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“Nothing?” he says, like a question. “They’re staunch believers in marriage—the heteronormative kind—so they’re going to be disappointed in me no matter what. I haven’t actually spoken to them in over a year, and now, not only do I have to tell them that yes, I married a man, but I also have to admit I’m getting a divorce? It’s not going to go over well.”
Kipp ignores my frown.
“And my coworkers,” he says with a groan, leaning onto his elbows and dropping his head into his hands. “They saw my posts, too. I’m fucked.”
“Look at me.”
He does, slowly, his head turning in his palms. For the briefest of moments, I’m hit the same way I was the first time I laid eyes on Kipp. Like a shockwave is going off right in the very heart of me.
Kipp isn’t a delicate guy. He’s nearly six feet tall, has a leanly muscled build, and his face could be on the cover of a magazine devoted to elegant masculinity. The five-o’clock shadow. The piercing blue eyes. The straight eyebrows and full, dark lips set in contrast to pale skin. He’s not delicate, no.
But he is damn beautiful.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him, hoping he hears the truth in my words. “We don’t have to make any decisions right away. Stay here, and we’ll figure out the rest.”
“And what—you’ll just stay married to me in the meantime so I can save face?” he says incredulously.
I shrug. “Sure.”
His mouth falls open. “Wait, seriously? Why would you do that?”
“I’m not in a relationship,” I point out. “And I’m not planning on being in a relationship anytime soon. So why not? We could always amicably split down the road once this whole thing blows over, no harm done.”
He blinks several times, gears turning. “So, I’d call you my husband?”
My pulse kicks. “Sure.”
“And we’d live together?”
“For now,” I say, trying to ignore that tug in my chest.
“And what would you get out of this?” he asks, pushing up from his slouched position.
“I don’t need anything out of it, Kipp,” I tell him, which is really only a half-truth. I would get something. The chance to take care of him.
I don’t tell him that, though. Barely want to acknowledge it myself. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve had someone to care for. And it didn’t end well for me last time.
“Okay, fine,” Kipp says, blowing out a breath. “But if this creates any issues for you, you have to tell me. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You couldn’t be,” I assure him.
“Fuck,” he says, hands scrubbing through his hair. “This is ridiculous. I can’t believe we got married.” His laugh is a little strained. “Oh, fuck. I’m married.”
“Breathe,” I remind him, sliding to the edge of my seat and bracketing his face in my hands again.
He nods, breaths coming out in choppy increments. “I think… you’re the best husband… I could have asked for.”
It takes everything in me to hold back the sounds that want to climb out of my throat. The whimper. The growl. “You barely know me, Kipp.”
“Yeah, but Niko trusts you. Which means I trust you. Actually…” He shakes his head. “That’s not even the full truth. I just trust you, too. I always have.”
I let my hands fall away, standing up before I do something I can’t take back. “Come on. Let’s get you settled. Is the one bag all you have?”
Kipp grabs his duffle off the ground. “For now, yeah. I told Brodie I’d be back for the rest.”
“All right,” I say, waving him forward. “We’ll make space for whatever you have.”
“Thanks, Teddy,” he says, his words sounding like a sigh.
