The Husband Game

I can’t help it. I let a full-body shiver pass through me at those words, and he feels it, chuckling quietly. Fuck. I’m already wet, I can feel it, and I shift from one leg to the other uncomfortably. Every inch of me screams out to reach up and touch him. To grab his face and pull him into a kiss. A kiss that would turn into a lick, a bite, a suck… A kiss that would end up with me pinned underneath him on that bed of his all over again.

Instead, with the last remaining shreds of my willpower, I take a big step backward. “I was at work today,” I tell him, my voice only trembling slightly. Just enough to maintain some semblance of dignity. I hope. “I didn’t have time to indulge in fantasies.”

“Uh huh.” Charlie’s eyes dance with amusement. “And now?”

“Now, I…” I swallow hard. Cross my arms over my chest. “Now I need an answer. Are you up for this?”

He chuckles again, a little softer this time. “You drive a hard bargain, Lila.” He tilts his head to one side, his eyes jumping back and forth between mine as he studies me. Part of me wants to know what he sees there. How much of my façade of calm can he see through?

But a bigger part of me is scared to know. Because I have the feeling this man can read me easier than an open book.

“All right,” he finally says, his voice dropping once more. “I’ll play along. But only because you asked nicely. And because I love watching how flustered you get every time I’m within five feet of you,” he adds with a wider smirk now.

“I am not—” I start, but he steps back toward me again, and I have to clamp my mouth shut before I say something I’ll regret.

Charlie just grins.

I glare back. “Fine. Thank you.”

He arches an eyebrow, never losing that easy, confident smile. “So. Traditional marriage, hmm? That probably means we should go on an actual date, don’t you think?”

I take a few seconds to think, a little bit of the fog clearing as I do. “That would probably be a good idea. I’ll do some research on good date spots in the city—”

“Oh, no,” Charlie interrupts. When I blink at him in confusion, he shrugs. “You said you wanted to write about being in a traditional relationship. I’m pretty sure that means, for our first date, I’ll need to pick the place.” His gaze drifts over me now, like he’s sizing me up. I feel another flutter in my belly, and this one has nothing to do with emotions and everything to do with white hot lust. I love it when he stares at me like this, like he’s undressing me his mind. It makes me want to know exactly what he’s imagining doing to me.

It makes me imagine all the things I’d like to do to him right now…

But instead of making a move, Charlie steps back, away from me. “Wear a dress,” he says. “Something nice. I have the perfect spot in mind.” Then he crosses the room in a handful of steps and yanks something from a drawer. A piece of paper, I realize, and a pen. He deposits it on the countertop and taps beside it. “I’ll need your address,” he adds. “So I can pick you up. Does 7PM work?”

I blink a few times. I can’t remember the last time a guy came over to my house—well, for anything but a hookup after we’d already been out somewhere. And even then, it’s been a while. Normally, if I go on a date—also a rarity these days—I just meet the guy out at whatever local pub we pick together. Or, more often than not, one that I pick, since the guys I’ve been out with in the past tend to be pretty lazy about planning.

I run a hand through my hair, then find myself nodding. “Yeah,” I hear myself saying, as if from a far off distance. “Yeah, 7PM would work fine.”

Now I just have one problem remaining, I realize, as I jot down my address for Charlie. What the hell am I going to wear?

7

I spend more time than I care to admit digging through my closet on the hunt for the perfect ensemble. I try on at least half the dresses I own. A lot of them are more appropriate for as night of clubbing rather than going out on a proper date. I toss those to the side. Some night I’ll want to wear a revealing, sexy little number around Charlie. But I have the feeling tonight won’t be the right night for that vibe.

Something nice, he said. But a lot of my nicer dresses look too modest—like the sort of outfit I’d wear to Sunday mass, not out on a first date with someone I might actually like. Even if I am only seeing him for work. And even if our relationship will be totally fake from day one.