The Marriage Contract

by Natasha L. Black

  “Sure,” I said. “You can get a little handsy if you want.”

  “I bet,” she chuckled, but there was a lilt in her voice that said she wasn’t going to throw the idea out.

  “What about our living situation?” I asked. “You just moved in with Hannah, right?”

  “Yeah, but I figured I could move most of my stuff over here in your spare room, if that’s okay. I can still spend the night at their place once in a while, help watch the baby. But otherwise, we can both stay here. I’ll pay half the rent.”

  “No, no, you won’t,” I interrupted. “It’s my apartment, I’ll pay the rent. If you want to get like the cable bill or something, that’s fine, but I pay all these expenses, and you are just now starting out. There’s no need for you to take on bills of mine.”

  “Are you sure? Isn’t the cable only half the cost of rent or something?” she asked, with a completely straight face.

  “Not… quite,” I said. “But close enough. I’ll give you the log-in information and everything and you can pay it in the app. Everything else, leave up to me, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “When do you want to do that?”

  “Whenever you are ready,” I said. “I’m good for whatever.”

  “Maybe a week or so?” she asked. “I don’t want to push you too fast. I just also don’t want to be an intruder on Hannah and Jordan anymore.”

  “A week sounds fine,” I said. “You give me a list of what you need in the guest room, and I’ll make sure you have it and clear out the rest of what’s in there.”

  “Isn’t it already set up as a guest room?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but it was made for Mom. All old-people floral and stuff.”

  “Just leave it,” she said. “Won’t it be weird to her if she comes up to visit and the room she’s used to staying in is suddenly a completely different bedroom with all my stuff in it?”

  “I didn’t think about that, but yes. It would.”

  “So, I’ll bring my stuff over—it’s not much, really—and disperse it however you think it can go through the apartment so it’s like we both live here together. When your mom comes over we can bunk together.”

  My cock twitched again at the idea of us in the same bed. I didn’t know how exactly that would work, but I sure would like to find out. As soon as possible.

  “Cool,” I said, nonchalantly. “And like I said before, we can still be our own people and do our own things.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “We can just kind of keep things open. Like roommates who occasionally kiss when we are in public or with family.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a weird but accurate description of it, yes,” I said. “Kissing roommates.”

  “Kissing roommates,” she repeated.

  “So, roommate who I sometimes kiss, how was lunch?” I asked.

  “Freaking delicious, and I want another whole order.”

  “We can grab some on our way to work,” I offered.

  She nodded her head and then a look washed across her face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I feel a little bit bad lying to our families,” she admitted.

  I nodded. “Yeah, but I think in the end, it’ll be ok.”

  “What about your mom? Hannah talks about her like she’s the sweetest woman on Earth.”

  “She is,” I said. “But she can also be pushy, and she might not be happy we went and skipped the whole part where she gets to pester me about taking the next step. I think that’s her favorite part, actually, pushing the kids to move their relationships along. I just dropped right on into the big moment, and she has to make do.”

  “I’ll make sure she feels good about it,” Chloe said. “I can charm mothers pretty well.”

  “To mothers,” I said, offering my coffee as a toast. “And to more cheap tacos before work.”

  14

  Chloe

  The last couple of days had been pretty fantastic. Most of the day at work was spent flirting and playing up the relationship to anyone who could see or hear us. I was trying not to go too overboard, lest someone figure out that we were making too much of a deal of it, but at the same time, I couldn’t help but notice that even when I was doing something to act, it felt natural. Like I wanted to do it anyway.

  On more than one occasion, Matt walked by and touched my hip in a way that was somewhat chaste and yet extremely familiar. There was nothing inherently sexual about the gesture, but the feeling of his hand there, just one layer removed from the waistband of the lacy panties I wore underneath my black jeans, sent a shiver down my spine each time.

  Tips were coming in pretty well, and I felt like I was getting the hang of things. No longer was I forgetting the entire table order before I got three steps away, nor was I dropping plates before they even got out of the kitchen anymore. I was developing a rhythm, and while I was concentrating on the customers at the tables themselves enough to give them good service, I was also beginning to see each table as a similar experience, getting into the routine of it.

  An older couple came in and was seated in my section, huddling close in the corner booth on the same side. They had to be in their sixties and stuck out from the usual college and thirtysomething crowd that made up the normal clientele. I greeted them with a big smile and noticed that their hands were wrapped up together, and they were off in their own little world as soon as I walked away.

  It made my heart warm, and I wondered if I would ever have that. Someone who would hold me close when we were near retirement and spend my days with them, enjoying each other’s company in a quiet, happy life. I sighed and tucked the order into the window when the familiar hand touched my hip again. I turned to it and met face-to-face with Matt.

  Our noses were nearly touching, and our lips were just inches from one another. Our breath was heavy against each other’s skin, and he smiled. I returned the expression, and we stayed there, staring at one another for a moment before Cris at the bar cleared her throat. It broke the spell, and Matt grinned, winking before walking back into the kitchen to get the ticket.

