Page 70 of My Wife
Jessica’s gaze searches mine for a long moment. The interior light of the car flickers, illuminating the flecks of amber in her brown eyes.
She whispers, “What if I like monster trucks?”
I take her wrist in my hand and press my lips to it. A shiver runs through her. Recalling what she said about cooking blogs, I say, “I hope you get some rest tonight.”
For once, I will because I’ll be dreaming of Jessica, even if the kid kicks me in the ribs.
19
JESS
My skinstill tingles from Liam’s touch. The way his hand wrapped around my wrist wasn’t aggressive or possessive. More like the way he may grip his hockey stick. A caress. As if he had the sudden awareness that not everything in the world is hard, a challenge to tackle.
Even when we’re not together, I am constantly aware of his presence. There’s no comparison. Rexlan and I coexisted. Liam and I orbit each other and I’m afraid, given the blaze in his gaze earlier, if we’re not careful, we might collide.
I find myself looking at cars. I’ve never considered what kind of car I’d buy given the opportunity. I always just make do. But this is crazy. The man cannot purchase a vehicle for me.
However, logically speaking, if he also wants me to look after KJ, in addition to my regular personal assistant responsibilities, he probably doesn’t want me driving his son around in a death trap.
Knowing I need to operate at full capacity if I’ll be taking care of the kid, as Liam calls him, I should probably work on my insomnia situation.
I’ve read all the articles about sleep hygiene, regulating melatonin, blue light hazards, red light therapy, and how to neutralize my stress levels for optimum relaxation.
What do I have to be stressed about? I’m blessed.
If not a little disappointed at being back in Cobbiton.
The original plan was to be so successful, I’d fly Grandma Dolly to Tinseltown to see my name in lights. We’d also go on annual cruises, visit the national parks, and trek to a wool museum in New Zealand. She loves to knit, and do basically anything with her hands from signing to baking, playing piano to winning typing contests online.
Here I am again with nothing to write home about. I’m ashamed of my inability to adult like an adult.
To have dropped out of college.
Left at the altar.
My childhood.
All of these failures stack up, then drop like dominos, threatening to knock me down.
But I get up, dust off, put on a smile, and keep going. That’s what I always do because the sun will surely come out tomorrow … and if not then, eventually.
I scroll social media, searching for the secret key to a good night’s sleep—someone has it, so please share!
I wander down a rabbit hole, er, cave about the royal family when my phone beeps with an incoming text.
Mr. Meanie: I just had another piece of cake.
Me: Nat is not going to approve.
Mr. Meanie: I couldn’t resist
Me: That’s not setting a good example as team captain.
Mr. Meanie: I’m not above breaking the rules from time to time.
Me: Grandma Dolly would be disappointed. She’s obsessed with your abs.
Mr. Meanie: I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or frightened.
