“How was your summer as an au pair?” I ask.
“Oh, fine.” She sighs and leans her head on my shoulder. “Until the mother and father tried to sleep with me.”
“Independently?” Julian asks, his interest piqued.
She grins. “At first, yes. But then… let’s just say it eventually turned out to be a restorative marital experience.”
Julian’s eyes light up. “Speaking of—”
My gaze cuts to him before he can say another word. I actually think Vanya would be impressed by how Clover and I are using marriage to game the system, but she still works for the university and if all this goes up in smoke, I won’t let it be my fault—and another reason for Clover to hate me.
He rolls his eyes and turns to the guy who is practically in his lap now. “Let’s go find a surface to defile.”
Vanya laughs and cards her hands through my hair again as she sinks down farther into my lap. “What about you?” she asks. “Any interest in kicking off the semester with a bang? Literally.”
My dick twitches at her offer as I mindlessly play with the ring on my left hand.
Ah, shit. The ring on my left hand.
I don’t know what the ethics of infidelity are when your real marriage is actually fake, but things with Clover are complicated as it is. I told her I wouldn’t bring anyone back to our dorm, of course. But we never established any sort of rules around sleeping with other people.
Vanya is beautiful, and we have had very, very good sex in the past, which is why—despite my biological reaction—I am concerned to find that I don’t feel like indulging.
It wouldn’t be a good look, I decide. If and when people find out that we’re married, sleeping with other people would discredit our marriage.
“I’ll have to take a rain check.” My hands curl around her waist and I lift her up just enough for me to stand and then place her in my recently vacated armchair. “But I guarantee there are plenty of people in this house who would love to be your mistake tonight.”
She pouts and I give her a quick kiss on the forehead before saying a brief goodbye to Tex, who is happily receiving a full-on sermon from his little pixie about the importance of male contraception.
On my walk back to campus, there is a line of students waiting to rub the bronze statue of Crumpets the goat, Wexley’s unofficial thirteenth founder, for good luck this semester. I feel a little bad that I didn’t skip the party and bring Clover to participate in the tradition.
It seems wrong to be going to our ancient dorm with its communal bathrooms and shitty, shitty beds. Especially when I have a whole third of a town house and a plush mattress that costs more money than many of the cars in the student parking lot.
But for better or worse, I’ve always secretly enjoyed watching Clover get her way. And if helping her start college on time and finding some small sliver of redemption only costs me a marriage license, a stiff neck, and a bathing ritual that necessitates shower shoes, I suppose I can oblige.
CHAPTER 4
Clover
I wake up to a good-morning text from my mom and Bennett’s leg slung over my hip. The wall of pillows I’d erected before I fell asleep has been shoved to the foot of the bed and my back is snug against his bare chest. Shallow breaths tickle the back of my neck, warm with the smell of scotch. He shifts closer to me and something… stiff is pressed against my ass.
Oh god.
The wall of pillows is no longer erect, but Bennett certainly is.
Okay, this is normal, I tell myself. Morning wood is biological, but that was why I built the Great Wall of Pillows.
“You have five seconds for your boner to sever contact with my ass,” I announce.
But he doesn’t even startle. All Bennett does in response is grumble into my ear and band his arm around my waist. “Your breath reeks,” I tell him.
He nuzzles into my neck, sending a slight chill down my spine.I’m going to get out of this bed and I’m going to kill him. I just have to decide if it’s better or worse if I wait for him to become conscious. I push back against him and not so accidentally kick him in the shins as I pry myself free from the dead weight of his arm.
“Fuck,” he yowls, as I practically fall out of the bed. “You have zero bedside manner.”
I already have my notebook and pen in hand to scribble down the next rule. “No. Cuddling,” I tell him, and then toss it onto the bed for him to see.
He grunts in response as I search through the pile of yet to be organized items on my desk to find my toiletry bag and knockoff Crocs—lovingly referred to by Marianne as frocs. Three years ago, I would have cut my own bangs before being caught dead in a pair, but they’re just so comfortable to wear at the diner.
