Then again, arsehole is what she wants, so arsehole is what she gets.
Let me tell you, last night’s dinner was an abomination.
But eating the leftovers for dinner tonight, positively poisonous.
How I gulped that down without throwing up is beyond me, but here I am, an absolute hero for conquering such a feat. Since there weren’t many dishes besides our plates and glasses, I didn’t bother fighting about who would do them. I just grabbed her plate and mine and put them in the dishwasher.
And since she lives in a studio apartment, there isn’t any place for her to go to stew, so instead, she brings her knees up to her chest as she sits at the table and studies her mobile.
Unsure of what to do, I return to the table and take a seat.
Her eyes lift from her mobile and she stares me down. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting, breathing . . . living.”
Her brow crinkles. “What kind of answer is that?”
“Truthful. Would you like a lie? Because I can give you one.” In a girly American voice, I ask, “Pike, what are you doing?” Changing to my normal voice, I say, “Knitting a scarf for my neighbor’s dog who’s hairless and finds autumn in Chicago far too chilly.”
“Why are you making this worse than it should be?”
“I’m making it worse?” I ask, shocked. “I was trying to be nice to you, you were the one who asked me to be an arsehole. I’m just doing what you asked.”
“Well, stop it,” she snaps at me.
“So, you don’t want me to be an arsehole?”
“I want you to be gone, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to be happening anytime soon.”
“You’re right about that.” I slouch in my chair. Silence falls between us, and I really have no idea where to go from here. How to cross the bridge with her from angry to lukewarm. If she was lukewarm, then I could work with that, I could help her open up.
But when she’s so closed off like this, buried in her mobile, most likely texting her friends on how she’s going to continue to feed me horrible food—yeah, it’s obvious—I’m not sure I’m ever going to break through to her.
“Are you just going to sit there?” she asks from over her mobile.
“Are you?”
“I would prefer not to, but since it’s raining out, I can’t go for a walk.”
“You could walk the hallways of the apartment building.” I say it as a joke, but when her head perks up, I see that she’s taking it as a serious suggestion. “I’m kidding,” I say.
“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. I wasn’t able to hit the gym today because of my stewing over a barnacle of a husband, so I’ll do that. Maybe run up and down the stairs.”
“You’d seriously rather run up and down the stuffy stairwell than be in the same room as me?”
As she stands, she stretches her arms in the air and moves them side to side. “I’m glad you’re starting to understand my absolute distaste for you.”
Without another word, she digs into her dresser drawer and heads into the bathroom. She slams the door, and that, my friends, is that.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing my hand through my hair.
Three months is not long enough; at this rate, I’m going to need three years.
And then I think of an idea.
Something I know she’s going to hate me for, but it’ll force her to stay near me. Before I can change my mind, I pop out of my chair and grab a pair of shorts to change into from my space under the bed. I ditch the shirt, because no need for that, and quickly put on some socks and shoes. As I’m finishing lacing up, she pops out of the bathroom, fixing her ponytail. When her eyes land on me, she halts immediately.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I rub my hand over my thick chest, drawing her eyes in the right spot, because I know she can’t seem to resist looking. And I’m right—she takes me in, her eyes blazing a steamy trail starting at my waistband and traveling all the way up to my face.
“Didn’t get to the gym either. And you know what they say—couples that work out together, stay together.” I smirk at her.
“You’re not working out with me.”
“Of course not. I’ll just work out behind you, enjoying the view of your arse in that spandex.”
“There will be no staring at my ass.”
“Then stop staring at my bare chest.”
Her cheeks bloom with a light shade of pink as she mutters something under her breath and turns away from me toward the entryway, where she grabs her shoes.