The Husband Game

“That’s smart,” I say. A lot smarter than I was with my major. Who decides to choose a journalism major in today’s climate?

“I like to think so.” Charlie grins. “My turn now.”

“Your turn for what?” I glance back, smirking.

“To ask a question.” He studies my face, in between making another turn, toward his apartment and not mine, I can’t help but notice.

“Is that the game we’re playing?”

“It is now. And you’d better stop asking things, or I’m going to start counting those as your questions.”

I laugh, but I do stop talking. My face tingles, because I can feel him looking at me hard, studying me. Or maybe just because I’m feeling a little nervous, exposed. What’s he going to ask me?

“Why did you stop painting?”

“What?” Whatever question I expected, it wasn’t this one.

“You’re good. I saw the painting you were working on outside the engineering building. Even if you claimed it was crappy, just a draft. You’ve got talent, Lila.”

“Not real talent.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Some people would say I don’t have real hockey talent, because I wasn’t scouted for the NHL fresh out of high school. But that doesn’t mean the game doesn’t give me pleasure, add something tangible to my life. So why did you really stop painting?”

I turn away from him to gaze out the passenger side window instead. But it doesn’t help. It’s dark outside, and I can still see his face in the reflection. Every angle, from his sharp cheekbones and jawline to the hook of his nose. It makes me want to turn around and run my fingertips over those angles. To lean in and kiss the frown line from his brow.

But I force myself to think. Because really… I’ve never thought about why I stopped. “I guess… life got hectic. My job got more demanding. I wanted to make writing work, as my main career, so I just…” I shake myself a little bit. “I stopped creating, in that way.”

“Do you miss it?” he asks, his voice careful and quiet in the hushed car.

But I’m not about to fall for that. I turn back to him, clicking my tongue. “That’s a second question. It’s my turn first.”

He laughs, but his eyes flash, white hot, fixed on mine, dancing with approval. “Now you’re getting it.”

I need a better question this time. A real one. One that will really make him think. One whose answer I can use in my article, I try to remind myself, but that Lila is a distant voice in the back of my head now. The Lila who signed up to do this for my career, who is job-focused and job-focused only… She’s not in this car anymore. She’s not ensconced in this little bubble, sharing space with the first man in a long, long time who’s made me laugh until I’m breathless, come until I’m screaming… Or who’s been able to ask me questions I don’t see coming.

“If you could have one do-over, for something in your past, what would it be?”

He makes a little hmm sound, a throaty noise that nearly undoes me. But he’s smiling, still. “Good one,” he admits, daring a glance my way. Then he falls silent once more, thinking. “It’s tricky, because I really don’t believe in regret. Or, I try not to. I think it’s a pointless emotion—the only way you can move is forward, so why waste the energy looking behind? But… if I’m honest.” His hands tighten on the wheel. “I do regret not punching Tyler when I caught him harassing you.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “Really? That’s your biggest regret.”

“It’s fast becoming it, yes.” His eyes find mine again and linger this time. “I don’t like the idea of anyone hurting you, Lila. I like even less the idea that I let him get away with it.”

Something warm and hot unfurls inside my belly. Heart in my throat, I reach out to rest my hand over the back of Charlie’s, right on the gear shift. His skin feels warm beneath mine. When I loop one finger around his wrist, I can feel his pulse, butterfly-fast, along the underside. “He didn’t hurt me,” I murmur, because it’s true. To be honest, I’d almost forgotten all about the incident by now. Because that kind of shit happens all the time, and I’m used to brushing it off. “But thank you. It’s nice to hear you say that.”

Because I’ve never had a guy say something like this before. Talk about protecting me, defending me. It sucks that he has to, but… it’s still nice that he wants to. I didn’t expect that.

If I’m honest, I didn’t expect any of this. Charlie Cross hit me out of nowhere, completely blindsided me.

And I have a feeling that, when all is said and done, and when my articles are completed… I’m going to have a lot harder time walking away from this than I once thought.