  “So, are you two just going to be whispering and giggling all night, or will I be able to make it the whole shift without gagging?” she asked in the sort of gruff way she was known for. Cris had been working the bar scene in Portland for over a decade, and not only did she add a little prestige to the place, she was also great at poking fun at us when we needed to lighten up. She had also been one of the big calming influences on me in my early days of dropping everything and forgetting more.

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as Cris leaned over to say something to Hannah. Both of them looked over my way, and I pretended not to notice. The rumor mill wasn’t so much a rumor mill as it was a hurricane of partially confirmed stories. Matt and I had been cagey about exactly what we admitted our relationship was, but the fact that something was going on was known by everyone.

  Including Jordan.

  Matt told him a couple of days ago, and it had apparently gone well. Jordan, for his part, acknowledged it when I came in the other day, saying Matt told him we were dating. Then he offered to schedule us together more and otherwise hadn’t said anything about it since. I was grateful for that.

  As much as coming up with the stories and details of our fake relationship was fun, it was also alarming. The stories of our romantic dates and how serious things had become were not only believable, but they were giving me goose bumps while I talked about them, and I found myself wondering just how much of the lies I was telling were more than just acting and had gone full bore into fantasy.

  Ignoring the hopeful excitement that built every time I talked about the fake relationship, I tried to spend the last bit of my shift focusing on the excitement I got from my first really great night in tips. I was feeling really good about myself, and when the last table was turned, I cashed out with a wad.

  It was wild. I had spent more than that amount of money on lunch before back in LA and hadn’t
appreciated it. Yet, here I was, over the moon at the stack in my hand. I was more than happy to part with a percentage of it for the busser, and when I made it up to the bar to grab my jacket, Matt was waiting for me.

  “Have a good night?” he asked, reaching for me. I fell into his arm easily, like I was meant to. I fit so perfectly in the crook of his shoulder.

  “I did,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “Best night so far. I was really feeling it.”

  “Want to come over and celebrate?” he asked, and I looked over the bar at both Cris and Hannah, who were pretending not to listen.

  “Hell yes, I do. Let’s go.”

  “Bye, Chloe,” Hannah said. “I’ll leave the light on for you. Just in case.”

  I could hear her and Cris snickering behind me as we walked away. Matt opened the door for me, and I could swear as I walked through, he was visibly staring at my ass. He was enjoying the act quite a lot it seemed. To be fair, so was I.

  We got to the apartment just after three, and while I was usually exhausted at that point, currently I was wired. I needed something to help calm me down, and as I sat down on Matt’s new couch, I watched him getting the liquor out of the cabinet and making a couple of drinks for us. I grinned as he brought one to me and sat down.

  “So, that was a hell of a night, huh?” he said, taking a sip of the whiskey and Coke he had.

  “It was,” I agreed, downing a shot and then chasing it with the Long Island Iced Tea that Matt was aware was my second favorite drink. My favorite involved tequila, and while I had told him about it while flirting in front of others as an act, the reason I didn’t drink it often was true. Tequila had an effect on me, an effect that he had seen firsthand on that first night. I either got weepy, or I got really flirty.

  “You were fantastic out there tonight,” he said. “Not just at your job, which you were fantastic at as well, but also with the act. You had people buying every bit of the story about us.”

  “I know, right?” she said. “That reminds me, we have a bunch of new details to go over so we can keep our story straight. I’m not sure how many of them Hannah or Jordan heard, but I am operating on the assumption that they heard them all.”

  “Smart,” Matt said. “Keeps us from slipping up. What did you say?”

  “I have a list,” I said, patting my pockets. “Shit, I think I left it in my order book.”

  “That’s alright, we’ll get it tomorrow and go over everything on break or before our shift.”

  We spoke a little bit more about whatever I could remember of stories from the night and then drifted over to little things that happened that we wanted to share. It was almost like a real relationship. Even though we worked in the same place, we had different experiences and were telling each other about our day. It was soothing and fun and exciting all at once.

  Matt kept the drinks flowing, and I was feeling a little less wound up. When I finished my third Long Island, I decided to switch to water.

  When he came back, I took my water and scooted a little closer to him.

  “You were saying Hannah asked about when things started, and you said something about the time on the back porch where you told me about your mother,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I had a whole story about how we kissed, and you pushed me up against the wall.”

  “Oh really? I don’t remember that part.”

  “Well, I mentioned it to her and then let her believe that we went back to your place together that night,” I said. “That’s the whole story.”

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, scooting closer to me. Our faces were just inches from each other, and as I sipped some of my water, I felt a rush of heat move up my cheeks when his hot breath fell on my neck. “You’re saying that we made out. And that afterwards…”

  “Afterwards,” I said, feeling myself leaning closer to him, drawn to him like a magnet.

  “We…” He couldn’t finish because his lips were otherwise occupied with my own. I put the glass down on the coffee table and wrapped my arm around his neck.

