Playing For Forever

by J. C. Grant

  “Hey,” I murmured as I sat down at the kitchen island. I hadn’t considered David’s reaction to seeing that dependent part of me, and I wasn’t ready to acknowledge or accept the deeper level of intimacy I had unintentionally created with my meltdown, so I redirected, “Aren't you exhausted?”

  “Nah, I'm all right.” His amused tone told me he knew exactly what I was trying to do. I watched his powerful muscles shifting and rolling as he moved across the kitchen, returning with my coffee and a couple of envelopes.

  “Aaron brought the mail by this morning.”

  Fuck.

  I could hear it, as much as feel it. He wanted to talk—no—gloat about the night before.

  Unwilling to have my neediness thrown in my face, I tried to redirect again, “Where is our mailbox anyway?”

  He smirked knowingly at me. “Do you really want to know, or are you just trying to change the subject?”

  My eyes darted away, rolling, trying to cover my discomfort with annoyance.

  Bracing his hands on the counter, David leaned forward, watching me. He looked like the cat that caught the canary; he had me, and he knew it.

  Checking to see if I’d have an audience for my impending humiliation, I asked, “Is Fergus still here?”

  His jaw tightened.

  “Austin, if you wanna pretend like last night didn’t happen—fine. But don’t you fuckin’ dare ask for him.” David’s voice was level, but the warning was clear.

  Before I could respond, he continued, “I wanna take care of you. Letting Fergus do it bothered me more than you'll ever know, so just let me. Now open the mail,” he directed, nodding toward the envelopes sitting in front of me.

  The fact he had completely misinterpreted my question, spoke volumes. Apparently, our time apart had upset him more than I’d thought; his issues were in full effect. But I loved his irrational jealousy too much to correct him, so I did as he said and picked up the mail.

  It was seriously twisted, but knowing I’d hurt him felt good. Knowing I had that power over him was intoxicating. And after feeling helpless for nearly two days, I wanted some control back.

  Giving in to that perverse part of myself, the part that thrived on hurting him, I took one more dig, holding an envelope out to him. “This is yours.”

  His expression turned hard.

  “Open it.” His tone was somewhere between annoyed and exhausted when he muttered, “We're fucking married, why would you think you can't open my goddamn mail?”

  Biting my lip, I tried to smother a smile as I opened the first envelope.

  My brain came to an abrupt halt, all amusement forgotten, as I stared at the black card in front of me—with my name on it.

  “What is this?” I asked as I pulled the card out.

  His eyebrow lifted and he smirked at me.

  “Is this the card?” I whispered.

  His grin grew, and he nodded once.

  “What? Why?”

  “Last week it occurred to me that I had no clue how much our costumes were.” His head tilted slightly as he studied me. “Or how you paid for them.”

  “I have money in my account. You put—”

  “Yeah,” he cut me off, “but we don't have joint checking or anything—well, didn't have,” he corrected as he pushed the manila envelope closer. “Had you added to my accounts. Just sign these. The debit card should be in there, too.”

  “David, you didn't—”

  “Austin.” His voice was stern. “I understand if you don't want to add me to yours yet, but I want this. It's part of us being married, of me taking care of you. Don't fight me on this.”

  His eyes were pleading and commanding at once.

  My gaze moved back to the black card in my hand. And a grin formed on my face as I stared at the Holy Grail of credit cards.

  “Good. That's what I wanted,” David interrupted my thoughts. “You excited about something.” He pushed off the counter and turned, plating our breakfasts.

  “I'm not excited,” I denied weakly, trying to suppress my smile.

  He turned, staring me down as he set my food in front of me. “You grinned. That's about the most I can get outta you—when I'm not fucking you.”

  His words hung in the air between us. I couldn't be sure, and I wasn’t about to ask, but I had a feeling he was referring to the blubbering mess last night. The mess I was trying to forget about.

  A second later, one side of his mouth lifted slightly into his almost smile. It was completely disarming, putting me at ease while making me feel shy and giddy at the same time.

  Dear God, the man turned me into a school girl with one well timed twitch of his lips.

  “Not true,” I argued playfully, his implication forgotten.

  “Very true,” he purred suggestively. A roguish smirk formed on his too handsome face as his dark gaze held mine for a moment, before coming around and sitting next to me. “Now, what's the first thing you wanna buy?”

  “Hmmm.” I took a moment to seriously consider his question. “Well, I need some new tennis shoes.”

  He watched me, his eyes narrowing in amused disbelief. “Tennis shoes?”

  “Yeah.” My voice was small. “I need some new ones.”

  “Sweet girl, that's not exactly what I had in mind.”

  Suddenly, I felt embarrassed. He gave me a credit card with no limit, and I wanted to buy tennis shoes.

  “It's a warm-up purchase,” I lied.

  Truthfully, I couldn't think of anything I wanted. David had eliminated all my big ticket wants.

  “Uh-huh. Why don't you think on it a minute,” he teased, smirking at me.

  The way he could see through me was really annoying sometimes. But I loved how effortlessly we fell back into being us—almost as if the past two days hadn’t happened. Almost.

  Just as we finished eating, David's phone rang.

