Not the Girl You Marry

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  She wasn’t supposed to want him to stay. He was supposed to be temporary, and she wasn’t supposed to start feeling real feelings for him. But he’d gone and made her original plan impossible. It was as though he was made for her, which was stupid. People got in relationships with people who fit them well enough and then they remade themselves to fit even better—or they broke up.

  Even Jack couldn’t be perfect; he was just better at hiding his imperfections than any guy she’d ever met. No one who looked as good as he did, smelled as good, and knew exactly how to touch her clit could be all good. There had to be something about him that made him a monster, and she meant to find out what it was.

  Maybe if she got the ball rolling, he’d let something slip. Just enough so that she would stop the free fall into love/trouble with him.

  “I haven’t had sex with anyone, in—like—two years.” That was not something she should have said to someone she’d just started dating.

  “You haven’t?”

  She met his eyes then, afraid that she’d see the fear that she was hearing wedding bells swallow up any postcoital tenderness he’d had going. But she didn’t see that. His gaze was as open and curious as it ever was. And maybe she wasn’t imagining the hint of regret. Nothing but kindness and compassion on his face. Jesus, if she was the kind of girl who fell in love, she would be done for. As it was, her chest filled, and her eyes stung as though tears were about to fall. She gasped, afraid that he would see her losing it.

  That would be the best way to lose him. At least then he would never know that she’d lied to him about her original motivation for dating him. No matter if she told him that she’d wanted to say yes to that first date before her boss demanded that she show that she wasn’t a heartless shrew, she never would have actually had the courage to go out with him if it hadn’t been forced.

  She should be grateful to Annalise, and maybe even to Giselle, for forcing her into giving this glorious man—who was in her bed and wanting to just talk to her—a chance.

  “How’s a girl like you still single?” His words could have stabbed her in the throat. They echoed the voice of every guy she tried to go out with after Noah, when she’d been trying to be the girl a guy would want to marry. The ones before she’d given up on finding anyone who wanted something real and lasting. But the way he said them was soft and curious, and that made her want to give him a real answer.

  “I’m just not the kind of girl most men want to marry.”

  He laughed as though she’d just said something unbearably stupid. “That’s rich. Pull the other one, Duchess.”

  She slapped at his chest, and that only made him laugh more. Although she liked that he thought she was being ridiculous, she wanted him to take her seriously. So she crawled up on his chest so they were face-to-face and said, “Stop laughing.”

  “I’ll stop laughing when you give me a real answer.”

  “Why don’t you answer your own question?”

  “Why am I still single?” She nodded at him and he bit his lip for a moment—so sexy—before continuing. “I keep having the perfect girl walk out on me.”

  Then Hannah started laughing. She couldn’t even imagine any woman in her right mind walking out on Jack.

  His arms tightened around her, and then she felt like a pinned butterfly specimen, his focus back on her. “Don’t laugh at my deepest pain.”

  “Then you can’t laugh at mine, either.”

  “Agreed.” He nodded, solemnity washing over his face. “Tell me.”

  “It’s not that guys keep leaving me. I actually broke up with my last boyfriend. He made it clear that we weren’t serious, but I finally pulled the trigger.”

  “Not a surprise.” Only a hint of his earlier humor remained.

  “It’s just that guys only want sex from me. Not forever.”

  “And that’s not something you have to worry about with me.” She liked that he could have a sense of humor about this. “And sex with you is pretty spectacular.”

  “Not that you would know.”

  “Still—”

  “Whatever, we were talking about deep, emotional pain.” She’d much rather be talking about sex with Jack, specifically when and if they’d be having it, but she forced herself to go on. She’d decided on the strategy of finding out what was wrong with him by revealing what was wrong with her, and she would not be deterred. “Or they think I need improvement.”

  “What could you possibly need improvement on?” She loved that he sounded incredulous.

  “I swear too much.”

  “But you’re so articulate when you swear.”

  “And I eat too much.”

  His hands coasted down her sides, and he grabbed her ass in his big hands. Then he settled her over his cock, which was coming back to life. “I love watching you eat. You get this look on your face when you like something, and you make the same noise you make when I’m making you come—just quieter.”

  She didn’t know she did that and was mortified at the thought. Making sex noises during dinner? No wonder Noah had thought she was trashy. “I do?”

  “Yeah. It’s fucking great.”

  “Jesus, no wonder most guys think I’m just a sex vending machine.”

  “Most guys are too flipping stupid to notice.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “Nah, I’m a journalist.” She smirked at him, not quite sure she was following his line of reasoning. “I get paid to pay attention.”

  “If I’m having an I’ll-have-what-she’s-having moment every time I’m enjoying food, then I don’t think it would take much to notice.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” He touched his mouth to her cheek, which was sweet. In contrast to his erection, which was not quite as sweet. “So, what put you off dating for so long?”

  “I guess, after my last relationship, I just felt like it was all so pointless.”

