“Okay, first off: Sexist of you to assume that every man owns a toolbox. Second: I happen to have one out in my car. But I am not sleeping in a twin bed. And we are not sleeping in two beds.”
There’s a clunk under the bed and then an “Ow!”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter as I get down and army crawl under from the other side.
“Oh, so youarehelping now?” She’s flat on her tummy andinspecting the leg at the foot of the bed where the two wooden frames are conjoined.
“Definitely not. I just came down here to make sure you’re not concussed because that would be very inconvenient for me as your husband.”
She looks up at me, the phone lighting her face and a vicious response on the tip of her tongue, just as a firm knock sounds at our door. “Come in!” she yells.
The door opens and it occurs to me that the only visible thing at the moment is my feet sticking out the side of this bed.
“Hello?” The voice is distinctly low. “Everything okay under there?”
“This discussion is not over,” Clover hisses before shimmying out.
“Feels over to me,” I manage to respond with a grunt as I crawl back.
The guy at the door is a fucking giant. His shaggy black hair blends in with his worn black T-shirt and jeans, and I think it’s fair to say he’s never smiled a day in his life. He wears wire frame glasses that you’d get punched for in high school but must play really well with the college girls who want to get drunk and talk about their Myers-Briggs type. “I’m Dylan, the fifth-floor resident adviser.” His lips hardly move as he speaks, making it clear he would rather be anywhere but here.
Me too, man.
I glance over to find Clover blushing and my chest puffs out like a fucking ape. I step up beside her as the dutiful husband I am pretending to be. “Bennett,” I tell the RA. “And this is Clover.”
Beside me, Clover audibly swallows, making it perfectly clear that she would climb this guy given the chance.
“Is there a problem with your bed?” Dylan asks.
Clover takes a step back and motions to her side made up with her comforter and sheets while my side is still bare. A far cry from the picture of a marital bed. “We were trying to disconnect the frames.”
The expression on Dylan’s face—and I use the termexpressiongenerously because the man is so mechanical in voice and movement—is puzzling. He checks his clipboard, his head tilted to the side. “I’ve got you two signed up for a married dorm.”
Beside me, Clover’s breath catches, and I am just a little pleased to be right that I’ve got her number when it comes to this guy.
“We were disconnecting them to reconnect them,” I explain quickly. “The beds felt a little loose.” I shake the foot of the bed, and of course the thing is firmer than the drop deadline for classes. “We just didn’t want to wake up the whole floor with our newlywed escapades, you know?”
Clo makes a shabby attempt at playing her grimace off as a smile.
“No, actually, I don’t know,” he says. “But I can call maintenance out if you need me to.”
Clover nods. “That would be totally—”
“Unnecessary,” I finish for her.
Dylan shrugs, his gaze still bored. “Right. You both already signed off on the housing contract, but I’m leaving a hard copy here for you. The housing office is trying to keep tabs on all the non-trad students, so don’t be surprised if they pop in from time to time.”
He opens the door and some very loud music blares from down the hall. “My fucking eardrums,” he mutters.
It’s just the two of us again and the noise from the hallway dulls as the door shuts.
Clover stands with her arms crossed over her chest. “We are not sleeping in this bed together.”
“Hate to break it to you, wifey, but I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
Her cheeks flood with a delectable blush, and I wonder what other things I can do to make her rosy with color.
“We need some rules,” Clover says, and then more to herself, “This is such a fucking joke.” She plops down on her side of the bed and takes the notebook off her dresser. “As you know, I plan on resolving this little housing situation before the end of the semester, so we can just go ahead and schedule our divorce for the last day of finals if that works for you.” With that said, she scratchesDecember 9thacross the top of the page.
