Part-Time Husband Page 9

  Since it’s quiet and I have plenty of time, I’m able to get a lot done. It’s almost an hour later and I’m making more coffee in the french press when I see Trevor. He’s barefoot and in his pajama pants. His hair is messier than normal, and his eyes are only halfway open the way they always are when he first gets up.

  “Good morning,” I tell him in the same bright tone I always use to greet him first thing.

  He gives me his normal grumble, and I’m smiling as I pour coffee into my cup. Then, in a burst of generosity, I pour the rest of the coffee from the press into another cup and hand it to him.

  He leans against the counter and takes a sip before he asks, “What did I do to deserve this?”

  “I’m just a very kind and generous person.”

  “To other people, sure. But usually not to me.” He’s got that smile in his eyes, so I know he’s teasing.

  “I’m about as kind and generous to you as you are to me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Why are you up so early?” I ask.

  Trevor is always up early on weekdays. And on Saturdays he wakes up fairly early and then disappears for the rest of the day. Yesterday was unusual in that he came back midafternoon so we could go to the cookout together in the evening. Usually he’s gone all day on Saturdays.

  On Sundays, however, he usually sleeps until eight thirty or nine. “I’ve got to go to church with my parents.”

  My eyes get big. “Really?”

  “They always nag me to go, and I have to cave occasionally, or they’ll never let me hear the end of it. It’s not that bad, but the service they go to starts at nine thirty.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “You can come too if you want.”

  At this, my eyes get even bigger. “You want me to come to church with you?”

  “It’s no big deal either way. I’m just saying you can come if you want.”

  “What would your parents say if you took me with you?”

  He gives a half shrug. “They’d be thrilled.”

  “What have you told them about us?”

  “I’ve told them... the truth.”

  The hesitation in the middle of his answer makes me wonder about the exact words he’s told them. “You told them that a desperate woman showed up in your office to make a deal to marry you because she wants to prove something to her grandfather and not lose her job?”

  He gives a soft huff of amusement. “I phrased it a little differently. But they know it’s not a regular marriage.”

  “Are they pretty traditional?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So are they disappointed in your part-time marriage?”

  He doesn’t answer immediately, but I can see he’s thinking about the question as he sips his coffee. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. They seem happy that I’m married at all. For any reason. Although my mom keeps saying...”

  My curiosity is piqued when he trails off. “She keeps saying what?”

  “She’s worried that I’m taking advantage of you. She keeps telling me to make sure I treat you right.”

  I give a surprised laugh. “Why does she think you’ll take advantage of me? If anything, it’s the other way around. This was my idea to begin with.”

  “I know. But she’s my mom.”

  I can tell from his expression that he loves his parents. His irony at the moment is shaped by fondness rather than disapproval or annoyance.

  For just a moment I’m so jealous it hurts.

  I wish I still had my parents and that I could still love them like that.

  “What is it?” he asks softly.

  “Nothing,” I tell him with a smile, pushing the thought away. “What do you tell her when she lectures you about treating me right?”

  He gives another little shrug. “I tell her I’m doing my best.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I type out a couple of sentences in a reply to an email. Then I turn back to Trevor and say, “You’ve never talked about your parents with me before.”

  “You never asked.”

  “Oh. Well, I talk about a lot of things without you asking me first.”

  “No, you don’t. Not personal things. I always have to ask.”

  I think about this for a minute and conclude that it’s true. “Okay. Maybe. Well, you can tell me things without my asking first if you want.”

  “Okay. I’ll remember that.”

  I feel kind of strange and confused at the way he’s watching me right now, so I turn back to my email.

  He finishes his coffee and starts to make more in the press, but as he does, he says, “You never told me if you want to come to church with us today.”

  “Oh. I wouldn’t mind, but I’ve got a friend coming into town. I’m meeting her at ten for brunch.” Remembering what he said about my not telling him anything without his asking first, I add, “Rachel is a friend from college. She’s my best friend, but she lives in Knoxville, so I don’t see her all the time.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s great. She’s smart and funny and a lot more laid-back than me. She’s a lawyer. We’ve always gotten along really well. I’ll probably spend the afternoon with her.”

  “Are you still planning to go to Sunday supper tonight?”

  My heart sinks a little at the thought of going back to Pop’s this evening, after how painful it was last week. “Yes. I always go.”

  He just looks at me.

  “You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want.”

  He gives me a little scowl. “Of course I’ll go.”

  “I’m sure Pop will be nicer tonight.”

  “He better be.”

  Trevor sounds slightly gruff.

  Ridiculously, it makes me feel better.

  When Trevor finally leaves to go shower and get dressed for church, I realize for the first time that he hasn’t said a word about us having sex last night.

  It’s like it didn’t even happen.

  I’m not sure what I expected. Not necessarily a long, serious discussion on it. Trevor isn’t like that, and neither am I. But surely it would make sense to refer to it in passing.

