“Grown-ups always need coffee,” she bemoans.
“It’s our fuel.”
“But—”
“Zoey, you better not be where I think you are.” Aston’s voice carries from the hallway. “I told you to get yourself dressed and not to wake up Skylar.” The door swings open, and he leans against the frame, his hair all sexy and sleep-mussed, and his white T-shirt clings a little too perfectly to his arms and chest. “Which I see you did,” he finishes. “Sorry.”
I hold up a hand. “It’s fine. She’s excited.”
He brings a cup of coffee up to his lips and takes a sip to hide his amusement even as his eyes drag across me, noting my face and braless chest down to my waist, where it meets the blanket.
“She’s not the only one who’s excited, I see.”
I follow his gaze to my chest and gasp at him. “Hey! No peeking there.”
He shrugs. “Is that for me or just the chill of the morning?”
“Definitely not for you.” I grab my pillow so I can chuck it at him, but I’m smiling. It’s his stupid flirty way and the way my stomach flutters with it. Aston’s been distant over the last few days. I thought we had hit a bit of a truce after Monday in the hospital and telling everyone we were married, but that hasn’t been the case for the rest of the week. I’ve barely seen him, and whenever I do, he doesn’t talk to me much.
He’s made dinner a few nights and left it for me on the stove, but we haven’t eaten together since Monday. I’ve caught him watching me with a furrowed brow like I’m a problem he can’t quite solve. There’s been a palpable shift between us, and it’s created a tension that hums beneath the surface of every interaction.
It’s likely for the best and will help maintain our boundaries, but still. It sits… wrongly on me. It doesn’t feel good. This unfortunately does, so yeah, all around it’s a mess.
The pillow lands with a thud on the floor, nowhere near my mark. “Don’t quit your day job there, ace.”
“We’ll see who’s the ace when I nail you with snowballs.”
“We’ll see who nails whom better.”
Now my face is a fireball. I point toward the hall. “Out, flirty McFlirtster. I have to get dressed. Zoey wants a snow day.” As if to prove this, she jumps up and down some more.
His smile slips. “Right. Sorry. No more flirty—whatever you called me.”
“McFlirtster,” I finish for him, smiling cheekily to compensate.
“It was a momentary lapse in judgment, and it won’t happen again. Come on, Zoey. Breakfast time.”
I try to hide my frown. I didn’t mean for him to stop flirting, just to leave so I could get dressed, but whatever. Again, this is how it should be. It’s me who has to remember that this isn’t real. That everything we’re doing is fake.
Zoey jumps off the bed and scrambles past Aston, who immediately turns and shuts the door behind him. Well then. I guess that’s that. Nothing like a full snow day at home with my grumpy fake husband, who can’t stand to be in the same room as me for longer than a minute.
I pull myself out of bed and head for the bathroom when my phone buzzes on my nightstand.
Michaela: Josh is in rare form today. Good thing you’renot here. He asked to see the nursing schedule and was pissed you’d changed yours around.
My skin grows tight, and the back of my neck prickles.
Me: He’ll get over it. And hopefully find someone new to bother.
Though as I say that, I pity any woman who dates him. I asked my nurse manager if she could change my schedule to avoid him. She said yes without question, and we sat down and worked on it. It’s impossible to avoid him completely. He’s a resident, and they spend a lot of hours in the hospital. But we were able to swap some of my shifts to alternate with his.
He’s been everywhere I turn, watching me without bothering to hide it. Yesterday I caught him smirking at me from across the nurses’ station as if he knew something. He can’t. There’s no way he could know. Still, it made my skin crawl, and I had to take action. I don’t think he’ll show up here now that he knows I’m married and living with Aston. So, for now, it’s just working to keep my distance from him at the hospital.
I do my thing in the bathroom, get dressed in warm clothes, and head downstairs. Aston is picking at a piece of turkey bacon as he leans against the counter, reading something on his phone. Zoey is at the table, contentedly eating breakfast and focused on her iPad.
He peeks up, and he gives me a once-over, though this one is short and almost perfunctory. Like he’s making sure I’m wearing proper attire and my nipples are no longer showing. “Coffee?”
I nod, and he makes it for me even though I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. I don’t argue, though. Instead, I fix myself a plate of food, but when he hands me the mug, our fingers brush, and it sends a jolt through me. It must do the same for him because his breath hitches and his fingers jump. But in doing so, the mug almost slips, and I have to make a last-second adjustment so it doesn’t crash to the floor. As it is, the coffee is nearly sloshing over onto my hand.
