed in the air. I pull the gown up quickly, then decide that was the wrong move and drop it completely. The material doesn’t flutter sexily to the floor like on TV, but bunches up around my waist like a sack. In a moment of panic, I grab it and shimmy it over my hips in a move that I’m pretty sure looks like I’m trying to pull down my pants to pee.

Somehow, I manage to get out of the nightgown and leave my underpants on without falling over, but by the time I straighten, my cheeks are ready to ignite. I cross my arms over my naked chest and turn away from Anton, trying to gather myself as I sway my cotton-covered ass to the beat, afraid to look back at his face.

I feel like I need a brass pole, but all we’ve got in here is a bookshelf.

With a rush of relief, I remember I’m not through. My thumbs drift to the elastic band of my light blue underwear. They’re definitely underpants, not panties. Broad, comfortable full-coverage cotton. But I bank on their removal being more exciting than their looks. Keeping my back to him, I slide the fabric down slowly, trying my best to keep swaying in time to the beat. Luckily, I already did some serious frontal trimming in order to wear that sheer lingerie yesterday. My ass is nothing special. It’s round enough in proportion to my waist, but I wouldn’t call it my standout feature. The second it’s exposed, though, I remember Anton’s message about “butt play,” and I freeze. Every inch of my skin flushes hot, and in some attempt to dash that thought from my mortified mind—and his—I spin to face him.

This is a mistake. Because now we’re staring at each other, and I haven’t planned my next move. There aren’t any clothes left. The song is about to end. And I’m just standing here, my breasts bare, hands clapped between my legs like Eve making a break from the Garden of Eden.

It takes me a second to realize I’m actually scared of whatever happens next.

What does he want that I haven’t given him before?

But then he reaches toward me, and I get a small rush of victory. His face is still unreadable, betraying nothing of how he feels, but his hand is moving closer. Maybe I’m doing better than I thought?

I clear my throat. If he’s into this, I might as well take it all the way.

“Ooh baby,” I say in my best attempt at a stripper voice—do strippers ever talk? It comes out sounding forced, like I’m pretending to be some weird little anime girl, but I go with it. “I’ve been so naughty. You wanna fuck me?”

At last, his fingers meet my skin—but he doesn’t grab for my breasts or my ass. He wraps his hand around my wrist with a firm grip. I look up in surprise, and when I meet his gaze, his lip is curled. The look in his eyes is far from aroused.

“Lydia?” he growls. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Reality crashes in with a shiver of bare skin, and now I’m desperate for a robe or even just a towel to cover myself. What am I doing? I wish I’d never gotten out of bed. Or at least never left the bathroom. Still, I resume my normal voice and feign confidence. “Isn’t it obvious?”

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