Chapter 15
Camila
“You know, I don’t think I particularly like our marriage counselor,” I say an hour later at the Waffle House as I sip my Diet Coke through a straw.
Hess doesn’t even look up. His eyes stay focused on the waffle in front of him. “That’s because she saw through your bull crap.”
“No, it’s because you made me look bad. You’re like the marriage counselor’s pet.”
He holds his fork in front of my face before eating his bite. “Don’t hate because I did better than you at answering questions.”
“You only did better because you’re an open book.
Some of us like our privacy. And by the way, I do like waffles.
So you actually didn’t answer your questions as well as you thought.
” For emphasis, I pick up my fork, slice off a piece of his waffle, and shove it in my mouth. It’s actually not that bad.
“What about you? ‘He owns horses and knows how to use them.’ You might as well have just said, ‘I know nothing about this man.’” He points his fork at me again. “And you broke the laundry circle of trust by talking about my boys and the support they need.”
“Fine. I won’t mention that again.” I lean forward, energized with a new plan.
“At least we know the assignment now. Abby said we have to come back next month with even more information about each other. All we have to do to complete this marriage is get to know each other a little bit. That’s easy.
Tell me something about yourself that we didn’t talk about during the session today. ”
His gaze flattens as he deadpans, “I like the color blue.”
“More than that.” I throw my spoon at him, but he dodges it.
“Hey, it’s not that easy to come up with something on the spot. I need an Abby getting-to-know-you question.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll ask a probing question.” I drum my fingers on the table as I think. “What is your business that’s turned you into a rich cowboy?”
“A rich cowboy?” He looks around the restaurant at no one in particular as if to say, Can you believe her right now?
“Your house and property cost more than my entire inheritance doubled.”
His shoulders lift. “I invented the Step and Spray.”
I roll my hand, signaling for more details.
“It’s a thing at beach resorts. Guests use them to wash the sand off their legs and feet.”
“Don’t those already exist?” I say, unimpressed.
“Not like mine. Mine’s a little platform that you step on, and the weight of your body triggers it to spray your legs and feet without having to use your hands or set your stuff down. It’s really cool.”
“So you invented a car wash for your feet?”
“Basically.”
I’m more interested than I want to admit. “Where did you get the idea from?”
He swirls his next bite in syrup. “It actually had nothing to do with the beach and everything to do with growing up on a ranch.”
“You grew up on a ranch? So you’ve always been a cowboy?”
I hoped this was just a phase, not actually authentic.
“What is it with you and cowboys?”
“Nothing.”
“You have a weird fascination with them.”
“I do not.” I get defensive, immediately alerting him that I’m lying.
“Did you grow up watching Man from Snowy River and fall in love?”
“Never even heard of it.” Yeah, right. Jim Craig coming over the mountain with all those horses and that dramatic music had teenage me swooning hard.
Hess smiles, studying me. “So then 3:10 to Yuma. Gritty Russell Crowe. Christian Bale with a gun.”
Seen it. Loved it. Memorized it.
“Can we get back to where you came up with your foot car wash?”
“I’ll set this topic aside for now. But we’ll revisit your cowboy obsession later.
” He pushes his empty plate away. “The idea for my business came because the bottom of our boots would get so dirty, and I hated bending over to clean them off. So I came up with the concept of a device that washes your shoes for you, but it didn’t really work for mud.
So I adapted it for beach use, and it took off. ”
“What do you mean it took off?”
There’s a cheeky grin pulling across his lips. “I mean, I’m really glad we signed a prenup before we got married.”
I sit back against the booth. “I’m sure you are.”
“What about you? Do you really love your job as much as you say you do?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“You work a ton of hours.”
“Says someone who barely works at all.”
“I work. I just choose my own hours.”
From what I’ve seen, Hess spends a few hours in his office in the morning, but the majority of his day is spent outside, being attractive—I mean, working—on his ranch in the hot sun with rolled sleeves so he doesn’t get a farmer’s tan.
I’m not even going to calculate how long I watched him from the kitchen window the other day while he threw bales of hay around, straw falling out over his body.
Camila! Stoppppp.
Another fantasy I shove down in order to continue our conversation.
“I’m only working a lot right now because I’m proving myself.
Once I become a partner, things will slow down.