  "Elaine," he answered brusquely. After a brief pause, he said, "Yeah, sure." Then he held the phone out to me and deadpanned, "Here, Thelma, it's Louise."

  “David, we didn't plan it,” I tried to explain as I took the phone from him. He either didn’t believe me the night before, or he was still mad about it.

  As he stood, taking his coffee and heading toward the living area, he held his hand up in either a I don't want to hear about it or I was just kidding gesture. Which one, I couldn't tell.

  But it wasn’t like his anger was unfounded.

  Elaine had clearly planned the whole thing out, and lied to both of us.

  “I got us an invite to a party Saturday night,” Elaine greeted. “The best potential investors for your project will be there. You need a costume—they're mandatory. And make sure whatever you get, David's body is covered. Do not wear the costumes you wore last weekend.”

  It took a second for me to fully process her words. I’d thought she was going to be talking to the investors, not me. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have the first clue how to pitch myself or the script. But just like the cover shoot, it wasn’t something I felt I could turn down.

  “Should he come with us?” I asked once David was on the couch watching TV forty feet away. It wasn’t that I didn’t want David there, more I didn’t want the two of them together—in case David was as pissed as he seemed. I had a feeling I’d only dodged his wrath because of my full-on breakdown. And I still didn’t know if Fergus had told him about the oil boy. I wanted to avoid any and all situations where the subject of the photo shoot might come up.

  “Do you honestly think he would let you go without him after yesterday?” She didn't wait for a response. “Anyway, he made it clear, you will not be doing anything without him in attendance.”

  That was one conversation I was glad I missed.

  Elaine continued, “I called Trashy Lingerie. You have an appointment in forty minutes. And they're holding every costume, and anything that could be turned into a costume, in your size.”

  “Okay—”

  “Classy but sexy. We have to sell the
whole package. And make sure David is covered, no muscles on display. Okay?”

  Shit.

  If David needed to be covered, that meant all the potential investors were men, or at least the majority. Going to a party so I could talk to several men wasn’t going to go over well with him.

  “Okay. Thanks, Elaine.”

  “Don't thank me yet. Throw something on and get down there.”

  “Doing it now. Bye.” Ending the call, I stood, quickly downing the rest of my coffee before heading toward the bedroom, wordlessly handing David his phone as I passed.

  When I entered the closet, I searched for the easiest thing to slip on and off.

  “Where're you going?” David rumbled from behind me, just as I grabbed a pair of black skinny sweats.

  “I have to run an errand real quick.” Turning to face him, I pushed my shorts down, letting them fall to the floor. “David, you know that we didn't plan anything about yesterday right?"

  “I know you didn't,” he said, blatantly staring at my nude lower half.

  "She's just trying to help me. It wasn't meant to be malicious." I hoped.

  His expression was unreadable as I pulled on my sweats.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the door frame, blocking my only exit. “What she needs to do is get you a new agent and a manager. She shouldn't be going with you to photo shoots—that's your manager's job.”

  I blew out a breath. “Well, I don't have a manager right now,” I explained calmly as I slipped into my hoodie.

  “I know. She fired them, and that's why I was okay with it, but now I'm not.” His body language looked casual, but his energy was aggressive.

  “Are you mad at me, babe?” I asked, genuinely confused.

  He visibly deflated. “No—hell no. I’m just not ready for all this.”

  Honestly, I wasn’t either, but things moved fast in Hollywood, if you didn’t keep up, you got left behind. Forgotten.

  His eyebrows pulled together as he looked me over. “What's with you wearing hoodies and only a bra all the sudden?”

  Thrown by his abrupt change in subject and not wanting to argue with him or admit laziness as the reason, I muttered, “Fine,” and grabbed the gray sweatshirt out of the pink swag bag still sitting on the closet island.

  “Where're you goin’?” he asked again as I took off the hoodie and pulled on the sweatshirt. “Austin?”

  “Elaine has another Halloween party she wants me to go to—for investors,” I explained, slipping on my flip-flops. “She made an appointment for me to get a costume.” I finally looked up, meeting his dark accusing gaze.

  Those eyes said I’d been trying to hide the party from him, hide where I was going.

  Was I?

  He stood to his full height, letting his arms fall to his sides. “I know I fucked up, I know I hurt you, and I know you’re determined to keep punishing me—that’s fine. Punish me all you want, but don’t try to hide from me, and don’t lie to me.” His soft voice and words shocked me.

  He really did think everything that happened over the past two days was his fault. Guilt crept in then. Was I punishing him?

  Of course you are. You get off on it.

  “I—” I started, still stunned.

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault—not entirely. But I didn’t want to start a conversation that might not end well when I had somewhere to be.

  Before I could decide, he informed me gruffly,

  “I'm coming with you. I'm not letting you pick out costumes again without me.” He strode over to his side of the closet, grabbing a random pair of jeans from a shelf while pulling a tee off a hanger, leaving me standing there staring after him. He quickly dressed, grumbling, “I'm not getting stuck in a fucking fur suit again.”