  His tongue parted my lips, and I tasted him. The whiskey and ice made him taste cold but spicy, and our tongues explored each other, flicking back and forth. His hand pressed into my hip, and I slid backward, falling back into the couch. He fell with me, and I found myself under him, feeling his body press down onto mine.

  Suddenly, I was ripping at his clothes. I didn’t think about it, I just started pulling at his shirt, yanking it up until he had to break our embrace to get it off. His hand slid up my side until his fingertips found the edge of my bra. He pushed with his thumbs and moved it overtop of my breasts, and my hardened nipples brushed against the fabric of my shirt. Then his palms settled over them, and he squeezed, moving his lips to my neck.

  I gasped as he ground into me through our clothes. I could feel the massive, thick cock hiding in his jeans, and I was dying to get at it. My thoughts briefly went to seeing him in the towel when I came over and how the desire to see him, to feel him, had been burning so brightly ever since then.

  I reached down and grasped at his crotch, finding his cock pressing up against the fabric and yearning to be let free. He groaned in my ear, and I thought I would turn to putty right there on his couch. His lips moved down to my chest, and he pulled my shirt up to reveal my breasts. I snaked my hand in his hair while his mouth settled over one of my nipples and sucked. His fingers were working on the button of my jeans and had gotten them open.

  As I wiggled to let him pull them down, my mind raced, two opposing forces clashing together. Responsibility versus passion. Craving versus careful planning. Fingers slipped under the waistband of my panties and began to pull.

  I reached down and put my hand over his. He stopped abruptly and looked up into my eyes. I wanted so badly to tell him to continue, to rip my clothes off and fuck me. But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.

  “We can’t do this,” I said. “Sex is only going to make things much messier. I should go.”

  “You’re right,” he said, sitting up. I could tell he was disappointed, but he agreed. He stood and grabbed the glasses, bringing them back into the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” he said when he came back.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I said. “We just can’t do this and keep our story straight. I’ll grab a rideshare and head back. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I placed a kiss on his cheek and walked away quickly, adjusting my shirt and making sure I looked halfway presentable as I pulled up my phone and shut the door behind me before I could stop myself.

  15

  Matt

  I couldn’t get Chloe off my mind. Specifically, I couldn’t get just how close I’d come to burying myself inside her.

  Everything had been going so well. Talking turned into drinks, which turned into more talking and more drinks, which turned into kissing and clothes being ripped off. But before I could get either one of us naked, she stopped me. She said it would only make things messier. More complicated.

  And she was right.

  That was the worst part. I knew she wanted it, too, but she was right. We could kiss and hug and flirt, make ourselves look like a couple as much as we wanted, but if we wanted to be able to pull this off and not have anyone get hurt, we had to keep sex off the table. As much as I hated that, it was absolutely the right call, and I didn’t fault her for her position on it.

  As soon as she left, I was a mess of conflicting emotions. I wanted to just go service myself and go to sleep, but I was upset at how far I had let it get without coming to the same conclusion she had. I almost ruined everything, including any shot at a real friendship that was becoming more and more interesting. I needed to keep my cool and make sure that from that point forward I didn’t let it get too far.

  It was an act between two people who mutually benefited from it and who wanted to remain friends when it was all over. Those were the rules. Everyone wins, no one gets hurt.

  Falling asleep mos
tly drunk on my couch, having finished what remained of the whiskey, I woke up around noon and stumbled toward the bed. I had to be at work by four and had no intention of showing up early. Getting into my actual bed, I curled up with a pillow and went right back to the dreams I had tenuously held on to. When I woke up, I could barely remember them anymore, but there was one thing I knew for certain about them.

  The star of the show was Chloe Beckett.

  I stumbled into the shower and stood there under the water for a long time. I suddenly wished I had just brought the coffee maker into the bathroom so I could make a cup and drink it right there. Other people had shower beers; I wanted shower coffee. Eventually, my hunger and need for caffeine outweighed the desire to just stay in the warmth of the shower, and I got out. A couple of cups of coffee and a sandwich later, and I was on my way to work.

  I made eye contact with Chloe when I walked in, but we didn’t immediately run for each other. She was in the middle of serving a customer, and I was running a few minutes late. I ducked into the kitchen, washed my hands, and started working on prep stuff, rushing to catch up a bit. Occasionally, I looked up through the service window and could catch glimpses of Chloe working tables.

  In the middle of chopping an onion, I took a break for the sake of my eyes and walked to the sink to wash off my hands and knife. It brought me right by the service window, and I looked out at an angle I didn’t normally see, one that showed the far corner of the booth tables. Chloe was standing at the end of the booth, her order book in her hand but down by her side. Her other hand was twirling her hair. One foot was propped up on the toes and was twisting back and forth.

  She laughed at something apparently funny and reached down with her free hand to touch the shoulder of the guy there. He smiled at her in a way that suggested he had said something that could be taken more than one way. Then he winked. Chloe playfully slapped him on the arm and walked away, but her hips wiggled a little more than normal.