17. Sophie
Sophie
“I love being married. It’s so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.” – Rita Rudner
“ W hat the fuck?” Clover yells at the TV. “He totally tripped him! Did you see that? Why aren’t they sending him to the prison?”
I should be furious at the referees for not calling that penalty as well, instead I’m barely managing to hold back my chuckle from watching Clover rage over here.
We tuned in right as the first intermission was coming to an end and second period was starting.
And now we’re almost done with the third and my fake husband has yet to move a muscle off this couch since I made him sit and give it a try.
Even during the second intermission he used the time to ask me questions about the sport, the rules and teams.
Clover also ordered food for us again without telling me what he was getting, and even though I pouted about it again, I secretly kind of liked it.
Not to mention, I was still trying to downplay how much it got to me that he remembered I wanted grilled cheese last night.
I’m downplaying a lot of things right now. Like the fact that I’ve never had so much fun watching a game before. I even stopped correcting him when he’d named the penalty box, the prison.
My ex couldn’t care any less. Vassar simply didn’t have a spare minute to sit down, let alone watch something.
I guess the closest was back when Grace lived in New York and she’d watch with me, but that girl was only there for the eye candy.
Not that I blamed her, but she didn’t care about the game itself as much as Clover seems to.
“That always frustrates me to no end. It should've totally been a penalty. But watch...” I grin at the TV. “Quinn will never let it slide just like that.”
“Quinn is that defensemen? The one whose jersey you’re wearing?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod. “Here, here.” I jump up on my spot just as Exton cuts off Jones from the other team, the one who tripped Anez Goram, and slams him into the boards hard enough to rattle the whole structure and a second later a fight breaks out.
“See?” I purr with satisfaction, watching Exton teach that guy a lesson.
“You have a vicious side, wife .” Clover chuckles, turning his gaze back to the action from me and my insides liquefy as they have been doing every time he used that little title for me.
Why I love it so much when I’ve never given it even a thought in the past is beyond me, but I do.
“And don’t you forget it, husband .” I send him a wink and we spend the last five minutes of the game cheering and screaming at the TV together. “Admit it, you loved it,” I say, glee coating my voice .
Clover rolls his eyes, but I still catch the tiny, covert smile on his lips. “It wasn’t the worst,” he announces.
“ Theè mou , just admit I was right,” I groan.
“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far,” he teases, getting up from the couch, and I lunge at his back, clinging onto him like a monkey. “What are you doing?” he yelps.
“Admit it,” I demand, twisting my legs around his waist as he tries to dislodge me. “I won’t get off otherwise.”
“You’re crazy.” His body shakes with a silent chuckle.
“Admit it, Shrek.”
“I guess you’re coming to the bathroom with me,” he says in answer, thinking it will make me scram.
Ha, the joke’s on him.
“Are you getting off?” Clover stops, trying to shake me off again.
“Not until you admit it.”
“You’ll seriously go to the bathroom with me?”
“Yep.”
“What if I need to take a shit?”
“Well, I wasn’t planning to get that close to you in this relationship that fast, but oh well.”
“You are crazy!” he states, this time letting that laugh tumble out of him freely.
“I’d prefer to call it determined, dedicated, spirited, and so on. Now, admit it.”
My teeth sink into the shell of his ear lightly and his whole body jolts as if I electrocuted him, a shrill yelp coming from his lips as he screams, “Okay, okay. You were right! I admit! I yield!” And then shakes me off.
“See, wasn’t that easy?” I release him with a smirk that widens ten times when I see Clover trying to adjust himself discreetly. My mouth parts when I realize his ears are sensitive in a whole other aspect.
I tip my head, my eyes no doubt, gleaming. “What an interesting tad bit of information—”
“That you’ll forget—”
“Not gonna happen. ”
Clover takes a deep breath, mutters something quietly, and heads to the bathroom to the sound of my laughter.
Which only gets interrupted when I hear my phone ding. A moment later, I’m laughing even harder.
Grace, being the drama queen she is, sent me a picture of herself, sitting at the beach in front of their cottage and holding up a sign that reads Looking for a new best friend.
Laughing so hard I can barely see I text her back.
Me: Well, that was fast.
Her response is immediate.
Grace: Don’t talk to me, woman. I don’t know you.
Me: God, I love you *laughing emoji* Can I submit my best friend application?
Grace: You can, but I’m afraid it won’t be accepted.
Me: Ouch! That’s harsh.
