Page 94 of Sextuplet and the City

He watches my finger with a burning in his eyes. Have I made him angry?

Unwilling to test my fake husband any further, I stick the cake in the fridge. His slight wince is my reward.

“Lock the door behind me,” Art says and walks out of the kitchen.

I follow and watch him exit the apartment, closing the door behind him.

I stare at it, the enormity of what’s just happened hitting me fully for the first time.

I’m going to live with Art.

Me. With the guy I’ve fantasized about.

Unbidden, a girlish, gleeful squeak escapes my lips.

I can’t believe this is happening.

It’s like a surreal dream.

Oh, and the cherry on top is I’m getting paid for this shit.

Before I can squeal again, the door opens.

“You didn’t lock it?” Art’s frown makes me take a step back. “You have to do it as soon as I leave.”

“Yes, dear. I’ll obey your every command, dear.”

His features soften. “Please, Lemon. This is Manhattan. You never know who might barge in.”

“Fine.” I finally notice what he’s holding: my PRIVATE box in one hand and the bag with my bed sheets in the other. My heart leaps. “I thought I told you not to touch that!”

“Sorry.” He puts the stuff on the floor. “Figured you might want to deal with whatever is inside.”

Before I can ask him to swear on his soul that he didn’t peek inside the box, he leaves again.

I stare at the bed sheets, my heartbeat speeding further.

They’re a physical reminder of a question I should’ve asked Art from the very beginning.

Where are we going to sleep? More importantly, will it be together? In one bed?

Surely not. He’ll probably take the couch. Or I will.

But what if we do sleep together?

This is getting so real so fast I feel like another squeak—or a squeal—is working its way out of my body.

I’d better busy myself with chores.

First things first. I scan the apartment for a place to stash my sex toys.

When I was a kid, I hid stuff from my sisters in a broken electrical outlet, but this place probably has them all working, and I don’t want to get electrocuted. The floor baseboards look sturdy as well, so no hiding stuff there either.

Maybe the oven?

No. I have no idea if Art likes to cook.

The freezer? But what if he wants to freeze some peas?

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