Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband (I said Yes #4)

16. Weland

Chapter sixteen

Weland

I wanted to make something that would take a while for us to do together. Something that felt a little bit romantic. What would my long-lost secret husband, whom I hardly ever get to see, like to eat if he came over to my house and spent a hypothetical week with me?

Probably not anything with garlic and onions.

And absolutely not liver. Shudder.

Steak is likely because doesn’t everyone like steak? But I don’t have a barbeque, and throwing it in a hot frying pan for a couple of minutes doesn’t seem all that romantic. Part of the show is to leave those cracks in the vertical blinds at the patio door that leads out to the world’s smallest yard with the shakiest fence, and you know…get it on.

I thought all day about what I could make. I didn’t want to have to run out for groceries and chance getting followed by the trio from hell. The last thing I wanted was another round of twenty fucking questions with them.

After a quick search of the fridge and pantry, I eventually decided on a stir fry. It’ll be missing some of the key ingredients, but I do have rice, chicken, peppers, carrots, corn, a can of water chestnuts, and a bottle of amazing teriyaki sauce.

My knife nearly slips off the carrot and goes through my finger when a loud clang comes from outside. “Gah! What the heck was that?” I didn’t think the cousins would try and break into the house. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Sterling instantly has this guilty-as-all-heck look on his face, but he grins at me. And since he’s not panicking, I slowly set the knife down and turn to him. Crossing my arms, I wait for him to explain why it sounds like half the house is going to be torn away.

“It’s hot out,” he states.

“Yeah, I did get that. Unbearably so.”

“Other than the obvious, I think maybe that’s why we’re having trouble sleeping at night. It’s uncomfortable to be sweaty all the time.”

“I’m sorry the fans aren’t cutting it,” I say. I am sorry. AC costs money. I didn’t feel it was safe to install one of those window units on the main floor because someone could just push it through and come right in. And upstairs, none of the windows would work. I didn’t have the kind of money it would take to spring for central air.

“Not a problem. It’s especially not a problem when you have tons of money. People can make things happen for you. They can come at the dinner hour and get an entire central air system installed in a few hours.”

“Oh.” So much for getting romantic at dinner.

“I was thinking maybe we could order something in and then go for a long walk with Beans while the guys come in and work on your place. And then we could, uh…maybe watch a movie. In the nicely air-conditioned house. Together. Side by side. On the couch. And tonight, when we’re sleeping up there in your bed, under the same covers, I thought it might help that we weren’t both burning up.”

He has to be kidding. There is zero chance that if we’re sharing the same bed, I’m not going to be burning up. I’m going to be an inferno. A bottle of molten lava, if any bottle could even hold that. Back when we were kids, my parents used to give me and my brother sparklers. I was so much older than him, but it didn’t stop me from loving it and loving how much he loved it. We’d race around the yard together, doing tricks and pretending they were magic wands, those sparks burning hot and bright and wild in the dark night.

I feel like my nipples are the equivalent of those sparklers, and I don’t even want to comment on what my lady bits are doing.

Anticipating.

Seriously, anticipating.

I’ve been trying to tone it down since breakfast, but it hasn’t helped. Not even doing my guitar lessons with my students helped. I was strung as tight as those strings I was plucking, thinking about all the metaphors that could relate to my body being plucked and played and made music with.

It’s a nice gesture. It’s something Sterling saw I needed, and he arranged all of it as a surprise for me. I mean, it’s not like I was actually looking forward to making dinner together or anything.

We can still do that tomorrow night.

I’m going to be amazed at this and not the least bit put out. I’m not going to let my nipples dictate my feelings.

“Sure, we can order something. But you didn’t have to do all this. It’s…it’s a lot. And on short notice, it has to be expensive.”

“Don’t worry about the money. I want to do this for you,” Sterling replies.

I start putting things back in the fridge. “Thank you,” I say to the fridge, and then I feel bad, so I turn around to face him. “Thank you, Sterling. That’s very kind.”

He hesitates like he’s done something wrong. I force a smile. I’m being silly. That’s what this man does to me. He makes me ridiculous. I get my phone instead and bring up a Mexican restaurant’s menu. I’m totally making that stir-fry tomorrow. I ignore my tight nipples, the burning in my belly, and the buzzing going on lower down. In a perfectly normal voice, I order tacos, then think about the whole Beans thing and how it’s probably up there with garlic and onions. Who wants to Dutch oven it out together when we spend our first night sharing covers? But it’s too late.

Couples who fart together stay together? Not sure if that’s a thing, but if Sterling can’t handle a fart, then he’s not the one. There are so many worse things we’d see from each other if we made this work and continued making it work.

After dinner, which is the world’s most delicious tacos, we take Beans out for a walk. It’s a good thing because I’m stuffed. Sterling ate at least seven tacos, and then I lost count, so he must need the walk as well.

Throughout the whole walk, I don’t feel eyes burning into my back, and I don’t ask if there’s security tailing us. I don’t really want to know.

We loop through the streets, twisting and winding through the blocks, saying nothing, but it’s an easy silence. After a while, we start making small talk. Sterling likes squirrels, and he thinks raccoons are hilarious. He also likes the particular shade of blue the recycling bins are. Then, he compliments a group of kids on their street hockey skills and finds a quarter that he says must be lucky. He slips it into my back pocket. We keep walking until the evening gets that dusky feeling I enjoy so much. Summer duskiness really is the best. I like that sunset, nighttime summer glow where the heat doesn’t fade, and the dark doesn’t feel long or oppressive like it does in winter.

