For a moment, he looks like he might do something drastic. Invite me in. Kiss me good night. “Rest up. Big trip tomorrow.”
“Big trip,” I echo, and then I close the door.
Back in my room, I pick up the box, about to stuff it into the darkest recess of my underwear drawer, when I catch sight of my suitcase, already half-packed for our trip to Chicago.
I couldn’t…right? I’mnotsleeping with Brayden. Iwon’tbe sleeping with Asher.
I crack the lid, withdraw the note. Read the rest of it.For your collection.Wear this and think of me.
Right now it feels impossible to think of anything else. I double-check that the door is shut, the button of the lock depressed, then extract the vibrator from the box.
The vibrator is small. Cute. Palm-sized. The perfect size for travel.
I’m going to Chicago to be Brayden’s fake wife. To touch him in public and distance ourselves in private. In the other room,he’s clicked the light off, turned the TV low. I’ve heard him a few times, grunting in his sleep…At least, I think that’s what he’s doing. Does he lie awake at night, cock in his fist, his other hand over his mouth, so I won’t hear him—the way I sometimes do on this side of the wall while hoping my vibe doesn’t make too much noise?
When we got married. I didn’t think two years of adry spellwould be a problem. After all, I’d been living in a dry spell for much longer than that.
But this vibrator…
Asher wanted me to have it. He wanted me to feel good. He wanted me to feelwanted, not fucked in private and spurned in public, but like he was with me even when we weren’t together.
I read through the package instructions, then wash the vibe, charge it, hook it to my phone. Bluetooth wants a name for the device.Sav’s toy from AA.
I return the vibrator to its cute little carrying case—a case that fits perfectly in the pocket of my suitcase. I zip that up tight before I finish packing the rest of my bag. It doesn’t really matter. After all, who’s even going to know I brought it along?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brayden
Sunday evening,we load onto the team plane: me, Savannah,Adler. I’ve been playing baseball for most of my life. This isn’t anywhere near my first road trip. But everything feels new as we ascend the plane stairs with our carry-ons. I turn back to Sav. She’s dressed for travel: a cropped sweatsuit that hugs the soft outline of her hips. Her hair is in a loose braid. I spent the entire drive over wanting to untangle it to run my fingers through its strands.
You’re not really married. Something I remind myself of every day that we’re together: every time she’s hanging around the house in little shorts or bent over her desk, studying intently, or sipping a clear cocktail, or…
The list is a problem, not because of anything on it, but because there’s a list at all.
My hotel room felt empty on our last road trip. I thought about going out, but going out would mean, inevitably, landing at a bar. TV was boring. Video games were mostly fine, but Blake’s never around to play anymore. My room had shared a wall with Adler’s, and I swear I could hear his every breath. Justlike I can feel him coming up the plane stairs right after me and Sav.
“Any seating preference?” she asks when we get on the plane.
“Wherever you want.” But when we get in, most rows—there are two lines of seats on each side of the aisle—are taken. Only a cluster near the front is open, two seats facing the cockpit and two facing backwards, an arrangement where players usually gather to play cards.
Savannah stops at a group of four seats, then reaches to grab her carryon.
I intercept her, grabbing her duffle bag and hefting it into the overhead bin. After I finish, she gives me a look. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” But she’s smiling.
That smile doesn’t last. We’re not the last people to board. Adler is. He’s dressed like he always is for travel—not that I’ve noticed—a hoodie and low-slung joggers that must be made from some kind of weird fabric, because they cling. Today’s hoodie is navy—so dark it looks black, except in direct light—and that weirdly makes his eyes look different.Worse, I correct myself.
His eyes aren’t the problem. Mine are, if I’m looking at him. I point my gaze up the aisle to where everyone is either already doubled up or defending their right to an extra seat. The only free row is the one directly across from Sav and me. Of course.
Adler doesn’t ask if he can sit with us, just puts his bag up in the bin next to Savannah’s—without asking—then drops himself into the seat opposed to ours. Now we’re going to spend the rest of the flight looking at each other. Fantastic.
“Hey, Asher,” Savannah says.Asher. I hate that she calls him that. I hate that she calls him anything.
“Hey, p—” Adler cuts himself off, then gets that fucking smirk. “Hey, Savannah.”
“Great, everyone’s here.” I sit. A second later, they both follow suit.
