To Be Your Wife

by Rae Kennedy

  But it’s fine. I’m fine.

  I’m back at school now and there are only eight weeks left until graduation. I just need to focus on that and everything will be fine.

  I’ll be fine.

  * * *

  Of all the bars in the city, he had to be at this one.

  Nick had insisted on driving all the way here to watch the final game because of some superstition. I don’t know why he’s so concerned about which team wins—his bracket went to shit after the sweet sixteen rounds. My bracket did pretty well—the team I picked to win the tournament is in the final tonight, which is why I agreed to come. And the big screens are awesome.

  But now, I would like to hide.

  I try not to look in his direction or change my demeanor. His back is to me at the bar, he’s watching the TV to his right, a full beer in front of him. I scan the room for an empty table but it’s packed and there’s standing room only. The black walls are covered in old photographs and large wood moldings. A shiny wood bar wraps around the entire perimeter of the place, even in front of the windows where the city is dark beyond. I’m surprised there are so many patrons outside on the patio because even though it’s almost April and the weather has warmed up a bit, it’s still chilly at night.

  I keep looking for a spot, a corner or nook we can go, anywhere but near him.

  “Holy shit!” Nick spots him. “Tucker!” He runs over, clapping his back so he turns around.

  Dammit, Nick.

  Tuck smiles in recognition and nods his head as Nick talks. I can’t hear what they’re saying. Then Tuck glances over and our eyes meet, only for a second, before he looks back at Nick. No smile, no motion toward me. Nothing.

  But Nick waves me over enthusiastically.

  So, this is happening.

  “Hey,” I say a little awkwardly as I walk up.

  Tuck nods at me and sips his drink as he stands. He gestures toward the seat. Even pissed at me, he’s still all gentlemanly and shit. I’d decline, but I stupidly wore heels tonight, so sitting sounds nice.

  It’s so packed by the bar we must slide past each other to switch places. I love how he towers over me even when I’m wearing heels.

  “What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.

  “Nick?” I call over my shoulder.

  “Whatever IPA you have on tap,” Nick answers.

  “And two shots of tequila,” I add.

  I slide one of the shots to Tuck and I don’t miss the how his lips subtly curve up.

  We take our shots and slam the glasses down on the counter.

  I hold up two fingers to the bartender, who starts pouring two more.

  Once the big game starts, it’s clear Tuck and I are rooting for opposite teams. At half-time, it’s a two-point game and Nick runs to the bathroom.

  “So,” I say, with a false sense of alcohol-induced bravery. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?” I know why, but I need to talk with him about it.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Court, I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t want to play games.”

  “I don’t want to play games either. I just want to be friends. Can we be friends? Please?”

  He takes a long swig of his bottle of beer. Setting it down, he looks at me solemnly.

  “Tell you what,” I say, “if your team wins, you don’t have to talk to me anymore. But if my team wins, you have to start running with me again.”

  “I never said I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  Dammit, Tuck. “Is it a deal or what? Because my team is going to kick your ass.”

  He finally cracks a small smile. “You’re too competitive, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  I open the door to Tuck’s smiling face at precisely six o’clock. He’s wearing his thin gray hoodie and royal blue athletic shorts. He’s a man of his word—not that he looked very upset when his team lost.

  “No man-leggings?” I ask as we head down the concrete steps.

  “Nah. It’s getting too warm to wear those. Last time I ran in them it was gross. Seriously, my balls have never been sweatier.”

  I try to push that visual out of my head as we round the final flight of stairs.

  “You went running without me?”

  “A couple times,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “That’s good,” I say, jogging ahead a few steps. I turn my head to look back at him teasingly. “Now I won’t feel bad when I don’t take it easy on you.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of you being easy on me,” he says, eyes gleaming with delight.

  I smile back and turn as I step off the final riser—but something rolls under my foot and my ankle buckles with a sharp pain. There is a distinct pop as it collapses under my weight and I fall to the ground.

  “Oh shit! Court—” Tuck runs over to me and lifts me up. “Are you okay?”

  “My ankle, fuck.”

  He looks at it, touching it gingerly, then presses his fingers around my foot and leg with more pressure, determining the tender spots.

  “It doesn’t hurt too bad. I think I’m all right.”

  Then he flexes my foot at the ankle slowly and the pain sears up my whole leg.

  “Ahh,” I whimper.

  “I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s definitely sprained.” He pulls my arm over his shoulders and hooks his arm around my middle to help me up.

  We both look up the flights of stairs back to my apartment.

  “My place?” he asks.

  “Yup.”

  * * *

  My ankle is swollen as fuck. It’s elevated on two-and-a-half pillows and I’ve been laying on the couch for several hours, unable to do much else. The whole left side of my foot is a blend of pink and purple and it is twice the size of my other one. It also hurts like a sonofabitch. The constant ache has gotten worse in the last twenty minutes as the pain meds are wearing off. I hope it’s been long enough since my last dose that I can have more soon.

  And, as if summoned by angels, Tuck walks into the room carrying a large glass of water and puts two pills in my hand.