Grace : Psh, don’t get me started on harsh.
Me: Can the panel be bribed?
Grace: Not a chance!
Me: Oh, I guess I’ll eat all the baklava myself.
Grace: Ahhhh! Fine! But you better make the whole platter just for me! And even then, I can’t make any promises. This application process is tough.
I snicker, she’s so, so dramatic. It’ll be hard to keep this secret from Grace but I promised Callum I would and so I shall try.
I stop short when I come out of my bedroom, pulling my hair in a low, tiny ponytail. My hair barley holds together there, and the front pieces always come lose, but I cannot sleep with it unbound, no matter the length.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my brows pinching together as I watch Clover pull a sheet he found somewhere in my apartment while I was getting ready for bed over my beautiful, colorful, special, but wayyy too small couch.
“What does it look like? Making my bed,” he grumbles in what I’ve come to call his favorite grumpy tone, without looking up.
I blink a few times before processing what he’s saying. “You plan to sleep there?”
“Where else?”
“That couch is way too small for you.”
“Well, you’re the one who got rid of that perfectly fine couch that was here before.” He drops my decorative velvety pink pillow on top of the sheet.
“Well, excuse me, I hadn’t thought anyone would be sleeping over.”
Clover’s eyes finally meet mine as he straightens, planting his hands on his hips, but when he does a quick sweep over me, his jaw tightens and ticks.
I look down at myself, frowning at what upset him this time but there’s nothing new about me.
I sleep in an oversized T-shirt, ones I stole from my brother.
Unfortunately, he only wore three shades.
White, black, and gray, so I plan to buy some colorful ones later.
It just hasn’t been a priority as of late, but I see nothing wrong with the white T-shirt I’m wearing now.
He has one on! And he’s still wearing his dark navy slack from work, so I’m not the one with weird sleeping attire here. We haven’t left my apartment ever since we ran here from our “wedding” in fear of being questioned.
I still can’t believe it caused such an uproar. I mean, people get married all the time !
“Just go to bed, Sophie,” Clover grits out. “I’ll get an air mattress or something tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah? And how are you going to explain to Fifi why you need to purchase one from her store?”
Clover stops for a second. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Orrr, you can just come sleep in the bed?”
Those intense green eyes swing over to me for a second before traveling down my body once again and he says, “No.”
I throw my arms out with a huff. “Oh, whatever.”
I catch Clover’s eyes on me for a just a fleeting second before he shuts them real hard, tilts his head up, and murmurs something about orange panties. Frowning, I look down and realize I must’ve flashed him my underwear just now, but what else is new?
I thought he wasn’t interested anyway, so why does he keep reacting like that? I shake my head and get into bed with another huff, turning off my bedside lamp with a little too much force.
The lights go off in the living room a moment later and I hear the rustling of his sheet.
Whatever, if he wants to be uncomfortable, who am I to say no? I close my eyes, bring the covers to my chin, tucking my hands under head, and will the sleep to come over me. Only minutes pass…then an hour…and I still can’t fall asleep.
I’ve never been a particularly good sleeper, unless I’m drunk, and it always took me a while to fall asleep. I toss and turn, feeling cold or uncomfortable or my sheet gets tangled, and it annoys me. Or I feel something like sand on my bed, when logically, I know there’s no sand in here.
Ugh, damn it.
I didn’t find a single thing wrong when I took that nap on the couch earlier. In fact, I don’t remember when I’ve ever slept better. So, why can’t the same rule apply now? What’s so different about my bed?
The wheels in my head start spinning.
Nope. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be because Clover was there. Why would that matter? I was simply so tired from the day’s “fun,” I crashed. That was it .
I toss and turn for about five more minutes before I hear Clover moving around as well.
So, I call out, “Still comfortable there?”
The only answer I get is a grunt.
I sigh, what a stubborn man. Pushing the duvet off me, I stomp toward the door. It’s not that I believe I need Clover to sleep good, but why not test that theory.
If he’d only stop being so stubborn.
“Clover, don’t be ridiculous.” I sigh for the millionth time, leaning against the door casing. “Come sleep in the bed.”
“I’m good here.” I take in his large frame that barely fits on my new couch. His feet awkwardly dangling over the hand rest.
“You’re so not good here.” I sigh, again , crossing my arms across my chest. “Unlessss…” I drag the word out with a teasing lull to it. “You’re scared to sleep in one bed with me?”