We’ve been gone for a few hours, and I’m amazed that as soon as we walk back into the house, there are no crews, though I do see dust and some mess here and there. There are new registers and a new thermostat on the wall. When I glance outside, I can see the box unit set up out there, humming away. I’m shocked beyond everything. How many people had to come out to make this happen in just a few hours? They worked all through dinner, and it took a while to come, but it couldn’t have been more than four hours. Yes, they would have started around five, and it’s now after nine.

I duck back inside and find Sterling sweeping up the dust on the floor.

I help him clean up the mess after I feed Beans. When Beans is done eating, he takes up his favorite spot on the couch and waits for us to join him for movie night.

It’s already cold in here.

Really cold.

Cold enough that my bare arms have goosebumps on them, and if I were wearing shorts and not jeans, my legs would be goose-pimply too. It’s cold enough that I’m slightly freezing my beaver off. Yes, I went there, like nineteen seventies style. I’m privately amused, and I smile to myself as I clean up. I’ve heard of free-the-nipple, but now I’m thinking of freeze-the-nipple. At least I can blame how hard they are on the cold.

It takes a good hour to sweep up and wipe everything down. When we’re done, it’s already after ten, and I glance at Sterling, all the heat rushing to my face to combat the cold air circulating through the house. “Is it too late for a movie? Should we maybe just go to bed?”

“It is pretty late, I guess.”

“Are you tired?” I ask.

“Exhausted, but only because the last two nights have been sleepless, and the night before that wasn’t the best sleep either. And before that…uh, okay, that’s a long-winded answer. I am very ready for bed, and I don’t care how grandpa that sounds.”

“I’m tired too.” That’s a lie. Sort of. I am tired because I haven’t slept well either, but I’m also one hundred million percent fully awake.

Sterling has his things back from the hotel room. He brushes his teeth in the bathroom first while I get the bedroom ready, adjusting the blinds and the lighting. I think we’re still planning on putting on a performance, and I get all shivery just thinking about it.

“I’m done now. You can have the bathroom,” Sterling says from behind me.

He waits in the hallway while I quickly brush my teeth. Then, I do a sniff test on my pits and apply the smallest amount of my natural deodorant. Nothing like smelling like unnatural tacos when a hot guy rips off my shirt. That’s not the first impression I want to make when Sterling sees me partially naked, which is going to happen. Because we at least have to pretend to undress. I’ve already decided he can strip me down to my bra and panties, and since I’m wearing boy shorts and a sports bra, it won’t be that weird. I won’t be any less clothed than when I wear a bikini, I guess.

Jesus, it’s not the same at all. Not one bit.

That’s why my heart is racing hard enough to knock me over backward when I get out of the bathroom. And it picks up as we walk to the bedroom together.

When we enter the bedroom, we stand by the bed for one awkward second.

“Are we doing this?” I whisper yelp. I shut my eyes. I can’t look at him. I feel like I’m going to break a rib with my crazy, erratic heartbeat.

“If you’re still okay with it.”

“I am,” I murmur.

“How should we start? I don’t want to do something you aren’t comfortable with.”

I’m half pleased that he’s the world’s most perfect gentleman and half-starved to have his hands on me. He’s hot and sexy. And he’s my husband. We already agreed we’d try this. I’ve been awake for basically three days straight, thinking about this moment. How far? I don’t think I’ll want him to stop. That’s how far. How far? I’d like his hands all over me, his mouth and his tongue and—

“I’m okay. I’m comfortable if you take off my shirt and pants. I prepared ahead of time with appropriate underwear.”

“Ahh, good. That’s good.”

“How far should I take things for you?” I ask.

“Underwear sounds good.”

“But we should like…kiss, right? As we undress each other?” Please, god, let this man kiss me. I’m dying here. It’s crazy, but I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Never mind the cousins. I just want to do this. My frozen bits need warming up as the AC is still blasting in the bedroom. It’s going to be nice to get under those covers and have someone else keep me warm.

Being held tight and pressed up against the full hard length of a man who is sexy enough to make my legs jiggly jelly. I nearly start to hyperventilate.

Thank god that’s when Sterling steps into my space, puts his strong hands on my shoulders, and hauls me against his wall of epic muscle. His hands slide down my arms and grasp mine. I can’t feel any bulge in his jeans, so maybe he’s not as turned on as I am. Maybe he’s too cold, and it’s hiding, or he’s just not into this. Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive, and he’s just taking one for the team, or because he has to when we agreed we were doing this. Or it could be that it’s never going to be real for him. Maybe—

There. His eyes go dark, his pupils widening. I still don’t feel anything jutting into my belly or pulsing or hard cock action, but his eyes are dark. There is something there. And when I glance at his throat, I see him swallow hard. I see his pulse leaping as fast as mine is. I hear the stutter in his breath.

He lowers his face, and I tilt mine up, but he doesn’t go for the lip smash, the mouth crush, or the teeth and tongue tangler. Instead, his lips whisper over the side of my neck. They’re like velvet. And then, oh god , his tongue . His tongue makes contact with my skin, tasting me, and he hums low in his throat like I’m even better than those seven or more tacos he ate at dinner.

To eat seven tacos, one really has to enjoy them.

I do the only thing I can do and wrap my arms around his neck, press myself so hard against him that there isn’t space for one of those taco farts I was thinking about earlier, and then pull his face down to mine. I don’t go for bumper car lip action either. I just very lightly press my lips to his, almost hesitating, almost as if I’m asking a question.

It’s like someone did a number on the AC, and it shut itself off. Because the room suddenly erupts in fire. I taste the mint on his lips, the goodness, and the man beneath the freshly brushed teeth, and there’s no stopping the spread of that wildfire. There’s no stopping me.