  After a minute, I shrug it off.

  If he doesn’t want to talk about it, then that’s fine with me.

  I can pretend it never happened too.

  I SPEND MOST OF BRUNCH with Rachel, talking about my marriage. It’s hardly surprising. How many people end up married to a guy they don’t really like?

  Of course, I do like Trevor now, but I didn’t when I married him. Rachel peppers me with questions and listens with wide eyes and a mouth quivering with amusement.

  “So you don’t think he’s the most obnoxious man in the world anymore?” she finally asks, smiling around the rim of her glass.

  “Oh, I definitely think he’s the most obnoxious man in the world still. But...”

  “But what?”

  “But I don’t mind it as much as I used to. He might be smug and always thinks he knows better than anyone else, but I don’t think he has a bad heart underneath it. He’s been nicer to me than I ever would have expected.”

  “You know that’s because he’s crazy about you, right?”

  I almost spit out my mimosa. “He is not!”

  “Oh, I think it’s pretty clear that he is. He held you when you were upset last week, right? And he’s getting all protective about Pop?”

  “He’s just being nice!”

  “It doesn’t sound like nice to me.”

  I’m blushing slightly, but I’m not about to be persuaded to believe something clearly untrue. “That’s because you don’t know him. I can’t even really explain his attitude when he does those nice things. He’s always kind of laughing about it, as if his relationship with me is some sort of joke. A man in love wouldn’t act like that.”

  “He might if he didn’t think you felt the same way.”

  “Oh, stop imagining things. He’s the least romantic man who’s ever w
alked the earth, and that works out perfectly for me. I’m telling you he doesn’t have feelings for me.”

  “And I guess that’s keeping you from having feelings for him.”

  I draw my brows together. “I don’t know if anything is keeping me from it. I’m just not stupid enough to have feelings for him. I like him. A lot more than I ever dreamed I could. But I’m not about to be foolish enough to fall in love with a man who’s going to leave me when the year is over.”

  Rachel frowns at that and doesn’t say anything.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” I say with a sigh. “We both know what we’re doing in this marriage. It might be crazy, but it’s working for us. And after it’s over, I’ll be safe with Pop, and Trevor and I will go on with our regular lives. It will be fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do say so.”

  I mean it.

  The past month with Trevor has felt like an intense dream, a strange interlude that’s broken up the smooth routine of my life.

  It’s not a bad one, but it’s also not real.

  And something that isn’t real is never going to last.

  SUNDAY SUPPER GOES a lot better this week. For whatever reason, Pop is on his best behavior, and he only makes a few needling comments directed toward my sisters or me.

  Mostly he’s complaining about politics—he hates almost everyone in an elected position, no matter what the party, and thinks they all should be sent home in disgrace—and that’s a mostly tolerable topic of conversation.

  He does make a few pointed comments about Chelsea needing a job and about how half the people who work for his company hate me. He also gets so mad at Trevor that his mustache quivers uncontrollably whenever Trevor contradicts him about something related to me. But all of that is commonplace and doesn’t upset me.

  When we leave that evening, I’m deeply relieved. I’ve actually had a decent time.

  I lean back in the passenger seat and close my eyes for a minute.

  When I open them again, Trevor is peering at me.

  “It went a lot better, don’t you think?” I ask him.

  “Yeah.”

  “He sure got mad at you a couple of times.”

  “Ask me if I give a damn.”

  I smile at him, feeling that same pressure in my chest I felt this morning when he was sleeping.

  Then my smile fades and I close my eyes again, feeling suddenly exhausted.

  “What is it?” he asks as he pulls the car out onto the road.

  “Nothing.”

  He doesn’t answer, and when I open my eyes, he slants me a look.

  So I say, “Are any of your grandparents still alive?”

  “Yeah. My mom’s dad is and my dad’s mom.”

  “What are they like?”

  “My parents didn’t have me until they were in their forties, so my grandparents are in their nineties. My grandfather is in an assisted living place. Dementia has hit him pretty hard, so he doesn’t usually know who I am. He’s always been a great guy. He was never affectionate, but family was always important to him. My grandmother is kind of soft and sweet, and she’s always praying for everyone.”

  I give him a wistful smile. “That sounds nice.”

  “It is. My family is... great.”

  “My sisters are great. And my parents were too. And Pop is... who he is. I’m not whining about my family or anything.”

  “I know you’re not. You never whine about anything.” He’s staring at the road in front of us, and his expression is strangely quiet. “You can, you know.”

  “I can what?”

  “Whine. Occasionally. You don’t always have to be...”

  My breath hitches. “Be what?”

  “Invulnerable.”

  I have no idea what to say to that, but I think about it for a long time.

  I TAKE A BATH LIKE normal when we get home, and as I soak I can’t help wondering if Trevor is going to want to have sex again.

  I do. A lot.

  But he’s still not said a single word about what we did last night.