  Trying not to laugh at him, I bit my lower lip and grabbed my purse off the island. My amusement was cut off abruptly when his biceps bulged and his forearms flexed as he pulled on his boots, not bothering to lace them. I noticed then he was wearing those threadbare jeans that did little to hide the thick muscles underneath. He stood, grabbing his keys off the island, catching my eye-fuck. His mouth lifted on one side, amused and pleased by the way he affected me.

  I watched as he seamlessly shifted to my cocky dominant sex god, matching my mood. I was grateful and awed by how easily he let the serious go. And by the mountain of cut muscle front of me.

  The things that body could do... The things that body had done just a few hours before... Just thinking about it had my thighs clenching.

  David smacked me on the ass as he walked by, spurring me into gear and out of my lust haze.

  “We'll be back, Chance. Be good,” I called out, my voice shaky with arousal as I followed David through the house.

  It was still a little alarming how my body responded to him with absolutely no effort on his part. But it was exactly what we needed, what I needed, and I was grateful for the redirect.

  He grabbed my card as he passed by the kitchen island, holding the shiny black plastic out to me, still thoroughly pleased with himself. “Don't forget this.”

  Lifting my chin in mock defiance, I took it from him, putting it away as I fished my car key from my purse.

  He laughed quietly. A low, warm sound.

  “So where are we going?” David asked, reaching around me, easily snatching the key from my hand, making it clear he was driving.

  “Trashy.”

  “Oh fuck,” he grumbled, defeated, as he opened the garage door motioning for me to go ahead. “Well, at least I'll get a good show this morning.”

  ****

  “What about the Egyptian costume?” David asked, exactly thirty minutes later from his position sitting on a bench in a dressing room, the room he seemed to have claimed for me, which was pointless since we were the only ones in the store.

  He'd quickly grown tired of the looking portion and was impatient to move on to the trying on portion, eager to get his sexy show.

  Looking at him, I felt my eyes go wide. “No,” I answered abruptly, knowing he would find the skimpiest male version possible. “I think we should kinda stay covered.”

  His eyebrows pulled together. He looked down at himself then back to me. “Seriously? Am I getting sloppy or something?”

  I huffed a small laugh. “Not even a little. This is for business, babe. And... Elaine said to keep your body covered up,” I admitted, which earned me an annoyed glare.

  I knew he wouldn’t be happy. I just hoped he didn’t get too vocal about his displeasure in front of our small audience.

  “Are you trying to get a show or movie?” Bree, the salesgirl, asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Trying to lock in investors for an indie,” I answered, barely resisting looking at David to gage his reaction.

  “Are his ads altered much?” she inquired, nodding toward David.

  “Nope. Hardly at all,” I answered, a bit smugly, proud of my man’s perfection.

  “Yeah,” she said, looking pointedly at David. “You stay covered up—if you want her to get what she wants.”

  “We're fucking married.” From his tone, David was clearly offended.

  “So?” She went on, unconcerned about bruising his male ego—not that she could. “They don't care as long as there's room to hope. But if you walk in there half naked, not only will you emasculate them, they'll know they don't have a shot in hell of taking her away from you.”

  “They don't.” His tone was confident. Resolute. But there was an underlying warning, clearly intended for me. Obviously, I hadn’t understood how deeply the trip had affected him. Not if he was concerned about me being interested in a producer. As much as I loved his jealousy, I never wanted him to actually think I was interested in someone else.

  I should have corrected him about Fergus.

  “But they need to think they do, even if they're married,” she explained, looking between us. “It's like this weird Alfred Hitchcock syndrome. Trust me, I've been engag
ed to two producers.”

  "Good," David said abruptly, pointing at me. "You keep remembering whatever you’re thinking right now."

  I realized then I was making a face at the thought of one of those men fantasizing about me.

  “Okay,” Bree interrupted our stare off, that was quickly turning into something more as David’s eyes softened, giving me a look I couldn’t quite place. “We need something that is sexy, cute, classy... and his matching outfit keeps him covered." After a minute of contemplation, she said, “I have the perfect thing.”

  “Okay.” He rubbed his palms together, excitedly. “Now let's get started. I found a couple of things I want you to try on too,” he directed, settling in for his show.

  ****

  After a long lunch and a hard workout, I was in our closet, changing into sweat shorts and tank, staring at our demure purchases (at least by Trashy standards) the Stepford housewife costume and my Halloween costume.

  David’s clichéd choice had surprised me; a pink halter corset with white polka dots, with a baby blue and mint green mini apron, there was nothing to cover my ass except the ribbons of the apron.

  Seemed he’d given a lot of thought to me baking those cookies.

  As I was imagining the different scenarios that might play out wearing it, my phone chimed with a text. Turning to the closet island, I dug my cell out of my purse.

  Tara: Girls night tonight?

  4:53 PM

  My first instinct was to say no, but after some thought, I went looking for David.

  “Tara wants to do a girls’ night, tonight.” I plopped down on the couch next to his head, my hand instinctively moving to his bare chest.

  He had stripped down to his gray sweats and stretched out on the couch while I'd changed clothes, his hard body on display, those sculpted muscles relaxed under flawless skin. He looked close to falling asleep. I knew he was exhausted when we showered at the gym and all he did was wash me.