I need a divorce.
“Not happening, wifey,” Griffin calls from inside the apartment.
Well, it was worth a shot.
The day has flown by,as it always does when I’m enjoying my work. The site I’m building is coming along nicely. I’m quite proud of it.
A glance at my phone tells me it’s six, which means I need to be done for the day. Sitting hunched over a computer without coming up for air or taking breaks is hell on my back, and it pops a few times when I stand and stretch.
A knock on the door has me frowning. I’m not expecting anyone.
Padding through the apartment, I look through the peephole in time to see a guy walking away from the door. I wait a few moments to make sure he’s actually gone, then open the door and stick my head out. The hallway is empty, but there’s a bag of takeout at my feet.
They must have delivered it to the wrong apartment. Grabbing it, I’m about to run after the delivery guy when I notice the name on the receipt.
Mrs. Wright.
I can’t help the smile that blooms on my face, despite my annoyance at the name. Griffin ordered me dinner, even though I told him he didn’t have to. And from the smell of it, he ordered from my favorite Indian place.
I’m full and sleepy when he gets home around eight. He flops down next to me on the couch where I’m watching the first season ofNew Girl. It’s my comfort show, and I’ve seen every episode at least three times.
“How was your day?” I ask, noting the exhaustion on Griffin’s face.
He slumps down onto the couch and offers me a smile. “Good. Long. But I landed that sponsorship deal. The one with the sports gear company.”
“That’s great.” And I mean it. He and his agent have been working toward this deal for months. Sponsorships are important for pro athletes in a sport like hockey, where the risk of injury is so high. When players could suffer a career-ending hit at any moment, it’s wise for them to make sure the game isn’t their only source of income. “Are you hungry? There are plenty of leftovers.”
“Nah, I grabbed some dinner with my agent.”
“Okay. Thanks for that, by the way. You didn’t need to.”
My stomach is a puddle of goo when Griffin turns his head and offers me a blinding smile. “That’s what husbands do, Mira. They take care of their wives.” He reaches across the space between us and runs a finger up the outside of my thigh. “I like taking care of you.”
All I can do is stare at him. His words affect me more than I’d like to admit, and it makes swallowing past the lump in my throat difficult. Because I like having someone look out for me. I’ve spent so many years taking care of myself and trying to prove that I can do it without any help. I can’t deny how nice it isnotto for once.
Griffin turns back to the TV. “I love this show. Winston’s my favorite.”
I chuckle. “Mine too. Especially in the later seasons when he gets weirder.”
“Totally.”
We sit like that through four more episodes, and it’s nice. It feels like it did before Vegas, before our drunken marriage, and before things became complicated. It’s almost more dangerous than when he touches me with those expert fingers or wicked tongue. Because when we’re quiet like this, comfortable and completely artless, I find myself wondering if maybe we could be good for each other.
But that’s crazy. Griffin and I are too different. We want very different things in life. And I’d be wise not to forget it.
twelve
GRIFFIN
Is thereanything better than a game night? The anticipation, the cheering fans, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. All of it makes me feel soalive. It’s always been my favorite feeling.
“The girls are here,” Ryder says with a nod to the first row of seats beside our bench. His girlfriend, Lexi—our former coach’s daughter—waves to him. She’s got a huge smile on her face, and I love that they’re doing so well. They had a rocky start to their relationship with all the shit Coach Cross put them through. It’s good to see the rookie so happy. I know having Lexi here to cheer Ryder on when he doesn’t have any family is everything to him.
When they notice Lexi waving, Isla and Mira look our way. And I realize that the anticipation of a game night is no longer my favorite feeling. No, my new favorite feeling is the sense of pride I get seeing my wife in the seats, excited to watch me play.
My wife. Fuck, it’s still surreal. I’m married to the most stunning, intelligent, hilarious woman on the planet.
The only downer? She’s not wearing my name.Hername if she wants it.
