“No, go ahead,” I say, glancing back at Gus, who has sprawled out on the couch in his Spider Man pajamas. “I’ll watch him.”
For a second, Jules looks like she’s not sure, and it makes sense. I might be a pediatrician, but she hardly knows me, and I get the instinct not to trust anyone with your child. Or, at least, I imagine if I had a kid of my own, I would be the same. Hesitant, unwilling to trust.
Her eyes meet mine, and she seems to consider it for a minute, then says, “I’ll be really quick.”
The sink is notfullof dishes, but it’s not empty, either. And the counter has the look of something quickly wiped, crumbs and grease collecting in the corners. While Jules is gone, I get to work, emptying the dishwasher and making logical guesses about where things go. I pull the strainer from the bottom of the appliance to find that—sure enough—it hasn’t been emptied in some time.
Cleaning is methodical, soothing to my brain. I get my place professionally cleaned so I can focus on work, and I’ve forgotten how good it feels to make a physical change like this. From dirty to clean, as simple as that. At work, with diagnosesand treatments, the line is not always quite so linear. Not as satisfying.
I’m so caught up in what I’m doing that when Jules reappears, smelling like roses and vanilla, it catches me off guard.
“Dr. Bu—” she stops, running a hand through her damp hair and staring at me. Her cheeks are flushed. I imagine she takes hot showers. Scalding. “Russell,” she whispers, stepping closer to me, her eyes flitting over my shoulder in the direction of Gus on the couch. I just checked on him. He’s fast asleep. “You didn’t have to do all this, really, I?—”
“Don’t expect me to sit still,” I say, because I don’t want her to be embarrassed about the help. I can’t imagine trying to do all this—two jobs, a kid, an apartment to take care of. “I just needed something to do with my hands.”
When I say this, I can’t stop my eyes from dropping down to her chest again—Jesus, I really am a tits man—and her face flushes even further.
Cleaning is nice. But the unspoken thing hangs in the air—it would be much more enjoyable to have busied my hands on her, instead.
“Russell,” Jules says, her arms tightening around her body. She takes a step back, clearing her throat and looking away. “About the…arrangement. I meant what I said?—”
All at once, I realize what’s happening here. Her stiff, awkward movements around me. She still thinks I want sex from her.
Which, of course, I do. But I’m not going through the motions of this fake marriage thing to get some action.
Wanting to put her at ease, I let out a quick laugh. “Juliette. Jules. As fucking gorgeous as you are, and as much fun as I think it would be, this isn’t about…that. It’s exactly what I told you. Adate to the events, a marriage certificate I can show the lawyer. I would never pressure you into something you didn’t want.”
As though the words truly are enough, her entire body seems to unspool, the exhaustion returning to her face as she leans against the counter.
Unable to stop myself, I add, voice low enough that it won’t carry over to the sleeping kid on the couch, “Do you really think afake engagementwould be my only method for getting laid?”
Not that I want toget laidby just anyone. In fact, lately, I’ve only been able to think about touching one person.
Her gaze sweeps me up and down, hunger clear in her eyes, and it makes my stomach go hot, my hands itching to reach out and touch her. As though now that I’ve made it clear this isn’t about sex, she can show her desire plainly. Fuck me.
“No, I guess not,” she lets out a low, appreciative laugh and rubs the heels of her hands into her eyes. Together, we move into the living room. I wait for her to ask me to leave, but when we sit down on the couch, Gus wordlessly shifts, sitting up between Jules and me. We put on an animated movie, and Gus talks to me about it until he falls asleep again.
Jules starts to snore lightly from the other side of the couch, and I file that detail about her away.
I should get up, go home, especially when Gus nods off tucked into my side. Especially when I start thinking about how nice it would be if any of this was real.
But I don’t. Instead, I hold very still and try not to scare this moment away.
Chapter 12
Jules
Iwake up with a start, sitting up so fast it makes my head spin.
My alarm didn’t go off. Shit,shit—I have no idea what time it is, and I actually feelwell rested, which can’t be good.
Furthermore, I think I might be having a stroke. Especially when I notice the smell of eggs and bacon, sausage and blueberries floating in the air around me like I’m in a diner.
And then, as though my brain is slowly booting up one portion at a time, the events of the night before come back to me. The last thing I remember is falling asleep on the couch. How did I get to my bed? Did Russell carry me here, or did I walk?
Was I really so tired that I wouldn’t remember Russell lifting me up into his arms?
And why—really, why?—am I hoping he’s still here?
