Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I hold up both hands as she advances at me and swings wildly, her face flaming red. She means business, and I don’t want to be on the business end of that business. I backpedal big time, literally and metaphorically. So maybe she didn’t exactly read the right information in my expression the way I thought she did. “Wait! I’m your husband! Weland, I’m your actual wedded husband, and that’s how I know!”
She freezes, and her jaw drops open. Then comes more of the red. The red in her cheeks, the red creeping up her neck, the gritted teeth, the throbbing vein in her forehead, and the twitch in her left eye. She slams the peeler down on the counter. “You…you…you horrible, terrible man! I should have known Smitty would tell you, but this? Are you freaking kidding me right now? Why? Why would you do that? You what? Seduced me as a test? Came to that bar to keep an eye on me? Kind of really did stalk me? Why?
“You could have just, you know, been normal, shown up here, and been like, I’m your husband, Weland, and we need to talk things out because you said some seriously crazy things, and I’m just checking in to make sure everything is okay. And if you didn’t want me to know who you were, there’s this thing called a phone. You could have called from a private number or sent an email. There are a hundred ways you could have contacted me, yet you chose the extremely weird way you did? What in the actual tarnation was running through your brain?”
My brain is doing this thing where it shuts down, and I feel like I’m being boiled alive. I knew it was a bad idea and all sorts of wrong. It went way too far. She has every right to be mad. “You just threatened me with a carrot peeler!” It’s official. I am the world’s worst imbecile.
“It was called for!” she shrieks.
“You asked me to spend the night here. That means you had intentions.” I have no right to say that or get huffy, but it comes out hecking huffy. The dog chuffs from the couch like he’s telling me to get real.
“Are you kidding me? You spent the night on the couch. We didn’t even get close enough to make any intentions a thing. And you know what my intentions are. I just asked you if, in a year, you would think about picking this up because I couldn’t right now. I kept silent. I kept my part of the bargain, no matter how weird it was or how hard,” Weland hisses. Her eyes are getting big, welling up, and getting shiny.
Seeing that does something to my knees and stomach that I don’t like, but the not-liking is all me not liking what I’ve said and what I’ve done. Apparently, I still can’t stop being a turd. “But you invited me in.”
“I did. And then I let you sleep on the couch,” she grits.
“You told Smitty you were going to sleep with someone.”
Weland throws her hands up in the air, which is still better than reaching for the peeler to take a real strip off me. “I was just venting. I should never have said that. I was lonely. I was in pain. It was stupid. I have Beans now. You can’t just lay this on me. I haven’t done anything wrong. I took a lot of pains to make sure nothing happened after…yes, okay, after I invited you to stay over. But having you sleep on my couch isn’t the same as sleeping with someone.”
“Are you sure? Because if anyone found out that a man stayed the night here, anyone who could matter or bring something against me…”
“But you’re not just any man. You’re you. You’re my husband, and you didn’t even tell me, which makes you a dirty liar and the worst sort of trickster. A…a monumental poo pants! And I hate to be all semantics right now, but you walking out of here and someone seeing you if you weren’t you and you were someone else isn’t the same as having sex with someone. Even if we’d spent the night in the same bed, it wouldn’t be the same thing. Which we didn’t. You can have a sleepover with your best friend and it’s not the same thing. It’s the intention that matters. You slept with Beans all night on the couch. I rest my case.”
“Too far,” I say, my voice low.
“It’s not too far. You’re too far. This whole thing that you did? That’s too far! Lying to me, pretending to be someone else—”
“You’re the only person I have never pretended to be someone else with!” That’s too far. I didn’t mean to say that. Fuck. Fuck, shit. Fuck shit and a carrot peeler.