Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Soft light casts a glow around the small main bedroom. On either side of the bed are two faux-Tiffany lamps that were Jack’s mom’s. They’ve always made me laugh. Who has fancy lamps in a rustic cabin from the early 1900s?
Us, I guess.
The bedspread, a thin blue-and-white design that I picked up at an end-of-the-summer sale years ago, is folded back. I bring it every year. The suitcase that Maddie brought for me sits on a chair. Beside it is the overnight bag that I packed when I thought I was just spending the night.
Standing next to the small closet that barely holds our clothes, I take in the sight in front of me. I notice every little thing.
The dent from Jack’s head on the pillow next to mine. A bottle of his cologne next to my sunglasses on the dresser. Our shoes lying together on the floor.
Everything’s just like it’s been for the last two decades . . . except it’s not.
“I’ll clean up after the dog,” Jack says.
I jump, making room for him and Snaps to enter the room. My heart pounds as I watch him set the dog down on the bed. Snaps prances across the blankets as if he owns the place.
“Please don’t let this be a point of contention between us.” Jack turns to face me, the puppy nipping at his fingertips. “If he makes a mess, just tell me. I’ll get it or get one of the kids to.”
“Sure.”
He waits as if he expects that I’ll say something more. Instead, I make my way across the small room and dig around in my bag until I find the T-shirt—his T-shirt—that’s barely long enough to cover my ass that I brought to sleep in.
When I expected it just to be me in bed.
I wad it into a ball, my cheeks flushing, and march toward the bathroom.
Jack
The bathroom door clicks closed.
“Fuck,” I say, sitting on the bed. Snaps jumps on my arm and barks. “Your opinion isn’t needed. You don’t even know her.”
He tilts his head and whines before barking again.
I groan. Shooing Snaps to move, I climb onto my side of the bed. The sheets smell like Lauren’s house—my house. They’re faintly scented with laundry beads from the container with the purple cap. Lauren doesn’t like the ones with a pink or blue cap. Only the purple.
My heart pounds as I try not to look like I’m obviously waiting on my wife, but that’s hard with nothing to do. There’s no TV. I didn’t bring a book. I don’t have anything from the shop to keep me busy either.
As the water shuts off on the other side of the wall, I swipe at my phone on the bedside table. There’s enough wireless internet to download one book—the last title purchased on our account.
“Lay still,” I say to Snaps as he walks in a circle at the bottom of the bed. “I should’ve crated you at night.”
He stops and tilts his head at me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say. “I’m trying to figure out how to get her to like me again. I can’t worry about making her like you too. Help a guy out, will ya?”
He drops to the bed just beyond my feet.
The bathroom door opens, projecting a squeal down the hall. I flip the page on my reading app and try to appear engrossed in a story about a woman named Coty. But as Lauren walks by, I sneak a look over the top of my phone.
Motherfucker.
Her hair is dry, hanging to the middle of her back. A dewiness kisses her skin. Her cheeks are pink from the scalding-hot water that I’m sure she used in the shower, and her other cheeks—the ones on her ass—play hide-and-go-seek from under one of my old Metallica T-shirts.
Is she screwing with me?
I adjust myself as discreetly as I can.
“When did you start sleeping like that?” I ask, my throat burning.
Her hand stills over her bag before she resumes motion. “Like what?”
“You usually sleep in pants and a top of some sort. You’re just doing the top now?”
She turns toward me, her nipples hard against the thin fabric of the shirt. She starts to put her hair in a ponytail but stops when she realizes her shirt is going to ride up to her hips. Her eyes go wide.
I can’t help it. I smirk.
“You know,” she says, backing away from the bed, “I think I’ll sleep on the couch.”
What? I scramble to sit up. “You are not.”
She blows out an exasperated breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Should I not comment on how hot you look? You’re still my wife, Lo. It’s not like I’m a guy catcalling you from the street.”
She lifts a brow. “You didn’t say I looked hot.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“No, you didn’t. You asked when I started sleeping like this.”