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He was also looking at Calliope getting into the sedan, his lips a thin line.
“Yeah, that’s trouble,” he muttered. “But that’s Calliope. And best for us not to get involved, lest the fallout damage us.”
I glared at him. “How do you know there’s going to be fallout?”
He started the truck and looked back at me. “Babe, with Calliope, there’s always fucking fallout. I love her like she was my own blood, but she’s a weapon of mass destruction.”
I smiled at that description. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s what men need. More nuclear women like her to make them fall into line.”
His gaze was… penetrating. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “Or maybe they destroy everything in their path, making it so nothing can survive the fallout.”
* * *
There was something I liked to call the ‘romantic comedy montage,’ which happened in almost every big Hollywood romance. It happened right after the ‘meet cute’ or maybe after the first date, the first time they fucked.
Then, almost like clockwork, there was the montage of them sitting in cafés laughing, kissing in the kitchen, rolling around in bed together—flashing images of a couple falling in love.
Because it was too fucking complicated to write the way people fell in love. It was not a Hollywood moment. It was a compilation of moments, each completely unique to each couple. What made one person fall in love with another might send another person running for the hills.
One person’s red flags were another’s green lights.
Humans were fickle, strange creatures. Love was even more fickle and strange.
Therefore, the romantic comedy montage.
And I felt like I’d been living through a version of that these past few months.
Flashes of Kip and me. Bickering over what movie to watch, what show to binge. Fucking on the sofa. Me sitting at my balcony with wine and a book while he cooked dinner—as he did every night. Fucking outside. Him coming in while I was taking a bath, refilling my wine, kissing my head, and leaving without a word.
Not that I was falling in love.
If anything, I was falling inlike.
I was not only getting used to a life with Kip—I didn’t hate it. In fact, it was becoming something quite pleasurable. And not just on the sexual front.
Which, of course, meant the fallout was coming.
Because although Kip had never said it aloud, I was a nuclear woman too.
nine
Two Pink Lines
I wassure I’d prepared for everything that might happen over the course of this marriage. Well, I wasn’t exactly prepared for the sexual part of it. But I hadn’t been completely clueless about it either. Despite the lies I told myself, a small part of me had expected something like this might happen.
From the moment I’d met Kip, I’d been irritated by him, to be sure. His cockiness and general disposition had turned me off. But even when I’d violently despised him, I also wanted to fuck him.
Yeah, I was fucked-up. But everyone was.
So, the sex wasn’t exactly out of left field.
Him cooking for me was. Him bringing me coffee in bed every morning was. Him realizing what brand of chips I liked and stocking the pantry was. He was almost… likable. But I didn’t think too long on that. Too messy. Too dangerous.
There was one thing I didn’t factor in. Not even in my wildest dreams.
Two pink lines.
I didn’t let myself believe it for the first month.
