“You can talk to me, but, you know, no touching or anything like that.”
“Basically, you don’t want me to act like a husband who can’t keep his hands off his wife.”
I swallow hard, thinking back to how I wanted him so freaking badly this morning, but he wouldn’t give in, no matter how hard I tried, until we were just about to leave, which is when he pinned me up against the wall near our bed, my chest to the wall, made me spread my legs, and then pressed the vibrator between my spread legs. I crumpled when I came, thankful he was there to catch me.
“Sort of,” I say with a wince.
“Sort of? I’m going to need a direct answer from you, Coraline.”
I nervously twirl a piece of my hair as I try to answer him without insulting him. Not that I should care about insulting him . . . but I do. Over the last few days, I’ve begun to care a lot about how he feels. But the goal here is to break up this marriage, not enjoy it. I need to stay true to the original plan because, let’s face it, I’m not emotionally ready to be in another relationship, let alone be married again, especially to someone who could possibly still be classified as a stranger. Not to mention, Arlo would flip his shit, and the last thing I want to deal with is a mad Arlo. And I know I’m going to have to face him today, he’s going to ask questions, and it’s going to be stressful. I just can’t have Pike coming up to me and placing a kiss on my forehead, telling me how good I look in a bikini. Because that’s what he did when we were at the apartment, it’s how I ended up pinned against the wall.
“Please, just act like you did before we got married.”
He slowly nods, his eyes cast down. “Got it.”
And those two words, full of disappointment, cut right through me.
But instead of comforting him, telling him I’m sorry like any other normal person would do, I allow him to get out of my car and head to the party alone.
Talk about feeling like absolute crap.
I feel positively awful.
Gripping the steering wheel, I stare out through the windshield and take a deep breath. Get it together, Cora. You don’t want to be married. You don’t want to be in a relationship. You don’t want any of this.
At least, I’m trying to convince myself of that.
“You’re acting weird,” Stella says as she comes up next to me with a platter of deviled eggs.
“How so?” I ask, my voice more high-pitched than I would’ve hoped for.
“You’re fidgety and your eyes are shifting all around, like you know something is going to happen and you’re waiting for it to occur.”
“Something is going to happen,” I say. “I gave him the swim trunks.”
“You did?” Stella asks, surprised.
“Yeah, wasn’t that the plan?” I ask her.
“Well, yeah, but I thought, you know, since you two have been having fun that maybe you were going to give everything a chance.”
“I have no intentions of giving anything a chance.”
“Okay.” Stella shrugs and places the eggs on the table in front of me.
“Okay? That’s all you’re going to say?” I ask her.
“I don’t know what else you want me to say. Frankly, I’m exhausted from the entire situation. He’s a good guy, Cora.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want anyone in my life right now.”
“Do you think you ever will?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
She doesn’t give me time to answer before she’s walking back into the kitchen.
Will I ever give another relationship a try? Not sure I could say either way. Emotionally, I know I still have some issues to work through, a lot of trust issues. Physically, I know I could benefit from being in a relationship, even if it is just friends with benefits. But from the way Pike has been acting, I don’t think that’s what he’s looking for.
I heave a gusty sigh just as Arlo and Greer walk into the house. Chin held high, eyes like daggers, my brother scans the space, finding me in the corner of the dining room.
Uh-oh.
He is not who I want to talk to, especially not right now.
So, I do what every little sister would do before they get in trouble, I bolt.
I bolt right toward the bar and pour myself a shot of—no, not Fireball—but a shot of tequila. When Arlo approaches, I pour another . . . and then another.
“Trying to mask something?” Arlo asks as he steps up next to me.
Midway through pouring my fourth shot, I turn toward him, bottle and shot glass in hand, and smile at him. “Nothing to mask. Just trying to get this party started.”