Page 55 of Curious
“Yep. I got paid for a big job, so I’m okay to put some into the house.” I boop his nose. “And as you said, our home isn’t habitable. We can’t keep living like that. Come on, let’s get it and then pick out paint.” I pull out the measurements on my phone and place an order at the counter.
We head over to the paint section, and I stand behind Shelby as he chatters animatedly about paint chips. But all I can think of is how cute his ass looks when he stretches to reach some in the back.
“I’m not really sure how many times in my life I’ve been to Home Depot, hardware stores, lumberyards, flooring warehouses, and paint stores,” I mutter. “But I’ve never been horny in one before.”
His eyes widen, and he looks down, then bites his lip, discreetly rubbing my junk. “I really think we should go with this one for the living room, don’t you?” he asks, holding out a very pale gold. “It looks like sunlight, and I think it would make the room so cheery.”
I groan. “Then let’s do it.”
“In the Do-It Center.” Shelby cocks his head. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask: did you use a stud finder on yourself, and did it go off?”
I snort-laugh. “It’s like we’re in high school and not reputable adults with real jobs,” I say, adjusting my jeans. But I wrap an arm around his shoulders and kiss the top of his head. “Honestly, I’ve never had more fun.”
“I want to help paint. Is that okay?”
“You don’t have to, but sure. Let me tell Charlie, too. He’ll want to be there.”
We order paint, get it mixed, and leave, me shaking my head at how much more fun it was to take my husband to the store with me.
When we get home, I set up a camera on a tripod in the corner and put it on time-lapse. “Do you want to be in an Ad/VICE video?” I ask.
His eyes light up. “Do you want me in one?”
“I want to keep you all to myself, but it might be difficult to keep you out of frame.”
“I’m in,” he says cheerfully, and skips to come help.
We spread out drop cloths and prep to paint. Shelby is incredibly diligent, getting right to work taping off areas. Charlie shows up before long.
“Should I edge?” Shelby asks innocently.
Charlie looks between us. “Was that innuendo?”
“What? No. We don’t innuendo,” Shelby says, smirking. He’s wearing one of my paint-splattered T-shirts, and he’s drowning in it, but I can’t stop touching him. Which is a problem when we’re painting.
“So it was. Okay. I see how you guys are.”
Only he doesn’t, since he has no idea how Shelby and I are in private. I’m not sure I want to tell him.
Oh, it’s not like Charlie would say something mean. But as I told Shelby, I want to keep him to myself right now. It almost feels like we’re fixing upourhouse together.
As I pull out the extension roller and start laying down a coat of paint on the ceiling, Shelby cuts in on the edges and Charlie works a roller on the walls. Between the three of us, we make short work of the room and end up painting the hallway and the kitchen as well.
“Wow. A coat of paint makes a huge difference,” Shelby says when we’re done, as Charlie fiddles with the camera.
“It’s great.” Seeing this place come together makes me long for something more with him, so we can share it. I want a real relationship with Shelby, but that’s not guaranteed, and it’s not what we agreed on. Odds are I’m going to be here when he’s gone, after we get a divorce, and I’m always going to think about him when I look at the design choices. I like the design choices, though, so I’m not sure there’s any way around it. I guess I’ll deal with that when it comes.
“When is the flooring going to come in?” Charlie asks.
“Tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll be back if you need me.”
Shelby looks me over. “Maybe we should let you rest that ankle. We’re not very good at keeping you off your feet.”
“That’s true,” I admit.
“Does it still hurt?” Charlie asks.
