27. Sophie
Sophie
“I wish I knew how to quit you.” – Brokeback Mountain
“ C lover?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” his sleepy voice asks, tickling the back of my neck as the hand palming my boob squeezes me lightly.
“Sleeping wrapped around me like a koala.”
Silence. A moment later, he sighs. “Damn it.” He pulls away from me and runs out of the room before I could say anything else.
And so, day eight of my marriage begins the same way the six before this one have.
“Argh!” I send out a silent scream into the universe. Ever since that evening after the failed dinner at his parents’ house, I don’t recognize the guy living with me.
One moment he’s gifting me enough lingerie to last a year, acts all protective over me, and kisses me within an inch of my life, and the next I can barely get a few words out of him for the next week.
He stays at work well past midnight for what I can only assume is to avoid my presence, yet every time he comes to bed, thinking I’m in deep slumber, he tucks my cold feet underneath his own before falling asleep himself.
He hasn’t missed a day of dirty texts, and at this point I wish he’d simply copy and paste them from Google because, Theè mou , he has the filthiest mouth I’d ever seen.
The things he says to me, make my pussy throb with so much need, I usually run into the room as soon as the text comes through, and it takes very little on my part to reach the high of highs.
It’s almost like he’s using those texts as an excuse to say all the things he wished he did but, won’t.
No, he simply ignores me as much as he can, and leaves for work as soon as he wakes up holding me like he did just now, cursing when he realizes he’s done it again.
I always wake up before he does when his alarm blares and I always stay quiet for a little while longer, reveling in his touch before I wake him up.
Everything inside me rages to stop him, to make him talk to me and explain what the hell happened between that kiss and the next morning after it and why he insists on this cold shoulder.
But then I remember that this is what we agreed upon. This is exactly how it was supposed to look, and it’s not Clover’s fault I went and started catching feelings for my fake husband.
It’s not his fault I want more when he told me from day zero that he specifically chose me because he knew he’d never want that “more” with me.
This was a fake marriage in writing alone and nothing else, and that kiss that night must’ve been a fluke. He’s probably regretting it and doesn't know how to talk about it, preferring to simply leave it be, hanging in the thick air around us.
Sure, the chemistry between us can’t be denied by either party. But that’s all that is. Lust. Pure, physical lust.
At least on Callum’s part. And kisses and deep conversations fall into a whole different category.
Sure enough, after a quick shower in the hallway bathroom, I hear the door shut as Clover leaves for work without saying anything. Nothing. Not as much as a goodbye.
It shouldn’t sting. Yet it does.
And I need to move on, stomp out those little feelings before they grow any deeper roots.
If only he didn’t make it so hard because even being a grumpy bastard, he has a secret, soft side he only allows to show when he thinks no one’s watching. But I always am, and it draws me to him like moth to a flame.
The ringing of my phone pulls me away from my pointless wallowing.
“Why do you insist on calling me this early every morning is beyond me,” I tell my best friend as I answer her call.
“You know what? I think being married to Callum has a bad effect on you.”
“How so?” Apart from my confused heart and vagina.
“You are becoming as grumpy as that husband of yours.” She tsks . “Now, get your cute butt off the bed and come hang out with me at the boutique.”
I sigh. “What did you click on your computer this time?”
“Why do you think I’m asking you to come because I need something? Can’t I just want to see my best friend?”
“Uh-huh, so I shouldn’t bring my equipment to hook up to your server?”
“Ugh, fine, this window popped up last night and I swear I clicked to exit it! I totally did, but this morning nothing is turning on,” Grace says hurriedly, and I chuckle .
It has been something new almost every day this week. I swear this girl could break a mechanical pencil just by touching it, let alone a whole POS system.
“You know it’s not nice to use your genius best friend because you have two left hands.”
“Oh, suck it up. It’s not like you have anything better to do, genius .”
“And she doesn't even deny it.”
“Or feel any shame over it.”
I chuckle. “Fine, but you owe me breakfast and lunch for this.”
“See you soon,” she sing-songs, ending the call.
I throw the covers off, walk over to the bathroom, and turn on the shower.
After a quick rinse, I pull on my denim pink mini skirt that hugs what little curves I have nicely, light pink cowboy boots Gracie got me for one of the Christmases back in New York and throw an oversized knit turtleneck in the cutest pastel green color that I found in one of the shops here.
It’s gotten progressively colder over the last week in Loverly Cave but still not as freezing as it’d be already back in NY. Just before I’m about to head out, I catch sight of Clover’s jacket hanging on the hook.
Theè mou. The idiot was in such a rush to get away from me, he forgot it, and now he’ll be freezing out there the whole day. My hand reaches over to it, brushing against the denim material with plush inside lining, burring my nose in his fresh scent.
I feel a low moan build inside my throat and quickly jump away from the jacket.
Nope, no, no, hell no. I will not be that crazy girl.
Looping my favorite lemon-purse over my shoulder, I head out the door, deciding I will not think of my infuriating husband the whole day. That’s not what this marriage is about and I need to do well to remember it.
“Ah, you are seriously a genius!” Gracie claps her hands after I get her system up and running in no time. I have no idea how she managed to erase the program last night, but I got it back up and running.
