Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
He leans against the doorframe, tilting his head my way. “Because my wife’s art should have a place of honor.”
Oh, right. Sure. For the camera crew. Of course it’s for the crew. I fasten on a smile. “Yes. Thank you.” I take another sip to cover up the funny feelings in my chest—something warm mixed with a familiar worry. But it’s one I ought to ignore. “Anyway, I’d better shower and all that. And then later I need to meet my agent for a drink. She texted earlier. Some new opportunities.”
He nods to the staircase. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The implication is clear. He won’t come upstairs and find me in the shower like I did to him last night. And my heart feels a little heavier for it.
35
REAL CHARADES
Asher
So far, this interview is like a breakaway shot. A clean, open path to the net. We show Rachel Mehta, the reporter from The Good Stuff, around our home. Her camerawoman shoots video as we go and it sure as shit looks like we happily live together in this space, what with all the pictures I took over the years set out, and the wedding ones Maeve framed. My habit of taking pics of my friend came in handy. I even point out the mirror by the door, a proud husband showing off his wife’s work, like I told Maeve I’d do. Rachel smiles and says keep snacks handy are definitely words to live by.
With Maeve’s ruby ring and my silicone band, and our hands held—learned my lesson from the Greers, thank you very much—we look unequivocally married. While we wander through the living room, passing the wedding photos and plant table, Rachel shoots us a professional smile.
“So, it’s true you call your wife your good luck charm?”
“I do call her that,” I say, casually looping an arm around Maeve’s waist. I’m grateful for the easy interview and glad I took the notes to heart after our first performance when I didn’t touch her enough. That won’t be a problem today. If the world wants to see a man who can’t keep his hands off his wife, they’ll get it.
Hell, maybe last night was good for us when it comes to this facade we need to present for the world. Maybe it connected us even more. Made us look more married. Maybe if we just keep up this touching, this closeness, it’ll feel like we’ve already talked about what went down. Like last night doesn’t need explaining because it’s obvious, right? I don’t want her to say, ‘It can’t happen again,’ because maybe that would make those words real.
Best if we live in this limbo lust land for a little longer. Where nothing can go wrong.
“Any reason for that? Her being your good luck charm?” Rachel asks, a tablet tucked under her arm.
I squeeze Maeve’s waist a little tighter. “She’s been my biggest fan. She’s cheered me on from behind the boards, and at the auction every year for the last two seasons. And I haven’t missed a game since. So there you go.”
“It’s all me,” Maeve says, laughing brightly, almost too brightly as she leans into me, her shoulder bumping mine.
“Can’t mess with a streak,” I add, dropping a kiss on her nose.
Maeve giggles. Actually giggles. That’s not like her at all. She’s not a giggler. But then again, I’ve never been this touchy in public with girlfriends. She’s your wife now, I remind myself.
Be that as it may, I’m not a big PDA guy. But with Maeve, I’m being extra, because that’s what the situation calls for. But also, because I want to, even though this morning was awkward, even though we haven’t talked about last night, even though I may never want to talk about it. I just want to keep doing it. So much that I feel this uncomfortable ache in my chest, this deep and terrible longing. I don’t think it’s just a bottomless desire to touch her. It’s from the way I want to keep her close. Closer than I should.
I take a beat to center myself, then focus again on Rachel and the questions. “And I was extra thrilled when she bid on me at the auction.”
Rachel arches an eyebrow. “Did you plan to get married in Vegas? Was that part of the whole ‘good luck charm’ thing?”
Ah, I hadn’t thought of it that way before. But luck and Vegas? That makes sense. I roll the dice and say, “Yes.”
Maeve runs her hand affectionately down my arm. “Definitely. We feel very lucky.”
Rachel’s brow furrows in confusion. “I’m sorry,” she says, holding up a hand to the camerawoman. “Can we stop for a moment?” The woman cuts, and Rachel glances between us. “Could I trouble you to maybe…not touch so much?”
“Sure.” I straighten immediately, feeling Maeve tense beside me.