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“But I like my job, and I’m good at what I do.”
My eyes widen as I turn my gaze toward the TV.
He’s good at what he does?
I’ve let too much time pass without responding, but honestly, I have no clue how to even reply to that. He just admitted that he’s good at sex. What am I supposed to say?
“I mean…as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters, right?” I say, which is such a generic response, but it’s all I can come up with at the moment.
“Exactly,” he replies. “And what about you?”
I turn my gaze back toward him, my eyes a little wider. “What about me?”
His lips pull into a sly smile as he turns his gaze downward bashfully. “I just meant, are you happy?”
“Oh.” I laugh nervously to myself. “Yeah, uh, I am…happy.”
Why did I just stutter so much? It definitely did not sound convincing.
And judging by the tight-lipped smile he’s giving me as he nods, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
So, I feel the need to elaborate.
With a sigh, I continue, “I am happy. I love getting to stay at home and raise our daughter. It’s just…” I let my words trail to take a breath. “Caleb and I have been trying to conceive for nearly three years now, and it’s been rough.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The expression on his face appears sincere and compassionate, which is nice. It’s better than pity.
The commercials are still playing, and we both turn our attention back to the TV. I know that neither of us is really watching them, though. The air grows thick with tension, but suddenly, I find myself chuckling quietly.
He snaps his gaze toward me. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I reply with another chuckle. “It’s just that…” Awkwardly, I pause. “It’s just that we’re both sort of talking about sex, but in two very different ways.”
The wordsexcomes out of my mouth, feeling like the most uncomfortable word I’ve ever uttered.
One side of his face lifts into a mischievous smile, and he keeps those hooded eyes trained on my face as he replies, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’re both having a lot of sex. You’re doing it for a baby, and I’m doing it for money. Either way…it’s still fun.”
I have to force myself to swallow, my blood running hotter through my veins as he stares at me. And there’s a voice in my head that is screaming,You should go.
And this time, I listen.
Quickly, I gulp back the rest of the wine in my glass and stand from the couch.
“It’s late. I should really go. Thank you so much,” I stammer as I move toward the kitchen, “for letting me crash…your uh…TV watching…time.”
Oh my god, what am I saying?
He chuckles from the couch. “Of course, anytime. No worries. I love company.”
I drop the empty glass in the sink before rushing to the door. “Okay, well, I’ll be home all day tomorrow. You know, in case you want me—I mean, need me.” With a wince, I open the door. Behind me, I hear him chuckle again, and I feel like a colossal idiot. Before leaving, I add, “Just let me know if you need anything.”
He stands from the couch and waves at me as I leave. “No worries, Briar. Again, thank you.”
With that, I close the door, pressing my back to the surface of it as I struggle to catch my breath. That was humiliating and dangerous, and I had absolutely no business even being in there.
What is wrong with me?
But as my blood pressure starts to settle and the cool night air seeps into my pores, I realize that while it was sort of reckless, it was also really nice.