  “I’d say that what happened fifteen minutes ago wasn’t pointless.” Nothing about what they were doing together seemed pointless.

  “I don’t usually come when it’s casual.” She was really just ripping herself open for him tonight.

  “That sex toy definitely brought a certain formality to the proceedings.” At that, she had to laugh. Jesus, why couldn’t he just be a pussymonster all the time? Why did he have to be so funny and cute? “But I get that. You should be able to take your time.”

  “See, most guys—” She paused when he grimaced. “Present company excluded.” That earned her another kiss, this one closer to her mouth. “Most guys don’t want to wait. They jump right to the sex, past the banter, and there are definitely no tacos or puppy pics.”

  “Then what the hell are people doing on the apps?” His acting naïve, like a babe in the woods, was sexier than it ought to be.

  “Mostly trying to get you to WhatsApp or Kik so that they can send dick pics and say inappropriate and abusive shit without getting called out on social media.”

  “That’s dumb.” He furrowed his brow as though truly disturbed by modern dating rituals. “Why would anyone think that would work?”

  Hannah shrugged. Oddly enough, telling Jack what other guys did and having him react like he was personally offended on her behalf had made her want to throw him on the floor and ride his face. So, she’d failed in this instance to get him to reveal his big bad—the one that would prevent her from falling in love with him.

  Too bad he rolled her underneath him and disabused her of the notion that she was anything but screwed. Figuratively.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JACK TRIED TO FIND the perfect lighting for an intimate selfie, and he was failing miserably. This was stupid. And his penis was so ugly. Perhaps it was the ugliest penis on the good green earth.

  And the last thing he wanted to be doing right now was hammering another nail i
n the coffin of the nascent relationship he had with Hannah. He hadn’t intended to spend the night with her, but he’d justified it to himself—he hadn’t gotten off. It had been all about her. Still, he wasn’t just hungover from spending the whole night wrapped up in her scent, talking to her. Guilt ate at his gut along with the black coffee he’d sucked down as soon as he’d hit his apartment.

  He hadn’t showered yet because he liked the smell of Hannah on him. But it made him crave having the real her in his space. He should definitely shower. Somehow, taking a picture of his dick while Hannah was in a sense there felt even worse than just sending a dick pic.

  Now that he knew her better, he could predict that she’d feel betrayed by this after what they’d done last night. He’d seen how hard it was for her to open up to him, and he’d been so flattered that she’d chosen him. Despite the fact that he should have walked away, he just hadn’t been able to.

  He’d always been the perfect boyfriend because he’d been able to sublimate his own needs to his lady’s. Last night, his own needs had almost devoured his integrity until it was just a nub—sort of like how his penis looked from too close.

  Why did anyone think sending an unsolicited picture of their genitalia was a good idea? Even though she’d seemed to want to see his penis, this seemed like an asshole move. If he were another guy, the kind of guy who thought dick pics weren’t gross, what would he be hoping to get out of sending a picture?

  Not to mention that he couldn’t get an angle on it that didn’t make his cock look either gargantuan or tiny.

  This was bullshit, but it was what he had to do. He needed to do something that would make Hannah realize that he was just like all the other guys who had disappointed her before. Even though his two weeks weren’t up, and he would have to fill in his word count with GIFs and shit that he didn’t have to do to lose her, he couldn’t avoid it any longer. Not after they’d slept—just slept—together and she’d all but told him that she was in love with him.

  After last night, he probably had a customized guide on how to lose Hannah. Her ex was a blithering idiot because he’d had all that was her and given it up because he’d wanted something different. All that rejection had cut Hannah deep—no matter how much she tried to cover it up with being a badass.

  Jack was in love with everything she was, and he didn’t want her to lose a single part of it. The irony was that, if he didn’t want to hurt her anymore, he had to make her break up with him right now. He wished he could avoid hurting her at all, but that would just make him the sucker he always had been with previous girlfriends.

  He’d given up jobs and cities for his exes, and he had nothing to show for it. He couldn’t allow himself to believe that Hannah was any different. Even though he didn’t have it in him to psychologically torture her, he couldn’t give up the chance to do what he really wanted to do in order to be with her for real. Not right now. For the first time, he was putting his career first, and he was so close to success.

  The hope that she would eventually forgive him still lingered in his brain. After last night, he knew it was bullshit to hope that she wouldn’t slit his throat and salt the ground that absorbed his lifeblood after she found out the truth. It made him want to throw up.

  Hell, he was so far in love with her that he’d probably never escape.

  Maybe he needed to try portrait mode.

  After about thirty minutes of experimenting with lighting—the sunlight coming in through a dirty window in his living room—he had a shot that didn’t make him want to hurl. Sending it, however, was another story.

  * * *

  —

  HANNAH WAS STILL IN bed when her phone buzzed on her nightstand. She hated the anticipation and excitement that made her toes curl into the sheets thinking about what Jack had sent her.

