Page 46 of Everywhere You Look

“It’s complicated,” he sighs.

For some reason, those two words light a spark in me, and I quickly veer off the “Bothered But Understanding Husband” Highway and take a hard left onto “Dean Is Annoying The Shit Out Of Me” Lane. I don’t want to play whatever game this is anymore. We’ve got to face things head on and talk to each other, for fuck’s sake. I’m in my mid-thirties, I’m a parent. I’m done with the miscommunication run around.

“It can’t be that complicated. It was your idea for us to share a room in the first place. So why are you here, avoiding me? In fact, why do you sneak out of said room every morning before I wake up? Am I that repulsive?”

My words come out angry, but my insides are laced with insecurity. It can’t be one-sided, can it? All this heady attraction and buzzing chemistry and freaking electricity can’t just be in my head.

But maybe it is. I’ve been wrong before. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself this entire time, and while I’ve been grappling with this growing crush, Dean has just been cruising. Possessive because that’s who he is as a person. Charming because he doesn’t know any other way. But otherwise, oblivious to it all.

“What? No. It’s complicated because of the rules, Luke.”

The rules…

The rules he wrote down in his notes app? The ones about keeping the convenience part of this arrangement a secret?

“I am so confused,” I say with a huff.

“Luke. We said we both reserve the right to make changes to the rules at any time. I want to make a change. This isn’t working for me.”

My mind whirs, thoughts going a million miles a minute while I struggle to keep up.

“What rule isn’t working for you? Dean, are you trying to tell me that you’re regretting getting married? Because I gotta say, babe, you’ve got really shitty timing if that’s the case.”

I’m a high wire tension line, taut all over and buzzing with nervous energy.

Dean laughs, a rough, throaty, humorless sound that sends a shiver down my spine before grabbing me by the chin and forcing me to look at him right in the storm clouds of his eyes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, no. I don’t regret getting married. I will never regret our marriage, Luke. I just think it’s about time we consummate it.”

19

LUST IN THE DUST

Dean

The second the words leave my mouth, I feel alive in a way I could never have expected. My skin buzzes with electricity, my focus sharpening into something bright and clear. I feel like I’ve gone through the five stages of grief since I left that photoshoot this morning. Denial that anything had happened, that I’d made up the low current of electric energy bouncing between Luke and I in that tub. Anger at Luke for having the audacity to call us fake. Even more anger at myself for being the one to call us fake first. Bargaining with myself in the shower when I couldn’t stop myself from jerking off, telling myself that it wasn’t the shape of Luke’s hips in my hands on my mind while I worked my cock. That it wasn’this name on my lips when I came. Depression as I laid here alone, listening to Luke get the girls ready for bed without me and thinking about how easily I could lift right out of this equation if I were to fuck this up.

And finally, acceptance. Right here, right now, I’ve accepted that I want Luke. I’ve accepted that I think he might want me, too. I’ve accepted that it’s time to put my heart on the line and try, and I’ve accepted that if I’m wrong, I’ll have only myself to blame when this whole thing goes down in flames.

Luke looks back at me, his mouth slightly agape and his brown eyes wide as they roam from my face, down to my chest and back again.

“You want to…consummate…our fake?—”

“There’s that fucking word again. I don’t know where you got the idea that there was anything fake about this marriage. Convenient, yes. But fake? Was it when I got down on one knee? Was it when I made vows to you at City Hall or when I slid my ring on your finger? Was it the morning that I told a journalist about how easily I fell for you all those years ago? Or how about in the tub when I nearly came out of my skin when you sat your perfect, naked body in my lap and held on to me like I was your lifeline? None of that was fake to me, Luke. Have you been pretending this whole time? Because I haven’t.”

Luke just stares, blinking at me like I’m some sort of mirage. I let go of his chin, sliding my hand around to gather the hair at his nape in my fingers. My thumb brushes over his pulse. It flutters rapidly under his skin, his blood pumping and heart beating in time with my own.

“Actually, that’s a lie. I have been pretending. For years, I pretended that I haven’t wanted you. That you’re not the most beautiful, important, precious thing in my life. I’ve been pretending that I was okay with just being your friend, because I know that getting even a small piece of Luke Cannon is better than nothing. And I know I shouldn’t push you. You’ve gone through so much in the last two years. There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t want to kiss you, touch you. I shouldn’t want to put you on your knees and fuck the word fake right out of your pretty mouth, but I do. Dammit, corazón. I really, really do.”

There it is. Everything I’ve held back is out there now, on the table. The ball is in Luke’s court. His breath is unsteady, his lips parting and then closing again. His Adam’s apple works as he swallows down whatever he was going to say. I think the silence stretching between us might just kill me, but no.

It’s not the silence that does me in. It’s Luke pulling away, my finger sliding out of his hair as hegets up from the bed that has bile rising in my throat and tears burning behind my eyes. Luke walks towards the door, the forgotten plate of food in hand, and I try to formulate some sort of response to his…lack of response.

I can apologize. I can beg him to forget I ever said anything, beg him to put the last five minutes behind us and move on with our platonic arrangement.

But then, Luke stops. He sets the plate down on the dresser by the door and fiddles with the switch on the wall until the light in the room dims to a more ambient, amber glow.

“Did you think I was leaving?” he asks when he turns back to me, noticing the anguish I don’t bother hiding on my face.

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