Page 54 of My Wife
I have to stop this now. Get her out of here so she doesn’t cry … or want to come back. “But you want to see my abs.”
Eyes cartoonish, she gasps. “I do not.”
“Admit it.” This will drive her over the edge. She’ll turn in her resignation any second now.
“My grandmother was the one who was interested.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Yet you knew about the hashtag.”
A color the exact hue of rose petals dusts her cheeks.
I step closer, narrowing the space between us until she’s nearly against the wall. “I didn’t ask for this,” I say, when what I really mean is it’s time for her to find a new job.
Except her peachy, glossy lips ripple like she’s trying to resist a smile. Like I don’t intimidate her at all. Either that, or she’s too positive and bright-eyed for her own good.
My eyes lock on hers for a long beat. Her lashes brush her cheeks, then she looks up at me, unwavering.
I feel like I’m losing my balance. She lengthens her spine, growing closer to me.
It’s like we’re both on the fritz with the question of a kiss on our lips. Not sure whether we want to shove the other into the abyss or hold on to each other for dear life.
Mouth parting, she swallows before saying, “I don’t like the way you smell.”
Breaking the moment, whatever that was, I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean against the wall. “And how is that?
“Like aftershave and ice. Cold, cold, ice. Like your heart.” With each word, she narrows her eyes and leans closer to me.
My lips pooch a little bit, preparing a retort. “What’s wrong with that? Sounds as if you like it.”
“No. Nope. Not a chance,” she echoes my comment from a few minutes ago.
Operating on too few hours of sleep and coming off an intense game, it’s like the past ten years didn’t happen. I’m temporarily my old self. Lacking impulse control and without thinking, I lean my head to one side and nuzzle her neck, breathing her in.
She yelps. “What are you doing?” Then, in a softer, distracted, delighted voice, she repeats, “What are you doing?”
“You smell like cinnamon and spice.” And everything nice under the sun. Heat travels up my neck. I love her scent.
Pulling away, she’s not wearing her ‘Everything is fine’ face anymore. More like it’s in flames with alarm. “I’m guessing you hate it as much as licorice.”
In reality, I’ve been craving cake.
She storms off, jeans tight and hips swinging. I cannot resist admiring her curves.
I run my hand down my face. What’s happening to me?
* * *
With the sheetpulled over my head, so I don’t disturb the kid, I prepare a task list for Thursday and text it to Jessica.
Me: Arrange travel for same-day return from the game in Oklahoma on Sunday.
Jessica: Done.
Me: Return call to the auto insurance company. They want an annual mileage update.
Jessica: No problem.
Me: Pick up my dry cleaning. I want the dark blue suit ready for team photos over the weekend.