  He was perfect, and whatever waited on her phone was going to be perfect, too. Jack Nolan was a goddamn unicorn—the kind of guy her friends had always told her not to hold out for. He was the kind of guy she’d described wanting to well-meaning relatives and friends, garnering her the description of “too picky.”

  That morning, lying in her dim bedroom, thinking of herself as some sort of magical sex goddess because of the sheer number and intensity of orgasms Jack had seemed to be able to call forth from her body on a whim, she felt vindicated. She hadn’t even had to give him anything in return. And, given the talking after, the talking that had lasted almost until sunrise, she was shaken.

  This wasn’t supposed to be about love. Dating Jack was supposed to be about getting a promotion, not meeting her perfect match. But it was making her realize that maybe she’d been too hasty in giving up on finding someone.

  The way that Jack was with her—most of the time—made her think that she’d just been dating the wrong men. Noah had been the wrong man, and nothing that she could have done or changed about herself was going to turn him into the right one. Jack could have been the right one if she wasn’t using him and he hadn’t started acting weird.

  She hesitated to pick up the phone because there was a part of her that knew she could be wrong about Jack. After all, she’d thought she’d been in love with Noah and that he’d been in love with her, too. She’d convinced herself that he wanted her to be the best she could be and that was why he as always telling her—in all of his various ways—that she wasn’t quite up to snuff.

  What if he was texting to say that he’d had a nice time but didn’t see this going anywhere? What if her pubic hair was actually an issue, and he didn’t want to see her again? What if it was a reminder to pay her cell phone bill, and he’d never get in contact with her again?

  All of these thoughts crowded her head until she slapped around the nightstand for the phone and grabbed it. He’d sent an image, which he’d done before when he was still wooing her with cute puppies.

  When her phone recognized her face—which was still weird to her—she almost dropped the phone on it. He’d sent her a picture of his dick. A well-lit picture of it, framed so as to convey its actual size.

  She was torn between wanting to throw the phone at the wall and saving the picture to an album all on its own. The odd thing—aside from his sending her a picture of his junk after she’d said that she didn’t like pictures of junk—was that he hadn’t sent the photo with a caption.

  If he was going to intentionally disrespect her, he could have at least sent along a joke.

  It seemed so unlikely that the man who went downtown at the slightest indication that she wanted him to would be so inconsiderate as to send her a dick pic after she said she didn’t like them. And even though she had to admit that his penis was much more enticing than any she’d seen in pictorial form before, it made her slightly less attracted to him.

  Despite his flirtation with another woman in front of her, which she’d chalked up to his maybe being nervous about how much he liked her, his character seemed unshakable. But, then again, she only really knew him biblically. And she didn’t know why he’d sent this to her the morning after giving her so many orgasms that she’d forgotten all about how she was just faking their entire relationship. There were no bubble ellipses to tell her that he was planning to explain himself, either.

  So she was left to figure out what he was trying to say by her damned self. And to try to claw back the sex buzz that his dick pic had killed. Because she wanted it back.

  Maybe there was some sort of lesson here. Maybe her thing with Jack was just about lust, but she needed to be open to meeting someone great. Maybe not all guys were rotten to the core with toxic masculinity.

  Shit. She didn’t know what had happened to make Jack turn into a typical fuckboy. And she didn’t know if this was just a fluke or a joke or what, but she knew she needed to get in the shower and make a plan of attack for tasting cakes.

  In the end, curiosity about this perplexing man’s motivations won out.

 
; Hannah: To what do I owe the pleasure?

  Jack: Welp, my cock has been like that since last night.

  She was kind of flattered by that—the idea that he’d been distractingly turned on for almost twelve hours. But she was also frustrated that he had some sort of pact with a priest that prevented her from doing anything about it. And a little concerned for his health. Weren’t hard-ons that lasted four hours or longer dangerous?

  Hannah: IDK whether to take that as a compliment or not. (And I totally offered to take care of that for you)

  Jack: Oh, it’s a compliment. I would have eaten your pussy again for sure.

  Dear Lord, he had a dirty mouth for a guy who abstained from sex. Her abdomen went liquid, and her skin heated so much she wanted to kick off her blankets.

  Hannah: Such a gentleman. But I don’t know if I could have handled any more.

  Jack: Your taste turns me on so much that I would be even harder than I am right now.

  It was way too good to be true. Still, she snaked her fingers underneath her panties. Sure enough, her vagina had no compunctions about mansplaining or flirting with other women.

  Hannah: You should do something about that

  Thinking about him touching himself while she was touching herself—and how it was the closest they were going to get to having actual sex—turned her on even more. His celibacy was going to make her obsessed with his getting in his pants. If they’d done the deed last night, it might have been boring or uncomfortable or less sexy than foreplay. But now that it was forbidden, she couldn’t stop thinking about him sliding inside of her.

  Jack: Are you telling me to jack off?

  Hannah: if you must.

  Jack: Oh, trust me, I must.

  Hannah: As long as you’re thinking about me . . .

  Jack: I can’t think about anything else, Duchess.