Page 32 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

“Other than the obvious, I think maybe that’s why we’re having trouble sleeping at night. It’s uncomfortable to be sweaty all the time.”

“I’m sorry the fans aren’t cutting it,” I say. Iamsorry. AC costs money. I didn’t feel it was safe to install one of those window units on the main floor because someone could just push it through and come right in. And upstairs, none of the windows would work. I didn’t have the kind of money it would take to spring for central air.

“Not a problem. It’s especially not a problem when you have tons of money. People can make things happen for you. They can come at the dinner hour and get an entire central air system installed in a few hours.”

“Oh.” So much for getting romantic at dinner.

“I was thinking maybe we could order something in and then go for a long walk with Beans while the guys come in and work on your place. And then we could, uh…maybe watch a movie. In the nicely air-conditioned house. Together. Side by side. On thecouch. And tonight, when we’re sleeping up there in your bed, under the same covers, I thought it might help that we weren’t both burning up.”

He has to be kidding. There is zero chance that if we’re sharing the same bed, I’m not going to beburning up.I’m going to be an inferno. A bottle of molten lava, if any bottle could even hold that. Back when we were kids, my parents used to give me and my brother sparklers. I was so much older than him, but it didn’t stop me from loving it and loving how much he loved it. We’d race around the yard together, doing tricks and pretending they were magic wands, those sparks burning hot and bright and wild in the dark night.

I feel like my nipples are the equivalent of those sparklers, and I don’t even want to comment on what my lady bits are doing.

Anticipating.

Seriously, anticipating.

I’ve been trying to tone it down since breakfast, but it hasn’t helped. Not even doing my guitar lessons with my students helped. I was strung as tight as those strings I was plucking, thinking about all the metaphors that could relate to my body being plucked and played and made music with.

It’s a nice gesture. It’s something Sterling saw I needed, and he arranged all of it as a surprise for me. I mean, it’s not like I was actually looking forward to making dinner together or anything.

We can still do that tomorrow night.

I’m going to be amazed at this and not the least bit put out. I’m not going to let my nipples dictate my feelings.

“Sure, we can order something. But you didn’t have to do all this. It’s…it’s a lot. And on short notice, it has to be expensive.”

“Don’t worry about the money. I want to do this for you,” Sterling replies.

I start putting things back in the fridge. “Thank you,” I say to the fridge, and then I feel bad, so I turn around to face him. “Thank you, Sterling. That’s very kind.”

He hesitates like he’s done something wrong. I force a smile. I’m being silly. That’s what this man does to me. He makes me ridiculous. I get my phone instead and bring up a Mexican restaurant’s menu. I’m totally making that stir-fry tomorrow. I ignore my tight nipples, the burning in my belly, and the buzzing going on lower down. In a perfectly normal voice, I order tacos, then think about the whole Beans thing and how it’s probably up there with garlic and onions. Who wants to Dutch oven it out together when we spend our first night sharing covers? But it’s too late.

Couples who fart together stay together? Not sure if that’s a thing, but if Sterling can’t handle a fart, then he’s not the one. There are so many worse things we’d see from each other if we made this work and continued making it work.

After dinner, which is the world’s most delicious tacos, we take Beans out for a walk. It’s a good thing because I’m stuffed. Sterling ate at least seven tacos, and then I lost count, so he must need the walk as well.

Throughout the whole walk, I don’t feel eyes burning into my back, and I don’t ask if there’s security tailing us. I don’t really want to know.

We loop through the streets, twisting and winding through the blocks, saying nothing, but it’s an easy silence. After a while, we start making small talk. Sterling likes squirrels, and he thinks raccoons are hilarious. He also likes the particular shade of blue the recycling bins are. Then, he compliments a group of kids on their street hockey skills and finds a quarter that he says must be lucky. He slips it into my back pocket. We keep walking until the evening gets that dusky feeling I enjoy so much. Summer duskiness really is the best. I like that sunset, nighttime summerglow where the heat doesn’t fade, and the dark doesn’t feel long or oppressive like it does in winter.

We’ve been gone for a few hours, and I’m amazed that as soon as we walk back into the house, there are no crews, though I do see dust and some mess here and there. There are new registers and a new thermostat on the wall. When I glance outside, I can see the box unit set up out there, humming away. I’m shocked beyond everything. How many people had to come out to make this happen in just a few hours? They worked all through dinner, and it took a while to come, but it couldn’t have been more than four hours. Yes, they would have started around five, and it’s now after nine.

I duck back inside and find Sterling sweeping up the dust on the floor.

I help him clean up the mess after I feed Beans. When Beans is done eating, he takes up his favorite spot on the couch and waits for us to join him for movie night.

It’s already cold in here.

Really cold.

Cold enough that my bare arms have goosebumps on them, and if I were wearing shorts and not jeans, my legs would be goose-pimply too. It’s cold enough that I’m slightly freezing my beaver off. Yes, I went there, like nineteen seventies style. I’m privately amused, and I smile to myself as I clean up. I’ve heard of free-the-nipple, but now I’m thinking of freeze-the-nipple. At least I can blame how hard they are on the cold.

It takes a good hour to sweep up and wipe everything down. When we’re done, it’s already after ten, and I glance at Sterling, all the heat rushing to my face to combat the cold air circulating through the house. “Is it too late for a movie? Should we maybe just go to bed?”

“It is pretty late, I guess.”

“Are you tired?” I ask.

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