  “Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.” I swallow the pills and Tuck chuckles at me. I look up at him, handing him back the glass. “Thank you, too. You didn’t have to stay home from work to take care of me, but I appreciate it.”

  He waves a hand and looks down at my ankle. “It’s about time to ice again, too.” And he heads to the kitchen.

  I look at my foot and grimace. “Good. It’s getting grosser by the minute.”

  “Your leg isn’t gross.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Tuck walks by, holding the icepack, but he keeps walking down the hall with a smile on his face.

  He reappears a few minutes later. He lifts my leg carefully, removes the pillows, then sits down, laying my foot back down on his lap. All the while, a mischievous little grin curls at his lips.

  “What are you doing?”

  He doesn’t answer, just wraps the icepack in a thin towel and drapes it over my ankle. The cold against my hot, bruised skin stings but feels so, so good. Then he pulls something small out of his pocket.

  “Now hold still. I haven’t done this since Haley was like, eleven.”

  He opens the little red bottle and starts to paint my toenails.

  * * *

  I must have dozed off on the couch. Tuck is still sitting on the opposite end, watching something on TV, my feet in his lap.

  He turns when I stir. “Hey.” His voice is quiet. “Do you want something to eat? I can make dinner.”

  “You’re going to make me dinner?”

  “I’m sort of known for my macaroni and cheese with sliced hotdogs.”

  I bite my lips together to keep from snickering at him. “Umm...sure?”

  He feigns offense. “What? My future kids are going to love that shit.”

  “I br
ought tacos!” Haley calls as she walks in the front door.

  Oh, thank God.

  She’s carrying the take-out bag in one hand and dragging my duffle bag with the other.

  During the month when Tuck and I weren’t speaking, he bought a new bed for the spare room and Haley suggested I stay with them for a few days, so I won’t have to deal with all the stairs to my top-floor apartment. Tuck offered to go to my place and pack me a few things, but Haley insisted she go. I’m so grateful for her, especially because I don’t want Tuck rummaging through my underwear drawer or packing me tampons.

  * * *

  The sheets are new and smell like fresh laundry detergent. The mattress is comfortable, and I am warm and cozy, but I can’t sleep. For one, the constant dull ache of my ankle is hard to ignore, and for two, Tuck. I know he’s in the next room and thinking of him sleeping so close, possibly naked—he did say he usually sleeps naked—is distracting.

  I check my phone. It’s almost two in the morning when there are footsteps in the hall. It sounds like they go out to the kitchen, then a couple of minutes later, my door silently swings open. It’s dark and the figure in the doorway is completely black in shadow, but I know by the height and build that it’s Tuck.

  He walks quietly toward my bedside, setting a glass of water and a couple of pain killers on the table.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  He’s startled at my voice, not realizing I’m awake.

  “Sorry, I figured this way you’d be set as soon as you woke up. I wasn’t trying to disturb you.”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t asleep.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “You haven’t been sleeping?”

  “No.”

  Again, he’s silent. And still. My eyes have adjusted just enough to make out the hard line of his mouth and jaw. Is he mad at me?

  In an instant he leans over the bed and throws off my covers. Cold air hits my bare legs and my nipples harden under my cotton sleep tank.

  His warm arms slide under my back and knees and he lifts me off the bed easily. I hold on to his neck as he carries me down the hall to his room.

  * * *

  I was only supposed to stay a few days.

  It’s been a week.

  Tuck has welcomed me into his bed every night and crawling in between his sheets is easily my favorite part of the day. I can hobble around pretty well, though my limp is obnoxious, but I don’t want to leave yet. Tuck hasn’t brought it up either.

  I should go back to my place, though. If for nothing else, to catch up on laundry.

  I get dressed for bed and wait, lying in the spare room. It’s not quite eleven but Haley went to bed an hour ago and I wonder if it’s been long enough.

  I close the door softly behind me then sneak down the hall.

  Tuck looks still and peaceful in his bed, but he rolls toward me and hums when I slink in next to him.

  “Tuck?”

  “Hmm?”

  I steel my nerves. “I’ve enjoyed staying here, but I think I should go back to staying at my place tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” He rolls over, already half asleep.

  I don’t know what reaction I’d expected from him, but I was hoping for something else. Maybe for him to protest, say I shouldn’t be going up and down so many stairs yet. Maybe for him to be sad I’m leaving. Maybe for him to say he will miss me. Maybe what I really want is for him to reach out to me, pull me to him and tell me to stay. To tell me he wants me. To hold me and kiss me and... Shit, that’s stupid. His response was perfectly mature and in line with us being just friends.

  That’s what I said I wanted.

  But if he had grabbed me, I wouldn’t have stopped him. I would have held on tight, his body all pressed up against mine... I can sense him, just inches from me, and smell his wonderful scent and I want to touch him.

  He shifts next to me, but his breathing is low and drawn out. He’s asleep.

  I only have to spread my fingers for them to brush against his skin. His thigh. It’s right there, thick and strong. I lay my hand on his leg, just below where his boxers end. I don’t squeeze him, but I can imagine how powerful his long legs are. I remember how his muscular back looked, flexed and glistening with sweat when we’d played basketball. Would his back look like that as he thrust into me?