Taking a sip of my favorite matcha from Julie’s shop that she already had waiting for me when I showed up, I smirk. “I know.”
“I will ignore that smug look on your face because you just saved my day.”
“Again,” I add for her, taking another sip.
“Stop pretending you’re not secretly enjoying this. I can see how your face lights up when you sit down to untangle my web mess.”
Before I can answer her, a customer walks in and Gracie walks over to help her, leaving me to mull over her words.
Maybe I could go back to it if I were to do it Loverly Cave style, without the insane pressure, backstabbing, and stress of big corporations.
Because I can’t deny I secretly love these calls from Grace or Julie who need my help with something technical.
I loved creating their websites, enjoying the freedom they gave me.
But at the same time, it’s not enough for me. It’s too easy and I crave a good challenge. Scratch that, I need it because it’d take my mind off one particular grumpy sheriff.
“I see those wheels in your head working hard,” Gracie tells me after she’s done ringing up her customer and I swing over in my chair toward her.
“I think I just realized that I miss my job.”
“Oh, lumos! Please don’t tell me you’re planning to move back to New York?” Gracie panics and I chuckle.
“Hell no. But…maybe I could try to do some freelance jobs?”
Her face lights up with a beaming smile only Grace is capable of. “Yes!” She claps her hands. “I think that’s a brilliant idea. We should go celebrate it.”
“I didn’t land a job yet, you dork.”
“It doesn’t matter. Call it early motivation.” She grabs her purse from behind the counter.
“You are in the middle of a workday,” I point out, but Grace only scoffs .
“And?” She looks at me like I’m the one talking nonsense here. “Let’s go, the baby is craving chicken tortilla soup.”
“And there it is. This has nothing to do with me and all about you using me as a cover-up for your cravings.”
“You know me too well.” She shoots me a saccharine sweet smile, and we both laugh, heading out the door.
“So, how’s married life?” Grace asks as we walk down the street, and I sigh internally. She’s like a bloodhound with a bone.
“Same as it was yesterday when you asked me. And the day before, and the one before that.”
“Well, sue and arrest me for caring about my best friend who looks quite miserable these past few days.”
“The arrest happens before the suing.”
“Sweet Harry, things must be really bad if you’re using that for deflection.”
Sometimes I really hated how well she knows me. I needed to do a better job at this acting—sulking—thing.
“I’m not deflecting, there’s just nothing new. We are good. Same as every day.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” she says as I open the door to Peace Out diner for her and follow behind.
The place is packed, as usual, with the early lunch rush most of whom are tourists. In particular, surfers. I’ve been told that Loverly Cave has some of the most wicked waves and they all flood here to catch one.
Gracie and I settle into the only available booth next to the window, and miraculously she drops the questions about my married life in favor of picking out which ten meals she’s about to order, and as soon as we do, she leaves to the restroom.
My earlier idea about freelancing resurfaces, and I pull out my phone, deciding to do some research when a body slides into my side of the booth.
A male body.
Startled, I look up from my phone to find a guy in his mid-twenties—from what I can tell—with blue eyes and longish blond hair looking all distressed.
“Hi,” he says, the two letters rushing quickly out of him, while I’m still blinking, trying to figure out who is he and what does he want.
“Um, hi? Do you need some help?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Yes! I think…I think I’m going to die if I don’t find out your name and get your number and take you out.” That panicked look morphs into a dazzling dimpled smile, and after a second of shock I burst out laughing.
“Goodness, that was quite a way to ask for it.”
“Creative, right?” He winks, throwing his arm over the back of the booth and I pull away slightly, so his fingers aren’t touching me.
“Very.” I roll my eyes.
“So?”
“So, what?”
“What’s your name? I’m Alan.” I look at the guy—Alan, I’ve never seen him before so he must be one of those surfer tourists. He certainly looks the part.
“I’m…” Give him your name, Sophie. He’s cute and clearly interested and God knows you need a distraction from that fake husband of yours. “I’m…not available.”
Damn it. I didn’t give him my name, because it would be weird since I am still married after all, even if it’s fake. That’s the only reason and has nothing to do with the fact that the mere thought of Clover made this previously cute guy, dull and weird.
He’s too happy.
Since when is that a problem for you, Sophie? I groan at my own inner voice.
“Not available?” He lifts his eyebrows. “That’s quite a name, but that’s okay, I can work with that.”
I laugh. “No, really. I’m married.”
“Fuck, am I really that bad that you had to come up with that excuse?” He wrinkles his nose but not in an off-putting way. Quite the opposite, this guy is funny, and a week ago I’d give him my name, number, and maybe even a kiss right here on the spot.
But that was a week ago.
“It’s not an excuse, I’m serious. ”
“No, please tell me you’re not. You are like my dream girl!
I saw you as soon you walked in and knew you were it!
You’re not wearing a ring. You can’t be married.
” He sounds almost distressed, but before I can say anything, a large hand grabs at the shoulder of his T-shirt and yanks him out of the booth with a startled curse.
“My wife just told you she’s not fucking available. Need me to spell it out for you before or after I break the hand that touched her?” Clover growls and a small yelp leaves my lips before my mouth drops.