by Carian Cole
"Asia, I didn't get into this to get divorced. Did you?"
I snap my head up with defiance. "No. That's the last thing I want."
"Good, 'cause I don't know how, but we're going to make this fuckin' thing work."
My insides tremble at the possibility of what he's saying. Maybe this really can work. Maybe, somehow, I really will get through the next six months of this and end up with a husband and a great family.
"Is that your real name?" he asks suddenly. "Asia?"
"It is. Is Talon yours?"
"Yup. We all have unique names in my family. That's what you get when your mom is a romance author and your dad's a musician."
"I really like all the names," I admit. "I always thought they were stage names."
He grabs an e-cig out of his cigarette pack and starts to puff on it. "Nope. They're on our birth certificates that way."
"Did you quit smoking while you were downstairs?" I tease, gesturing to the electronic cigarette.
Letting out a laugh, he pushes his empty plate a few inches away. "No, I just don't want to set the smoke alarm off. I’m trying to quit, though. My brother used these, so I'm giving them a try." He blows vapor to his left and then fixes his eyes on me intently. "So, the million-dollar question. Sex. You've made it clear you're not a slut, and I like that, actually."
My stomach does a small flip and a flush of heat comes over me. "I wish I could say the same about you. It seems like you have quite the reputation."
He smirks. "Guilty as charged, jelly bean. Sorry."
I brace myself to ask my next question. "Are you able to be faithful?"
The tip of his e-cig glows blue while he takes a long drag off of it. "I think so," he finally says, with a hint of uncertainty.
"You think?" I repeat. "You hafta be sure. I can't be married to a cheater."
"Is it cheating if we're not having sex?" he teases, tilting his head to the side.
I glare at him and push my own plate off to the side, my appetite suddenly gone. "Yes, Talon. It is."
"Take it easy, I'm just kidding. I'm sure I won't cheat on you. I've gone a month without it so far, so that's a record for me."
I feel as if I were just slapped at his words. "A month?" I repeat. "You had sex a month ago?"
He shrugs cluelessly. "Around that time. Give or take a week."
Shaking my head, I stand and walk away from the table. I can't believe he slept with another girl just a few weeks ago. Part of the process was that we were supposed to stop sexual relations with others when we found out our partner was a definite and the wedding date was set. We knew that three months ago.
He stands up and follows me to where I'm standing at the window. "What's wrong now?"
I continue to stare out the window at the lake where we had our pictures taken last night. The first place we kissed. "You knew about me then. You knew we had a wedding date already."
"Well, yeah, but I didn't know you. I just knew it was gonna happen."
I finally turn to stare up at him. "And that wasn't enough?"
He throws his hands up. "I don't know, I didn't even think about it in that way. I was just doing my usual shit."
"That's great," I scoff.
"It was just sex with some groupies. It didn't mean anything. It never means anything. We have sex and they leave. That's it," he says defensively.
"That's awful!" He said groupies. That’s multiple girls.
I walk away from him and flop onto the couch, crossing my arms over me. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about him having sex with all sorts of women while we were supposed to be thinking about getting married and committing to this process in every way. I was so excited when I found out they had my match picked and I was technically considered engaged. All I could think about was finally meeting him. I daydreamed constantly about what he would look like, how he would act, how we would fall in love at first sight.
Meanwhile, he was screwing groupies with no thought or care about me at all.
"Well, sorry, babe, but that’s how it's always been for me."
"Stop calling me babe! You call everyone babe."
"Sorry." He kneels down on the floor in front of me, but I refuse to look at him. "Are you jealous?"
"No!" Maybe a little. "I was just hoping my future husband would show some restraint and commit to everything, like we were supposed to."
"Okay, I fucked up a little. I won't do it again. I promise."
"Does Dr. Hollister know about this?"
He shrugs again. "I dunno. I didn't tell her."
"She probably would have kicked you out of the experiment if she knew."
"Too late now. Here we are."
I want to kick him. "Here we are?" I repeat. "What about the tests? How do I know you're clean now?"
His voice rises defensively. "I don't have any diseases. I was tested two weeks ago. Again. And I always wear protection."
I twirl my finger around in the air. "Oh, yay!" I say sarcastically.
"So when's the last time you did, Miss Perfect?"
"Did what?"
"Had sex with someone."
Shit. I don't want to tell him the truth about that now, or he'll think I'm a freak for sure. "That's none of your business, but it was definitely not a month ago. I followed all the rules."
He twirls his finger in the air, mocking me. "Yay for you. So tell me when."
"No."
His lips curve into a slightly evil smile. "Tell me or I'll tickle you."
I shake my head. "No. It was longer than three months; that's all you need to know."
Before I can move, he lunges at me and starts tickling my sides, sending me into a fit of giggles. I’m wickedly ticklish. I can't believe he's figured it out in less than a day and has used it twice now to break me. I grab at his hands. "Stop! Please!" I beg, laughing uncontrollably. He completely overpowers me with his size and muscle and pulls me onto the floor, kneeling over me, holding my hands in his at my sides.
"You can't tickle me every time you want to get your way," I exclaim, trying to catch my breath.
