Page 67 of Ride By Your Side

“Who says I’m drawing something?” she asks, innocently fluttering her lashes.

I tilt my head to the side. “What else would you be doing with a pencil and a sketchpad? Now, come on,” I say with a suggestive nod. “Spill it, so I’m not forced to drag it out of you.”

She lets out a scoff. “And how exactly would you do that?”

“I have my ways,” I say, a boyish grin tugging at my lips, a look that seemingly only she has the power to bring out of me.

“Prove it,” she challenges, and with that, I tug on her foot, pulling her body toward me as I reach out to tickle her side. The gamble pays off as girlish laughter erupts, uncontrollable and infectious, filling the room with a melody of gorgeous giggles that makes my chest swell.

“Miles, no, stop,” she begs through her laughter.

“Only if you show me what you were doing over there,” I demand, my hands continuing their movements as my fingers get dangerously close to her armpits, which I’m assuming, like most people, is her most ticklish spot.

“Okay, fine, stop. Stop. I’ll show you.” She gives in, letting out a small chorus of giggles as I remove my hands, holding them in the air to surrender.

"Good to know I’ve cracked the code on exactly how to get what I want,” I smirk.

“You know, there areother, much funner ways you could have gotten it out of me,” she challenges as she reaches for the sketchpad, still holding it tightly against her chest.

“I don’t know, that was pretty fun,” I admit with an arrogant grin, draping my arm across the back of the couch.

“I was thinking more along the lines of sexual favors, but if that’s your thing...” She casually shrugs as my eyes go wide.

“Damn,” I curse, “you’re right. That is much more fun. I’m going to have to keep that in mind for next time,” I muse, already mentally preparing for the future.

“Well, then again, how many more next times do you think we have left?” she asks, the smile on her face slowly disappearing as my mind unfortunately follows her train of thought.

“I don’t know, but is that really something we want to think about right now?” I ask. It may be selfish, but the idea of us ending and her moving out is something I’ve purposely avoided thinking about.

“No, but as fun as it is to play house, this can only go on for so long. We both know that. Eventually, I’m going to need to move on, and in just over a month, the annulment is going to go through. Us getting married will be nothing more than a silly memory that we can hopefully laugh about later.”

I know she’s right. I should be thinking about this, and normally I would make myself be the one to constantly remind both of us of the reality of things, but for once, it’s been nice to follow in her footsteps and get swept up in the moment.

Instead of worrying about what comes next, I’ve allowed myself to focus on the here and now, letting go of the constant pressure to plan for the future—especially one that doesn’t include her in it—at least not like this. Not in the way I want her to be.

“Well, it’s not like we didn’t know this was coming,” I say, tilting my head to the other side. “Plus, aren’t you usually the one to preach about letting go and not stressing over the stupid shit? What happened to living in the moment and saying ‘fuck the consequences?’” I challenge.

She looks down at the still-closed notebook as she lets it fall into her lap. “I mean, sure, but I’m also not looking to leave here in a place where I’m worse off than when I showed up.”

My brows crease. “And you feel like that’s how this is going to end?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe. I mean, right now everything is good,” she says, casting her gaze upward as she meets my eyes. “But I’m scared too. You’ve somehow turned into my safety blanket, and I’m not sure what I’ll do when things go back to how they were before, especially if you go back to hating me.”

A frown tugs at my lips as I stare at her in disbelief. “I never hated you,” I admit first and foremost. “And I never could. Honestly, you’ve become one of my favorite people. From here on out, you’re always going to have a place in my life, you have to know that. Sure, you might not always be my wife, but you’ll always be my friend,” I promise, even though every word I say somehow hits a little too hard, my heart breaking with each and every one.

I like having her as my wife, and while I understand there’s a timeline for all of this, and everything I’ve told her is true, it doesn’t mean I’m suddenly ready to let go.

The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile, even if it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, maybe that means we should start being more strategic and smart about things and go back to acting like friends, if that’s what we plan on being for one another."

I know she’s right. I need to stop letting myself get lost in this, but even the suggestion makes my heart ache. I’m not ready to stop pretending, even if deep down I already know that what’s been happening here has never been pretend—at least not for me.

“Well, does that mean we have to start that today?” I finally ask, the hollowness already filling my chest as I regret not only letting her move out of my grasp, but also letting it get to a place where this sort of conversation could happen. I’m not ready for this.

“Maybe we should,” she admits, as I try to take solace in the fact that she looks just as depressed as I do right now over the mere idea of this.

“Or maybe—” I start, but she stands up and interrupts.

“Or maybe we protect what we have and stop. Stop all the pretending and just go back to being roommates. Isn’t that what you wanted all along?” she asks, awkwardly folding her arms, sketchpad and all.

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