I whipped around, and Abram’s eyes widened as they flickered down to my white camisole and bare legs. I glanced down and noticed my camisole was sheer, and I’m sure he saw more than I intended.
“You look disgusted that you hugged me.”
His face fell.
“I’m not disgusted. Can you please cover yourself up; I can’t think.”
He didn’t try to hide his eyes.
“No.”
His eyes moved up to mine.
“No more hanging out with men by yourself. I’m not out having meals with women and touching them.”
Fuck, that image really pissed me off.
“And I don’t like that you took him food you made forme.”
“And I didn’t like eating alone,” I said before I could stop myself. “But don’t worry, I won’t make dinner again. After all, this is afakemarriage. It means nothing, and I don’t have to put effort into it. So let's just stay out of each other’s way.”
He stepped toward me.
“I came back,” he said. “I went to Della’s and told her I had something else come up. But when I got here, you and the food were gone.”
My eyes widened as I looked up at him. He came back.
“What?”
“I came back because I thought it was nice of you to make me dinner, and we haven’t really had time for just the two of us because I’ve been busy with work.”
Well, shit, now I was kicking myself for not waiting five minutes before leaving.
“Oh.”
He sighed heavily.
“You spent your evening with another man, and I don’t like it.”
“He’s just a friend.”
Abram looked as if he were holding himself back from saying something. His hand did that flexing thing he always did before shoving them into his pockets.
“And what am I?” He looked at me.
What did he want me to say? I was panicking.
“A fri—”
Abram stepped forward and slammed his hand over my mouth.
“Do not say a friend,” he warned.
He moved his hand, and I swore he could hear my heartbeat too.
“My husband,” I whispered.
“Yes, and you’re my wife, so don’t do this again.”
