I'm lost in my thoughts until his hands grasp my shoulders, pulling me in as if to hug me.
“Melly, you know it's you I love. Let's get this out of our systems.”
I wince and recoil in disgust. The offensive smells coming from him make my stomach roil.
"There's nothing I need to work out of my system, Jaxson!"
“Listen, baby, it's the start of the season,” he tries a softer approach, his tone soothing and coaxing, almost slick as I slip from his grasp. “I promise that by the end of April, when the season's over, we'll revisit this. If you're still hesitant, we'll reassess. Okay?”
A shiver crawls up my spine, not the good kind, as his words cling to my skin, oily and unsettling.
What's it going to take to get him to drop this?
It's then that I realizehe really is seriousand there's no convincing him otherwise. He's made up his mind. Inside, I'm a maelstrom of anguish, while on the outside, a mask of calm acceptance settles into place.
He's not listening to me. What I say doesn't matter.
All I want is to find a hole and crawl in it, licking my wounds, as I shut down. Despair surfaces as my spirit finally breaks.
“Fine," I say hollowly, my eyes stinging with tears that I refuse to let fall.
He kisses my head and laughs, having gotten his way. “You won't regret this, baby. You'll see. It'll be good for us to experiment to appreciate what we have.”
I don't need to experiment to appreciate what we have,I think to myself, wounded to my core.
“Before I go shower, let's set some boundaries. Will that make you feel more comfortable?” He rushes on as if the whole world isn't crashing down around us.
I look at him in disbelief. The only boundary that would make me comfortable is if he were faithful. I no longer voice my objections, though, because it's obvious he wants to have his cake and eat it too.
He continues, undeterred by my silence. “First,” he begins, sitting at the table and tugging me toward him. I don't know why he can't seem to register that his touch sickens me right now, so I shift to the chair across from him. When he reaches for me again, I press my hands into my lap and wipe them on my pants.
“A seven-month trial period during the season, from October to April," he goes on, ignoring the distanceI've created. "I've got a lot of road games this year anyway.”
He dips his head and peers into my eyes with that cajoling look of his. Little does he know, it doesn't currently affect me. As much as I love him, this new, sleazy, cake-eater side of him is off-putting.
“Second,” he proceeds, “we'll continue to talk every day and have date night once a week, just the two of us.”
Date night. I've begged him for months to take me out. But he can't seem to tear himself away from his buddies long enough.
“Third, we need to be very discreet,” he adds. “We can't let any hint of what we're doing reach the media."
“Then you need to stop parading around with women at the games like you do.”
“That's fans, Melly,” he urges. “I have to do that. It's my job.”
Nice. I haven't heard that excuse before, I think sarcastically, biting back a bitter laugh.
“I don't see any of the other married players acting like you do,” I mutter, voice flat.
“Okay," he concedes with a smirk. "While we do this fun little experiment, I won't entertain the fans like I usually do in public.”
"You think this issome fun little experiment, Jaxson," I say in disbelief. "It's our marriage you're gambling with. You'll regret treating it so recklessly."
He hesitates for a brief second, and I catch a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. But it vanishes almost instantly. I thought for a moment that he finally understood. Then he acts as if I never said a word.
Does he even realize the damage he's causing?
“I think we've got it hashed out, baby,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to my cheek as he stands. I shrink back instinctively, but he doesn't even notice. He's too darn thrilled. “If anything comes up, we can talk it out later.”