His hair falls down over his face as he smiles down at me. "Yes, I can." Even though he's straddling me, it doesn't go unnoticed that he's careful not to crush me. It also doesn't go unnoticed that his muscular thighs around my body put me in a position where I can't ignore the thick bulge evident beneath the thin faded jeans he's got on. Hot damn.
"Tell me," he prods again, still holding my hands.
"It's been a long time." I divert my gaze from his package and stare up into his face instead.
"How long?"
Sighing, I shift my attention over toward the windows. "Three years."
"Three fucking years?" he repeats loudly in disbelief. "How the hell are you even alive?"
"Ha-ha," I say, squirming. "Let me go, please."
"Not yet. First, tell me why so long?"
I glare up at him. "Do you really have to embarrass me like this?"
"I'm not trying to embarrass you at all. I'm just trying to get to know you and figure you out."
"I haven't had a relationship in a long time, and I've had really bad luck dating lately. I told you, I don't jump into bed with men just for sex, so…it's been three years. Happy now?"
Kneeling down over me and bringing our hands up over my head on the floor, his face is inches from mine, his long, loose hair tickling my face. "I can fix that for you," he offers, pressing his hard cock between my parted thighs. My pulse quickens while my long-forgotten pussy quivers from just that slight pressure of him against me.
"I thought I wasn't what you wanted." My voice cracks, betraying my efforts to hide the fact he's starting to get to me.
"I thought so too." He lets go of one of my hands and slides his free hand down my arm, then over my ribs, brushes the slight curve of my hip, and finally grabs my outer thigh, pulling me against him. "But my body apparently wants you…and I think yours wants me too."
A little gasp escapes my throat.
"I want more than that," I breathe, wanting that and so much more now.
He nuzzles his face into my neck, his teeth gently nipping me, and I fight the urge to wrap my legs around him.
"It's eleven inches, baby. How much more do you want?"
"Ugh!" I push him off me and he rolls over onto the floor on his back, laughing. "It's not funny," I say, slapping his arm.
"I'm just kidding."
"How do you know it's eleven inches, anyway?"
"I measured it. We can do a recount if you want. Call the front desk and ask for a ruler."
I shake my head and suppress my laughter. "Can you try to be serious for a minute?"
He sits up and leans against the couch, trying to force himself to stop laughing. "All right. I'll be serious," he says, pursing his lips together and looking pretty ridiculous. His hair is all rumpled, so I hesitantly reach out and comb it down with my fingers.
"I've been thinking about some of this," I begin. "And we're obviously at opposite ends of the spectrum with sex. You said it's all women want you for, and that for you, it's just sex. But for me, it's the opposite. I can't have sex without emotions being there. I think that’s part of our challenge here: for you not to have sex until there are some real feelings involved, and for me to show you that you're more than just a good lay."
He blinks sheepishly. "Ya think?"
"I do."
"That seems like a lot of work, and it could totally backfire. Why would they do that to us?"
"Maybe so we learn to appreciate each other?"
"But what if the feelings never happen, for either of us?"
That's exactly what I'm worried about because I simply cannot see us falling in love. Being friends and having fun, maybe. But falling in love? I can't picture it.
"Then it's not meant to be," I murmur sadly.
"So then, no sex?"
I playfully smack him again. "Exactly. No sex."
"Ever?" he asks incredulously.
I stand up and straighten out my clothes. "Let's not think about that. I think we should focus on our first task of figuring out where we're going to live."
11
TALON
"THIS IS YOURS?" she asks in disbelief when I lead her to my truck in the hotel parking lot.
"Yup." My latest toy is a black Ford F-150 pickup truck with a fourteen-inch lift kit, forty-inch tires, and skulls airbrushed down the sides.
"A monster truck? Is this legal to be on the street?" She peers up at the truck, her head barely reaching the door.
I take her bag from her hand and throw it in the back of the truck. We asked the concierge to have the wedding gown boxed and shipped to my condo because it's too big and ruffly to cart around. "Of course it is," I reply, opening the passenger door for her. "Get in, milady."
She stares up at the inside of the truck and then back at me. "Talon. I can't even get my leg up there. How am I supposed to get in?"
Well, shit, she's right. Her legs are too short to reach the doorframe. I wrap my hands around her tiny waist and lift her up into the seat effortlessly. "I'll get running boards and a step, baby. Simple fix."
I run around the front of the truck and climb in behind the wheel. "Or I'll just drive the Beemer when you're with me. No big deal."
"You have a BMW too?"
I nod and light up a cigarette as I start the truck and pull out of the lot. "Yeah. It's much lower to the ground."
She looks out the windshield, wide-eyed at the traffic around us, clinging to the armrest on her door. "Holy shit. We're so high up. You can totally drive right over the other cars."
"If we wanted to, hell yeah, I could."
She giggles. "Let's not do that."
The team gave us a guideline sheet we're supposed to follow, and the first order of business is to move in together, whether we move in to one of our own homes together, or get an entirely new place to live. The latter is my preference since I live in a condo with my brother, and we sure as hell wouldn't have any privacy as a couple living with him. We're supposed to check out each other’s places before we decide, though, so we stop at my place first.
