But then he drawls, “I need to, uh…drop the kids off at the pool.”
Cue another eye roll. “God, I love when you talk dirty to me.” My dry response gets a wink. So on brand for him. “Can you at least not be in there for twenty minutes?” I blink innocently at him.
He’s always taken forever in the bathroom. I never used to worry about what took him so long in there untilthat day. Now every time he vanishes behind those doors, suspicion floods my gut.
He wears his shock like he truly doesn’t know the rest of us are aware that he disappears for half an hour at a time on the daily. Like he’s been personally victimized by me stating the (very) obvious.
“I don’t ta—" A huff of indignation. “You can’t rush a good thing, Di!”
Told you guys. He’s always been an idiot. Butmyidiot.
NINETEEN
CHANCE
“Wanna have some fun?” I ask her, rubbing my hard-on against her pajama-clad ass through my thick sweats as we lay next to each other in bed.
About six weeks into our little deal of sorts, and she still hasn’t let me fuck her. She’s been a little hot and cold for a while now, but definitely on the warmer side lately. I think we’re getting there.
The she in question is rolled over on her side, her back to me as she reads on her Kindle, and I’m just imagining all the things I can do to that—
“I would, but I’ve got a headache, Chance. Maybe you can take care of yourself tonight?” She sounds dismissive, and not entirely truthful. She’s never been one to pull the headache card, and we are going onmonthsof no full-on sex at this point. Yeah, we fooled around a couple times now, the dates have definitely helped bring us closer together, but she’s still trying to keep me out for some reason.
Why won’t she give herself to me anymore?The thought is driving me fucking mental.
I sigh, rolling over, resigned to yet another night of blue balls, and try to convince my brain to shut down and go to sleep, despite the release my body so desperately craves to aid that process.
I know there’s more to her rejection of me, but I don’t know how to get her to tell me what’s going on, so I try to put it out of mind, yet again.
Decide to focus on planning our next date, the closest thing I have to hope when it comes to winning her back, it’s my go-to thought when I have a minute to myself.
I already know exactly what I’m going to surprise her with, I’ve got it all visualized in my head. Where we’re going, what she’ll look like, my big romantic gesture of the evening, all of it. I’m going to lay out the outfit I want her to wear, tell her when to be ready by, give her a little promise of what’s to come later, get her worked up and thinking about me, the way I’m constantly thinking of her, and leave her to it. Let that anticipation build and burn all throughout the date. It’s gonna be fucking great. Maybe it’ll even be enough for her to open up to me, all the way.
I feel the bed shake with movement, dipping, then lifting, and Christina walks across the room, toward the closet. I hear her rummaging around in there, and there’s only one reason I can imagine her being in there right now, andfuck, no.She isnotabout to use a toy to get herself off in bed right fucking next to me after telling me she wasn’t in the mood.
This. Is. The. Last. Straw.
I amdonewith whatever issues are between us, and this ends tonight.
Sure enough, she comes back in with a little pink friend in hand, and I spring out of bed, surprising her. She shrieks in near-terror at my sudden movement, but I’m blocking her path and she’s got nowhere to go but to face me.
“Jesus Christ, Chance. What the fuck? Move,” she tells me, trying to push me out of the way so she can step aside.
“Not a fucking chance, baby.” I see the game she’s playing now, and I’m done with it.
I grab the vibrator out of her hand and toss it on the bed. She starts to object, but I don’t give her the chance. I bend down, grab her by the thighs and ass and hoist her over my shoulder.
“Chance!” She tries to keep her voice down, but she’s half-screaming at me.
“Nope. Your friend can wait here for you to come back. Right now, my wife is going to fuckingtalkto me.” I don’t give her a chance to try to fight me further on it, or wriggle free of my tight hold on her, and I focus on getting us through the doorway of our bedroom, all the way down the hall and past the open living space to our back patio. The only space we have where we can really talk freely, without risk of the kids hearing inside this small house. The clunky AC helps mute our voices, as does the noisy fan above.
I drop her down onto her feet on the cracked concrete ground, and stare down at her, my hands on my sweat-clad hips. It used to be a little easier to carry her, back when I was working out more consistently, but my morning workouts have been helping these past weeks, so I’m breathing a little less heavy from the effort now as I would’ve been two months ago.
“I know you’re trying to shut me out by not giving all of yourself to me.”
Arms crossed, she glares at me and gives me a sardonic, fake-impressed look. “Wow, Inspector Gadget, are we? A real fucking Shawn Spencer, you are.”
She’s not scaring me off with this shit.