” Before I even finish saying the words out loud, my mind outs me as the liar that I am.
Becoming a partner means more money but definitely not less work.
“Until then, my only focus is on my career.”
“Well, I guess that’s good for me.”
“Why? Because I’m never home?”
“Nah, because you’re obviously too busy to have a boyfriend.”
I can’t stop my smile. “Worried you might be too jealous?”
“No, worried he’d come beat the crap out of me when he finds out we’re living together.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” I highly doubt Hess could get the crap beat out of him.
He’s probably 6’2”, two hundred ten pounds.
I’ve seen enough of his arms to know he’s definitely strong enough to hold his own, but I give him a different reason why he shouldn’t be worried.
“I’m not the type of girl who has boyfriends. ”
“Because of your work schedule?”
“That, but also, I’ve never felt gaga over a man or a relationship.”
“Gaga?”
“You know, I just don’t really care about love. I can take it or leave it and be fine on my own.”
“Maybe you’re dating the wrong guys.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve dated a lot of men with the same results every time. It’s a recurring pattern in my life. I start dating a guy, things go well for a while, and then I lose interest and move on.”
“So you get bored?”
“Sometimes, or other times the guy does something that turns me off. There’s a name for it now. When people say, ‘He gave me the ick.’ That’s what happens to me.”
“Really?” He smiles, amused by this fact about me. “Name the last ick you experienced.”
I laugh a little. “I was at a guy’s apartment, and his bathroom was right off the kitchen. He went to relieve himself. I stayed on the barstool eight feet away. And then I heard him urinate.”
“Come on. You cannot be that superficial. Everybody has to go to the bathroom.”
“It wasn’t just that he was going to the bathroom. It was the excessive volume of the flow. It sounded like he was a racehorse or that he was using a hose to fill up the toilet.”
He smirks. “Maybe he was.”
“You’re such a man.” I suppress a laugh. “I heard every splash. Every slosh. I don’t know.” I shiver in disgust. “I just had to get out of there.”
“That does sound gross. But still, peeing is a normal human thing. I’m sure you’ve heard me pee.”
I think about it for a second, and actually, I have, but for some reason it didn’t bother me.
“Okay,” I continue, “what about the guy who constantly licked his lips? And we’re not talking in a sexy or demure way.”
“Is there a demure way to lick your lips?”
“Maybe. But that’s not what this guy was doing.
After every three words, I’d see his tongue come out and swipe.
And he was a big guy, so his tongue was grotesquely large.
” He laughs, but I keep going. “Then there was the guy who tried to lean against the wall casually but missed. He stumbled back, and it was awkward, like arms everywhere. I knew I’d never get the visual out of my mind.
Or the man who slurped his cereal bowl from the side, and a little droplet of milk rolled down his chin. ”
“I do that.” Hess emphatically points to himself. “I drink the last of my cereal milk from the bowl.”
I know. I’ve seen it. And it wasn’t bad.
I lift my chin, masking my true feelings. “Told ya this marriage was doomed from the start.”
“Apparently so.”
“I also had a guy who pulled out a giant janitor-style key ring from his tiny pocket, and his huge fingers were fighting for their life to get inside the pocket. I mean, who has that many keys? I don’t know, it turned me off, and I had to fake an excuse and leave.”
“These poor guys. No wonder men are scared to date in today’s world.”
“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never gotten the ick from a woman.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I genuinely like women.”
“I like men.” A teasing smile spreads across my lips. “I just like them better when they don’t gross me out.”
“You’re not going to like me, then.”
So far, Hess gives me the opposite vibe.
The more I’m around him, the more I like him.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment he does something that grosses me out, but it hasn’t happened yet, much to my dismay, which is why I’ve been avoiding him around the house.
But if I knew what weird things he does, maybe I would be turned off, and the problem would be solved.
“What do you do that gives women the ick?”
“That’s the kind of stuff you have to find out organically throughout the marriage.” The corner of his mouth lifts, and it’s distractingly charming. “But in this relationship, you can’t leave. You’re stuck with me for the next five months, whether I give you the ick or not.”
What if he never gives me the ick? Must I suffer with this attraction the entire time we’re living together? That’s like handing a starving child a bag of Cheetos and telling them they can’t eat any.
It’s tough.
Real tough.