  Maybe one good fuck is all he needs to satisfy his physical interest in me. Maybe he’s just that way. Like it’s an itch he has to scratch.

  I can’t imagine feeling that way about sex. If I’m interested in a man, it doesn’t go away after sleeping with him once.

  But men might be different.

  Trevor might be different.

  Maybe one time is all he wants.

  After mulling it over, I decide that I’m not going to bring it up if he doesn’t. I’m certainly not going to beg to have sex with him again.

  Even though I really want to.

  With this resolved in my mind, I get out of the bath and get ready for bed. It’s a little early, but I can read for a while.

  And then I’ll just see what happens.

  Trevor goes to take a shower shortly after I leave his bathroom, so he’s still in there as I get into bed. I settle myself under the covers and pick up my e-reader. My hair is loose, and I’m wearing a tank top and light cotton pajama pants.

  I haven’t done anything special to prepare myself.

  Trevor will have no reason to believe that I’m waiting to have sex.

  He’s in the shower for eleven minutes tonight, and my heart starts to accelerate when I hear the water turn off. I make sure not to look away from my book as he comes out into the bedroom.

  I wonder if he’s looking at me.

  I wonder what his expression is like.

  I wonder if he even remembers that we had sex just last night.

  He doesn’t say anything as he finishes getting ready for bed and climbs under the covers beside me.

  It feels like he’s looking at me, so I finally can’t resist the compulsion to glance over.

  He is.

  Looking at me.

  “What?” I ask, my tone sharper than entirely necessary.

  He frowns. “You’re snapping at me?”

  “No, I’m not snapping at you. I just asked what. You’re staring at me.”

  “Your tone implied you were annoyed with me.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m annoyed with you now because you’re being annoying. I wasn’t annoyed with you before.”

  And up goes that one eyebrow.

  My frown deepens. “Don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The look that says you know better than me and you’re eyeing me from a great height of wisdom and knowledge.”

  “I’m not looking at you like that.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I think I know what’s going through my mind, and I’m telling you that I’m not looking at you that way. I’m the expert on me.”

  “You don’t know how you look. You only know what you intend. And I’m telling you that, whether you intend it or not, that expression implies that you’re condescending to me. I’m the one seeing you. You might be the expert on you, but I’m the expert on how you look.”

  His mouth quivers slightly, and a glint of amusement awakens in his eyes.

  I have to struggle not to laugh in response. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “And yet you said it. From now on, you’ll forever be the expert on how I look.” He isn’t even trying to hide his smile.

  My cheeks are warm, and my heart is beating like crazy. “Damn it, Trevor. You’re being particularly obnoxious tonight. Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  He doesn’t answer, but something undefinable alters in his eyes.

  “You are! You’re being obnoxious on purpose. Why are you trying to argue with me?”

  Both his eyebrows elevate just slightly. “Last night, our argument had a very happy ending.”

  His tone is as cool as anything. So cool it takes me a few seconds to figure out what he’s referring too.

  I suck in another breath and sit up. “If you want to have sex again, why don’t you just say so?”

  “I thought I
just did.”

  “So you do?”

  “Of course I do. Last night was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. Why the hell wouldn’t I want to do it again?”

  I’m so surprised and exhilarated that I gape at him for a minute.

  Then I manage to say, “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay we can have sex. Believe it or not, it was pretty good for me too.”

  “I know it was, but I thought you might want to be careful or something.”

  “Careful about what?”

  “Don’t ask me.”

  I shake my head. “Do you want to talk more and risk annoying me so much I change my mind, or do you want to fuck me?”

  “Option B sounds preferable to me.” He’s smiling as he rolls over on top of me. He leans down to kiss me very gently and murmurs against my lips, “But I have a tendency to talk while I fuck.”

  I smile. “I know you do. Just try not to be too obnoxious about it, and we’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He takes off my pajamas and kisses and caresses me for a while until I’m hot and writhing beneath him. Then he kisses me some more and makes me come with his fingers. I don’t expect him to make the extra effort this time since last night made it clear that I can come from intercourse, but he does and I’m not about to complain.

  Then I get impatient and yank down his pajama pants. I help to guide him inside me and wrap my legs around his hips. He’s groaning uninhibitedly against my ear, and it’s the hottest thing.

  I can’t believe he wants me this much.

  He fucks me until I come and then turns me over onto my hands and knees and does it again. He can’t last as long in this position, and his motion grows fast and hard and eager. Both of us are making loud, primitive grunts as we work up toward release.

  He’s bracing himself on the headboard with one hand and holding on to a fistful of my bottom with his other when I climax, and he comes right afterward, as if he’s been holding out just for me.

  I’m just as hot and boneless and exhausted as I was yesterday as I fall down onto the mattress on my stomach. He falls down too, halfway on top of me. One of his arms is wrapped around my waist, and our skin is sticking together. He’s panting loudly, interspersed with the occasional hoarse moan.