"This is really nice," she comments as we head up the walkway to my front door.
"Yeah, it is," I answer, unlocking the door. "I've lived here for about three years."
Once inside, she scans the condo with a small frown, probably because it's a bit of a mess. But hey, two single guys live here, and Mikah is kind of a slob and just throws stuff anywhere and everywhere.
"Sorry for the clutter… We had a maid, but she was stealing our stuff to sell on eBay."
"Oh, wow. That's terrible."
"Yeah, some people will buy anything. Like my dirty socks. Do you believe that?
Her face scrunches up. "That's pretty gross."
"It is," I agree. "So, me and my brother Mikah live here. He's the drummer in the band. Not sure if you remember him from the wedding." She shakes her head. "But I don't think this would be a good place for us to live, for obvious reasons."
"Why not? I'm a great fucking roommate." We both turn to see Mikah coming down the stairs from the second floor where the four bedrooms are. His long, dark hair is a tangled mop on his head, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, with dark circles shadowing them. He looks completely hungover.
"Dude, did you get drunk at my wedding last night? You're a fucking mess."
He opens the refrigerator and grabs a soda. "I did." He narrows his half-opened eyes at us. "What the hell are you two doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon? Or is this game over already?"
"It's not a game," Asia tells him with a hint of defensiveness in her voice, and it kind of makes me proud of her. I like a chick who won't take crap from people.
"We're going on the honeymoon later," I say. "First, we need to move in together."
He chugs some of his soda. "Not here, I hope?"
"No. We're going to get a house."
He nods and shuffles back toward the stairway. "Good idea. You'll probably want to get a new bedroom set." He focuses on Asia and grins. "His bed has seen a ton of pussy. I wouldn’t want to be sleeping in that."
She visibly cringes, her cheeks reddening as her eyes meet mine awkwardly across the room. "Good to know," she says, her voice strained.
I shove my asshole brother up against the wall, and Asia jumps back away from us. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I seethe, my face inches from his. "That's my wife now, not some band slut."
He pushes me back. "What's your problem, Tal?"
"She doesn't need to hear that shit." I shove him again and then back away from him.
"She better get fucking used to it. We fuck chicks. That's what rock stars do."
The sound of the front door slamming makes us both turn. She just walked out.
"Thanks a lot, asshole," I growl. "Did you hafta fucking say that?"
"What's the big deal?"
"I'm trying to gain her trust, Mikah. This isn't exactly easy for her."
He smirks. "Well, maybe she should divorce you now, then, if she can't fucking deal with who you are."
I run my hand through my hair, hoping Asia isn't running away right now. "Whatever, bro," I throw back as I run to the front door to catch her. Thankfully, I find her sitting on the sidewalk out front, twirling a dandelion in her fingers.
"Hey, I'm sorry," I say when I reach her. "He's a sarcastic asshole."
"I guess we won't be living here," she mutters, then closes her eyes and blows on the dandelion, opening them again to watch its little seeds floating away in the breeze with a wistful expression on her face. I think she wants to float away too. Away from me.
I hold my hand out to her and pull her up when she puts her small hand in mine. "Definitely not, babe. Let's go visit your place."
"Can we just skip that? There's really no reason for us to go to my place. You're not gonna want to live there."
"No, I want to see where you live. And it’s in the guidelines. We're supposed to visit
each other's homes."
She blows out a frustrated sigh. "I don't understand why we have to do this. It's a waste of time," she argues as we walk back to the truck. "Can't we just look for our own place?"
I lift her up into the passenger seat again. "You don't want me to see your house, do you?"
Her eyes dart away from me nervously. "It's an apartment."
"House, apartment, whatever. You don't want me there. Why not?"
"I never said that."
"You don't have to. You're transparent as fuck. It's written all over your face."
Her eyes shoot daggers as I lean against the truck door, not budging.
"Let's just go, then," she relents. "And get this over with."
As she gives me directions to her apartment while I drive, her reasons for not wanting me there become clear. She lives in the ghetto. Like, I used to buy drugs here when I was younger, it's that kind of shitty neighborhood.
I glance over at her as I park in front of the run-down apartment building. She's just staring out the window, her fingers making circles on her jeans. "Are you okay?" I ask her.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
She doesn't sound fine, though. She sounds distant.
"Asia, it's okay. No big deal."
"You don't belong here."
"Neither do you. Not anymore."
Her eyes shift down to the floor. "Yeah, I do. Marrying you doesn't change who I am."
"No, but it changes who we are together," I grab her hand to stop her fingers from nervously circling on her leg. "Together, we're supposed to be better."
What the fuck just came out of my mouth?
Her hand squeezes mine. "Thank you for saying that."
Wow. I actually said something right, even though I was momentarily possessed by Hallmark when I said it. Score.
As luck would have it, the elevator is broken, so we have to walk up the three flights of trash-infested stairs to her apartment. The hallway smells like the pit of hell. I can't believe the team put me with someone who lives like this. We could not be more different in every possible way.
As she digs her keys out of her bag and unlocks the three locks on the door, I worry about my truck parked out on the street in this neighborhood. If someone breaks my windows or spray-paints graffiti on my truck, I'm going to be pissed.