  Court, stop it.

  But my hand is already roaming down, slipping under my shorts and into my panties.

  I imagine my hand is his and I am quickly panting. My pussy is so wet and eager, eager for more, eager for him. But with every stroke, I know my fingers are too delicate, too feminine. They’re not his.

  I’ve been fingering myself for what feels like an hour, chasing an orgasm that won’t come.

  I let out a long sigh. “Dammit,” I say under my breath.

  Large, warm fingers gently brush against my wrist just above my waistband.

  I freeze.

  Then his lips are at my ear. Tuck’s voice is low and thick.

  “Can I help?”

  CHAPTER 13

  Oh my God. Tuck.

  He knows what I’m doing, and...and he wants to help?

  Holy fuck.

  His breath tickles the sensitive spot just below my ear. His warm chest is pressed against my back as his fingers make slow circles on my arm, inching closer to the top of my shorts, promising to dive in as soon as I give the word.

  My clit throbs at the thought.

  My face and chest are burning hot and before I realize it, I’m saying, “Yes.” It comes out as barely a whisper and so husky I don’t even recognize my voice.

  His hand slides down my arm and under my waistband, grazing over my knuckles, leaving a warm trail. His fingers trace over my own, down to the tips, not hesitating.

  Heat is pooling in my center, swelling. My clit is tingling and my whole pussy is pulsing with anticipation of his touch. I slide my hand out and then his large fingers are there. A deep rumble comes from his chest as he slides one thick finger down the length of my slipperiness.

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding, but it comes out as more of a whimper.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers at my neck.

  And then he has two fingers rubbing up and down my center. I can tell I am embarrassingly wet. The heel of his palm presses to my pulsing clit, barely satiating its need for attention.

  He slowly teases with his fingers, his breath hot at my neck. He dips down, his lips brushing against the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Goosebumps prickle down my side. Then he kisses me there. And again. He is kissing up my neck, soft little kisses to the back of my jaw and finally under my ear. I arch my back into him, wanting more.

  His fingers drag up to my aching clit and the pleasure shoots through my body as he circles on it.

  My hips buck in reflex and I let out a moan.

  “You like that?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  His finger is warm and sure as it slides over and around my clit, coaxing out my pleasure. It’s rising to the surface, sensation unraveling and throbbing in my heat. The pressure is building but not breaking—it’s almost unbearable. I want to squeeze my thighs together—I want more pressure, more touch, harder, deeper. I want him.

  It makes me squirm, and as I arch against his touch, I press my rear into him.

  His rock-hard cock is there. Proof he’s enjoying this as much as I am.

  My heart is pounding, my breathing fast and shallow as I rock forward into his hand and then back against his hard length. His breath at my neck is ragged as he loses control for just a second.

  “What do you want, Court?” His finger picks up speed, rubbing hard circles over my clit and my climax is starting.

  “You,” I whimper. “Inside me.”

  “Fuck.” His voice is guttural. “Like this?” he asks as he sinks one long finger inside of me.

  “Oh god, yes.”

  His thumb is now rubbing against my engorged clit as he plunges his thick finger in and ou
t of me. “Or, like this?” He nips at my earlobe then slides a second finger inside. Being stretched wide plus his wicked thumb flicking my clit is too much.

  His fingers curl inside me, hitting the perfect spot and then I break. Waves of pleasure ripple through me as I moan and cry out, unable to form words.

  His hand continues to stroke me through the last spasms of my orgasm. All tension has left my muscles and I go limp. I am aware of my body—limbs heavy against the mattress, a sheen of sweat cool on my forehead, the thumping in my chest still strong but my breathing starting to normalize. And Tuck’s hot body pressed to my back and his hand still down my shorts, inside my panties, cupping me.

  “Tuck—"

  “Shh.” His hand slides slowly out from me as he pulls me tighter to him. He’s still hard. “Just go to sleep,” he says as he pulls the covers over us and settles his arm across my chest.

  I want to protest. I want to touch him, return the favor. I can tell he needs it too.

  But I don’t.

  * * *

  I can’t concentrate in class the next day.

  We had woken up like usual, Tuck sprawled across the bed, his legs tangled with mine. But this time his arm was still draped across my hip, his hand resting on the waistband of my panties, reminding me of where it had been last night.

  I couldn’t help but think about how good his hand had felt. How strong and sure his fingers had been. I had to get out of there before I broke down and asked him to do it again.

  I took a lukewarm shower and told Tuck I needed to go to class early. He was still groggy and half naked in bed when I left.

  I got to campus two hours early and didn’t know what to do with myself. I managed to work on a paper and review my notes for a test I have tomorrow, but I don’t know what to do now.

  My professor is mid-presentation, but I haven’t taken any notes. I don’t even recall what the topic of the slideshow is supposed to be.

  Should I talk to Tuck about what happened?

  We definitely need to talk about it.

  I don’t want to talk about it.