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Van doesn’t look at me or answer my question. I log out of the Dartmouth portal after saving my work and shut my laptop.
Opening the fridge, he pulls out a beer, twists off the cap and throws it in the sink, done specifically to annoy me, I’m sure. He takes three long pulls from the brew and then rummages through a cabinet, pulling out a can of soup. I watch as he pulls the top off the can and eats it cold with a spoon.
Ignoring me.
Refusing to eat perfectly good food I prepared.
“I’m done with my work,” I say, an innocuous attempt at conversation. “My boss is going to let me project manage remotely until we can figure out how to fix things.”
Van doesn’t even flinch, concentrating on his icy chicken noodle while leaning against the counter. He stares blankly ahead.
I wonder what he’d do if I just blurted out to him that I’m pregnant. Just to get a reaction from him because this patent ignoring me is grating on my nerves. I don’t do it, though, because I am never going to use this baby as leverage. I don’t want him beholden to me in any way. I’d rather be a single mom than force him into a lifelong commitment with me that he doesn’t want.
Van tosses the empty soup can in the garbage, the spoon in the sink without even rinsing it, and I have to restrain myself not to get up and do it. He walks back into the living room and settles in the middle of the couch, resting the beer on the coffee table. Grabbing the remote control, he turns on the TV and flips through the channels.
I grit my teeth when I see him land on a reality TV show about three mechanic brothers who refurbish old cars. They’re obnoxious loudmouths who make crude jokes and belittle people. Van watches it for the cars, but I want to scratch my eyes out and pour acid in my ears when it’s on. Back home, he’d only ever watch it if I was busy doing something else. He would laugh at me—my hatred of the show—but he never subjected me to it. Just like I never subjected him to my obsession withThe Bachelor.
His intention to drive me away made clear, I push up out of the chair and walk through the living room. I cross right in front of the TV and watch him carefully. He doesn’t let his attention focus on me at all.
He thinks by ignoring me, I’ll go away. He thinks by failing to engage with me, I’ll leave him alone.
Yeah… he’s wrong about that.
I walk up the stairs with purpose. I slept in one of the guest rooms last night. It had no linens on the bed, so I made do with a blanket I found in one of the closets. But if I’m in that room, I can’t be near Van, so things will need to change.
CHAPTER 5
Van
Iwatch Simoneas she heads up the stairs and fucking everything on my body clenches tight. My fists because I’m angry, my body because watching her ass sway as she takes the steps is killing me and my heart because everything is all fucked up.
This was supposed to be a clean break and she’s making a mess of everything.
Rationally, I understand my wife doesn’t want our marriage to end. I even believe her without reservation when she says she can handle the nasty fallout from Arco’s book. But I can’t go through watching her or any potential children suffer. I’m protecting her the best way I can and that’s by breaking away from her life so she can go on to find someone to love her—never as much as I do—but who can give her a beautiful life with beautiful kids who will never have a moment of this ugliness in their lives.
Leaning forward, I pick up my beer and bring it to my mouth, but it freezes halfway as I hear Simone coming down the stairs. I settle back onto the couch, rest the bottle on my thigh and laser my attention to my show.
She moves in front of the TV and once she’s passed, I permit myself to look at her.
Jesus fucking Christ!
I have to suppress a groan and order my dick to behave. Simone’s wearing next to nothing—just a tight white tank top with spaghetti straps and a pair of white bikini panties. Her ass is slamming, her tits full and nipples pushing through the fabric. I wonder if the little minx played with them upstairs to get them hard to grab my attention. There’s no doubt in my mind this little display of near-nakedness is part of the war she’s waging.
If it was just her wearing skimpy clothes I could probably deal but I’m confused by the fact she’s carrying a blanket, a pillow and a small tote bag, so I continue to watch.
Rounding the coffee table, she moves to the end of the couch and tosses the pillow and blanket there before resting the tote on the floor.
I hate to break my self-imposed silence but I can’t help but ask, “What are you doing?”
Her gaze lifts. “I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight.”
“Why?”
She proceeds to fluff the pillow and spread the blanket. I slide to the far end of the couch away from her. My move amuses her as evidenced by her husky laugh. “I’m going to recreate how it was when we first met. You tried to ignore me and I was sleeping on the couch.”
Simone flips the blanket back and slides onto the cushion. She extends her legs and I scramble off before her feet touch me.
“So jumpy,” she coos and makes no effort to cover herself with the blanket. Smooth-as-silk legs with red painted toenails and my heart fucking thumps hard. I hate being attracted to her so much.
