Page 41 of Staying for You

“So why were you protecting yourself from me?”

“Because I’ve only known you a few days and I like you. Of course, you’re beautiful,” he grins at me and my heart goes thump, thump, thump at him calling me beautiful, “but,” dammit, Iknewthere was a but coming, “it’s not only about that. You’re giving and selfless and kind and thoughtful and… you’re only here for a short time.”First time in the history of ever the word but is a good thing.“This is probably the most unprofessional thing I could ever say to a guest.” He shakes his head at himself.

I let his praises settle. The fact that he sees me as selfless and thoughtful alone is enough to make my chest swell with pride. But he also called me beautiful and that’s something I haven’t heard in… well, years. The last time Scott and I went on a date, I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking this was it. If he didn’t say anything about how I looked that night or act like I was an important part of his world, I knew we were done.

“Are you ready yet?” Scott calls up the stairs, annoyance already heavy in his voice. He makes sure to add in a sigh and not so muffled curse to really drive his point home.

I know he doesn’t want to go out tonight but I need it. I haven’t had a night out of the house in so long, I think my ass has a permanent indentation on the chair. He leaves every day, rarely eats a meal in our home, actually. For him, this is nothing special.

I look at myself in the mirror one more time. I somehow perfected a smoky eye, after watching YouTube tutorials for a few hours, that is. My hair is silky and curled in big waves. My skin is glowing and there’s not a single hair on my body that shouldn’t be there. Turning to the side, I take in my little red dress. It was a bold move when I decided to wear it tonight, but I need the courage and this fit and flair dress makes my waist look small and my breasts perky and full. Plus. It has pockets.

“I’m coming!” I shout, applying a coat of gloss over my matching red lips.

I run a hand down my stomach that just unleashed a flood of butterflies and blow out a breath.

I look amazing, if I do say so myself.

This is the first date we’ve had in fourteen months and twenty-two days.

It’s been a while, obviously.

But it’s our anniversary and we didn’t celebrate last year.

I miss that feeling I would get when I would walk in the room and my husband saw nothing but me. I miss knowing that he would be fighting against himself to find a quiet spot for just the two of us to ravish each other.

He wasn’t always so… unaware of me. Sure, he’s always been a selfish man and had very little ambition in life, which sounds terrible coming from hiswife. But it’s not entirely his fault. Scott’s never had to work for anything of his own and it shows. For some reason, I always overlooked those faults because as far as showing me affection? He excelled at that. I knew he was attracted to me, he was never shy about his desire to be next to me, touch me affectionately.

I leave the bathroom off our bedroom and head down the stairs.

He’s waiting at the door, head bent as he types away on his phone.

I pause halfway down, wondering if he’ll turn and look at me. If he’ll say that I look beautiful and wonder how he’s going to get through the evening staring at me from across the table. Or maybe he’ll ask for a booth and not be able to stop his hands from sliding up my thigh and maybe even discover that I’m not wearing panties.

My heart beat picks up and I bite my bottom lip as I continue down the stairs.

Tonight is going to be so much fun. At least I hope it is. Actually, it’s a pipe dream to wish for it to be fun, but I’m laying it all out there. Besides, I’m so ready for some downtown action. My word, if my vibrator could talk, it’d be begging for a break from being overworked.

We need this. If we can’t rekindle the love we once shared, I know it’s over. Our marriage has been on a thin line for so long.

Then I stutter to a stop right before I hit the bottom step. I hadn’t paid attention to what he was wearing.

Black jogger sweatpants. High-top Jordan sneakers. And a black hoodie.

Where does he think we’re going? I thought we had reservations at Fleming’s. It’s the hottest, admittedly incredibly expensive but worth every penny, steakhouse in the entire state of Tennessee.

“I’m ready,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t glance up from his phone when he slides a flat bill ball cap on his head backward and grumbles, “Finally.”

I follow him to the door that leads into the garage, my heels clicking against the hardwood. My hands clench my leather clutch so tightly that my knuckles are turning white.

He opens the door and walks through it, not considerate enough to hold it open for me. Scott still hasn’t noticed me or paid attention to how much effort I put into tonight while he looks like he’s ready to go to IHOP.

I wanted answers and I suppose I’m getting them.

He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t evenseeme anymore. I’m no longer a factor in his life. I don’t matter to him, I’m simply a nuisance but one he puts up with because I earn the money he enjoys spending.

But knowing all this doesn’t mean I’ll stand to be treated with such disrespect and disregard anymore.

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