Keenan criticized every part of the meals I cooked him. Granted, I wasn’t serving up luxury dishes. We’re talking simple things that a child could make, but even at that, he’d have something to say about it.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think if someone makes you a meal, you should act grateful.
Which is exactly what Pike is doing.
And I know he didn’t like it, because I didn’t like it. The chicken tasted like I was chewing on skeleton bones. The peas were made with milk and garlic, not traditional at all, according to the English standards, and the fries . . . well, they were the best part of the meal, but I doused them in ketchup and salt. The whole platter. I didn’t leave one fry untouched, so Pike was forced to eat his salty-tomatoey fries.
Can’t say that he hated it.
So, my meticulously planned out, “get rid of husband plan A” has proven to be a massive failure.
He tosses his napkin on his bare plate and stands from his chair, stretching his arms over his head. My shameless eyes fall to where his jeans meet his waistline and the enticing divots that cut into his sides.
Yum.
Ughhh . . . he’s so freaking yummy. Why, God . . . why?
“Going to grade some papers now.” He picks up his backpack and unzips it as he walks toward the bed.
“Uh, are you going to clear the plates? Do the dishes?” I ask him.
“Nah, I’m good.”
He flops down on the bed again and uncaps a pen by biting on one end and pulling with his hand.
“Seriously?” I ask him.
He glances toward me. “Seriously. Isn’t that what wives are for?”
Okay. Okay.
Deep breaths, Coraline.
He’s just doing what you asked of him. Really going to town on the asshole status. Fine by me.
I push away from the table, grab the dishes, and take them into the kitchen. I toss them in the sink, along with all the items I used to cook the meal. I pick up my dish soap and spritz everything, then turn on the water for a quick second to activate the soap before turning it off. Then I reach for my phone on the island, slip on my sandals, grab my keys, and head out the door.
Fresh air and some texts with my friends will do me some good.
Cora: CODE RED!
I head down the stairs of my apartment building and straight toward the park across the street. I’m not in the mood for a walk, but I do need some space. I find a bench under a tree and take a seat just as my phone buzzes in my hand with two text messages.
Stella: Oh God, if you somehow got pregnant, I’m going to freak.
Greer: What’s happening now?
I cross my legs and get comfortable as I text my friends back.
Cora: No pregnancy, but I’m surprised I didn’t get pregnant today when Pike took his shirt off in front of me. My ovaries twitched. TWITCHED!
Stella: What? Really?
Greer: Did he pull his shirt off from over his head?
Cora: Yup. My loins did the Macarena from the sight of him. The lordship builds them quite nicely over in England. He’s not playing fair.
Greer: How did dinner go?
Cora: Horribly. I did my best at making a disgusting dinner, succeeded, and yet he was practically licking his plate at the end of it all.
Stella: Did you torch the chicken?
Cora: Yes, it was getting stuck in my teeth.
Greer: And the peas, were they disgusting?
Cora: I’ll be burping those up for days. I truly outdid myself and he was unfazed. Trust me, I watched him, not one single grimace. And then, when he got home, he had the audacity to ask me how my day was.
Stella: Wow . . . just wow.
Cora: Asked if he could help with anything.
Greer: What an absolute dick.
Cora: And when I told him to be an asshole . . . he listened. He’s now treating me like crap, which only pisses me off more because I know he’s doing it because I asked him to . . .
Greer: So, in reality, he’s actually being nice to you.
Cora: YOU GET IT! God, I don’t know what to do. It’s only day one!
Stella: Can I be the devil’s advocate for a second?
Cora: You realize NO ONE likes the person who says that sentence, right?
Greer: It’s true. The devil’s advocate is trigger-worthy.
Stella: I know, but I feel like I just need to say this—once—and then I’ll drop it.
Cora: *SIGH* Fine, what is it?
Stella: Well, you are really attracted to him, were quite interested in getting his attention, and he seems to actually be pretty nice and accommodating. Have we thought about not deterring him, but giving this a try?
Cora: ARE YOU INSANE?
Greer: I mean . . . she has a point.