Page 42 of Icing the Enemy

She blows out a heavy breath. “Next week?”

I reach out my hand, and she lays her palm on mine. I squeeze as I pull her off the couch. Upstairs, I show her the four bedrooms. “Wow, these are beautiful.”

“Thanks, Becca decorated them. I could care less. Well, that’s a lie. My bed was custom made, mattress and all. I wanted something where my toes didn’t hang over the edge.”

“Oh my God, I love to scoot down and let my feet hang off the edge. If my feet are hot, then I can’t go to sleep, so I let them peek out,” she says with the apples of her cheeks rounding at the top of her smile.

Captivated by her every word and her effortless beauty, it’s hard for me to NOT think of her being in my bed. The fact that we’re total opposites isn’t lost on me, and it’s a good thing this is just a short-term marriage. “It’s a good thing we won’t be sleeping together.” It comes out all deep and raspy.

She studies my face for a moment, and I can’t help but stare back. Somehow, I have to find a way to keep my distance before I do something that will complicate this arrangement.

“I’ll take this room.”

“Why this one?” I ask, because if I’m going to marry her, I might as well know what she likes and dislikes. It will make our relationship more believable.

She does a little spin as she touches the gold antique bedframe. “It’s bigger than my apartment or close. It’s light and airy. Makes me feel like I can breathe.”

She sits, sinking into the mattress, then lies back and puts her arms above her head. Her shirt creeps up, exposing the skin between the hemline and her shorts, showing her belly button. It’s not an innie or an outie but in between. I wonder what percentage of people have this kind of belly button.

“I love the plantation shutters too. On Sundays, Mom and I would go on a drive. We would discover neighborhoods like this one and say, ‘When we win the lottery, let’s buy a house here or there.’ But she was already sick and after she had battled for years, I knew it was a dream that would never come true.”

I lean against the chest of drawers, listening not only to her words but to the pain they cause. My family has never had to endure such a loss. We lost my grandfather, but he was older, not in his forties. “I’m glad I can be the one to make this easier for you.” I lie down on the bed, mimicking her, and we coexist without arguing for ten minutes, staring at the ceiling.

We head to the basement to play a game of ping-pong. She’s never played except in school once, so I move behind her, wrapping my arms around hers, and show her how to hold the paddle when the ball comes on the left, right, or center. When my dick gets hard, I step back, adjust myself, and head back to my side.

She laughs, trying to swing too hard, and misses the ball completely. We finally get into a rhythm and extend our streak of hitting it back and forth to eleven times.

“I better get home. Dixie’s been by herself for longer than usual.” She places the paddle on the table.

“Let me feed you first, then I’ll take you home.”

As I prepare a noodle dish full of veggies and chicken, she makes a list of food she likes. It’s all crap. I plate the food anddiscuss the list. “I can’t have most of this stuff around during the season. I’ll be too tempted. Instead of frozen, how about if we buy the ingredients to make lasagna ourselves? On half of it, I can load it with vegetables and meat. And you can do whatever you want on your side.”

Rolling her eyes, she barks, “This is going to be awful.”

“Yeah, driving a BMW, having a pool, ping-pong, a workout room, and three dens is awful. And no fake cheese; my macaroni and cheese is excellent. I used to make it in college and how the girlfriends raved about it.”

Her blue eyes darken, and I feel like I’ve stepped into a landmine. She finishes chewing the bite in her mouth, then gets up and excuses herself to the bathroom. When she doesn’t come back in a few minutes, I stand outside the half bath, in the hallway, and I hear her sniffling. We’ve made a lot of progress today, and I don’t want to pressure her. Maybe the sheer weight of faking a marriage is too heavy a burden—I know I’m having a hard time coming to terms. But each day I spend with her, the more I like her and the more she annoys me. This may or may not end well.

I return to the table and clear our plates. Cover the pan with aluminum foil and stick the leftovers in the fridge.

Oakley startles me while I’m loading the dishwasher by putting her hand on my arm. “I need to go now.”

“Okay, I’ll grab my keys.”

When we arrive at her house, I ask to come in to see Dixie. She lets me, but I only stay long enough to get a few licks from Dixie and see the inside of her apartment. Thank God she’s not a slob. Framed photos in a geometric design hang on the wall above the couch. Which gives me an idea.

As I’m leaving, I say, “Tomorrow, we’re going to a party at one of my teammate’s houses. It’s a pool party. Are you up for our first outing with my friends?”

“Who doesn’t love a pool party?”

“Do you have a swimsuit? If not, we can go shopping for one.”

“I have one.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up after practice, and you can give notice at your job.”

“I’m not quitting until we’re married.”

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