The moment thedeliveredcheckmark appears, panic and adrenaline trade places in my chest.
Luca:You’re not far. I’m the Fury Building about twenty minutes away.
Great. I have roughly twenty minutes before a man who is technically my husband—but practically a stranger—arrives at my door. I fly into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes with a frantic energy I haven't felt in years.
It feels illicit. It feels like I’m sixteen again, sneaking out of the window to see a boy my mother strictly forbade. Only this time, the “boy” is a world-class athlete with a British accent that makes my toes curl. The “forbidden” part involves a legally binding marriage certificate and his…our…best friend.
I hop in the shower for a lightning-fast rinse, the steam rising as I scrub away the stadium grime and the jittery nerves.
And before you ask—yes, I shaved. Every inch. He is, after all, my husband. And I’m not about to even try to lie to myself about trying to be respectable. I want him.
As I step out, I slather on my favorite body oil, the scent of vanilla and almond blooming against my damp skin. My motherwould be absolutely scandalized if she knew the thoughts currently racing through my head. She’d be even more horrified if she heard the filthy, un-nurse-like things I want to do to my husband. Things that would probably violate several sections of the Hippocratic Oath.
The thought reminds me that I should probably tell my family about him soon. That is, if he actually wants to stay married. For all I know, he’s coming over to break the news of a divorce to me in person. It’s what I’ve been anticipating. But because I’m a walking contradiction these days, my heart is bracing for a breakup while my vagina is preparing to be broken in.
In Vegas, we never quite made it past that stage of frantic, breathless kissing where we realized we were actually married. Between the theft, the drama, the drag queens, and our sudden separation, we were robbed of the honeymoon we were anticipating.
Now, the hunger is back, sharper and more insistent than ever. I catch my reflection in the mirror. I am flushed and bright eyed, and I look entirely too ready to be reckless. I have to ask myself if I am really about to do this.
The answer is a resounding, heart-thumping yes.
I pull on a pair of sleek black leggings that hug every curve and drown myself in an oversized, off-the-shoulder grey t-shirt. It’s the “I didn't try” look that tends to drive men wild.
Time seems to warp and speed by. My phone buzzes on the counter.
Luca:In the lobby. Coming up now.
My heart does a violent thud against my ribs. I don't wait for the knock. I can't. I practically run out of my apartment and into the quiet hallway, my eyes fixed on the digital display above the elevator.
4... 5... 6…
I smooth my hair that’s slicked back into a ponytail, my breath hitching in my throat. I’m a professional woman. I’m a business owner. I’ve been a trauma nurse who has seen it all. But as the bell dings and the silver doors begin to slide open, I’m just a girl waiting for her husband.
7.
The doors part, and there he is.
“Hi. Husband.”
Luca
The elevator doors slide open, and the breath is knocked clean out of my lungs.
How is she more beautiful than I remember? More beautiful than she was just hours ago when I saw her at the stadium, draped in another man’s jersey. Now, standing in the quiet of her hallway in nothing but leggings and a shirt that swallows her whole, she looks soft. Dangerous. Like a dream I’ve been trying to wake up from for months.
“Wife.”
I say it because it sounds cool and commanding, but mostly because I have no idea what to say next. How am I this nervous?
I’m normally the composed one. I’ve never had a problem with women. My usual encounters leave them wanting more and me perfectly in control. I am a card carrying member of The Supper Club for Christ’s sake. Yet, I suddenly feel like a teenager trying to hide an erection from the pretty girl next door.
My wife.
She’s leaning against the wall, her eyes wide and bright, looking at me with a mixture of hunger and hesitation that makes my blood turn to liquid fire.
“I see you made it.” she whispers.
I step out of the elevator, the doors hissing shut behind me and sealing us into the silence of the hallway. Into this truth.
