Page 24 of Married with Mayhem

After she disappears into the bathroom, I discover that Nico is watching me again. His smirk is back.

“Shut the fuck up,” I grumble and seize two more pizza slices.

My brother laughs.

5

SABRINA

The acoustics in this old tenement building are something else. As I lie here and blink at the dark ceiling, my ears pick up a concert of creaks and distant echoes. I can almost imagine I’m ensconced within some ancient, haunted mansion. This fantasy would feel more realistic if the plaintive wail of city sirens would stop getting in the way.

Plus there’s the racket of Nico and Livy screwing each other’s brains out in the other bedroom. That really distracts from the haunted vibe.

Anyway, I have other reasons to feel keyed up. For one thing, the bed I’m currently lying in belongs to Monte Castelli.

I didn’task him to give me his bed.

I didn’t expect him to give me his bed.

But heinsistedon giving me his bed.

Monte acted like any other option would be taken as an insult and I couldn’t very well argue with him. After all, he picked me up at the airport. He bought me tampons and gum and chocolate. He even bought a couple of t-shirts and a comfortablepair of shorts so I’d have something to sleep in tonight. I didn’t even think of this but he did.

The least I can do is behave like a gracious visitor and sleep where he wants me to sleep.

Earlier, I tried to awkwardly express my gratitude but Monte merely nodded and didn’t look up while rummaging through his narrow dresser. He extracted a few items while I sat on his bed in my New York tourist pajamas and waited.

Monte left the room in a hurry after muttering, “Go to sleep,” in a rather terse, borderline rude way. He shut the door behind him without another word.

Before today, if I’d been forced to guess where Monte Castelli sleeps, I would have described an unmade bed in a dim cave that’s littered with empty beer bottles and random gun bullets while naked women leer from the wall posters.

Wrong on all counts.

Monte is a neat freak. Or at least he’s far closer to a neat freak than I am. His bed was tightly made with military precision, the lone piece of clutter was a rumpled shirt that he promptly dumped into a closet hamper and the only wall art is a giant map of the five boroughs.

I’ve already made the mistake of inhaling when my cheek was pressed to his pillowcase. The jarring hint of his cologne affected me in a way I’m not proud of. I flashed back to the way my legs wrapped around his waist during the airport piggyback ride and felt a deep tug in my lower belly with a rush of heat. Then I pictured the impressive flex of his forearm muscles as he steered the car to Manhattan and I needed to roll away from the Monte-scented pillow before I used it for something unspeakable.

Thoughts about Monte’s body might be avoidable if I wasn’t lying in his bed. Monte is the same brash, sarcastic, arrogant guy that he always was. I’m never sure where I stand with him. Aftermost of our banter sessions I’m stuck with the unpleasant feeling that he has somehow gained the upper hand.

After the fact, I always think of better retorts that would knock him on his heels but by then it’s too late. All I can do is brood over what I should have said. Most of all, it really is an injustice how he just gets hotter all the time.

A second injustice is that my favorite vibrator is at the bottom of a suitcase currently being held hostage at the airport. I’m horny enough to use it no matter where I am. There’s no doubt an epic orgasm would help chase away the lingering menstrual cramps and help with my sleep problem.

As I kick off the puffy comforter, the air conditioner lodged in the room’s single window shudders on and then starts puffing out cool air. This room might be quite uncomfortable without it. Summer nights in the city tend to be sticky and humid.

No matter how I try to breathe deeply and summon serenity, my mind still races. All the images from the long day keep replaying and smacking into each other. Monte stars in too many of them.

There’s really little point in staring at the ceiling with nothing but my turmoil and sexual frustration to keep me occupied. Lately I’ve grown fond of card tricks. The tactile feel of the cards has an old fashioned charm that’s been lost in the digital world. Shuffling them in my hands is always a pleasant way to spend some nervous energy. Maybe that’s what I need right now to stop feeling so edgy.

Monte surprised me when he fulfilled my entire shopping wish list. I knew I was pushing my luck. I always do. Yet I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to him. Maybe I should make more of an effort to overcome this character flaw. Otherwise, I’m likely to end up alone with my vibrator forever.

The shopping bag with the playing cards was left somewhere on the floor. My fingers feel around on the nightstand for thesmall table lamp but I can’t seem to find a switch or a string to turn it on so I grab my phone and press the flashlight feature.

The small pool of light turns Monte’s room into an eerie cavern. Somewhere on the street below, another siren screams past and then fades. In the next room, Livy yells “You’re the king! Fuck yeah!” Each syllable syncs with a thud to the wall.

Now I can see the shopping bag. It’s sitting on the floor on the far side of the nightstand. I’m sure I can reach it without leaving the bed.

My arm stretches. My fingertips graze the plastic bag handle.

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