Don't Kiss the Bride: An Age Gap, Marriage of Convenience Romance

by Carian Cole

  Her thighs tighten around me and I grab her leg with my free hand, bringing it higher around my waist.

  Fuck, I want her.

  And fuck, she wants me.

  But I can’t.

  Reluctantly, I pull away, quietly disentangle myself from her, and stand up.

  She blinks at me, her lips slightly parted, glistening with wetness from our kiss.

  Way too tempting.

  If I go any further, I won’t stop.

  Handing me my shirt, she watches as I put it on, then we silently go upstairs. We pause in front of her bedroom door, and she looks at me expectantly with her big eyes and her sweet lips.

  “That’s the last time that’s gonna happen,” I say. “I’m not going to kiss you anymore. It’s not cool. We’re friends and I don’t want to wreck that.”

  “Okay, Lucky,” she whispers, then goes up on her toes and presses her lips softly, briefly, against mine.

  I don’t pull away. I stand there, just inches away from her. Close enough to kiss her again. “What are you doing, Sparkles?”

  “You didn’t say I couldn’t kiss you one last time.”

  Nope. I’m not going fall into the playful banter, which I usually love. I’m way too close to the flame. Not to mention, way too close to her bedroom.

  I shake my head. “I’m saying it now. No more kissing each other. Or touching.” My cock strains against my pants in protest. My chest tightens.

  “Okay.” She nods, her eyes still locked onto mine.

  She says it like she doesn’t quite believe me.

  As I turn away from her to go to my own room, I don’t believe me either.

  Chapter 25

  Skylar

  “How was your weekend?” Megan asks as we head onto the high school track field. “I didn’t hear from you after you jumped ship on our double date.” Every Monday we spend our time in PE talking about our weekends. It doesn’t matter if we saw each other or not—we still do a recap.

  “I didn’t jump ship. I never agreed to let you set me up with Carson.” The cold bite in the air stings my face. Starting next week, we won’t be outside for PE anymore and that can’t come fast enough for me.

  “If I don’t try, you’ll be single forever. Married, but single,” she jokes. “Only you could be married and single at the same time.”

  “Right? Could my life be any more awkward?”

  “I doubt it.”

  As we round the curve of the track, force of habit makes me glance over at the house where Jude recently built an addition. Butterflies used to flutter wildly in my chest every time I saw that house, or walked by it. But now, I feel a lonely void because he’s not there anymore. He and his crew have moved on to a new job a few miles away. It was comforting having him work so close to the school, even though we refrained from talking to each other to avoid feeding the gossip hounds.

  “Jude’s basement flooded on Saturday, so we spent the entire day cleaning that up. I was standing in inches of water, sucking it up with a shop vac. My feet got so cold I couldn’t feel my toes.”

  “Look at you, being all domestic!”

  “Then, that night we were watching a movie, and I tried a piece of popcorn for the first time in years, and it got stuck in my throat. I had a major panic attack and turned into a gagging freakazoid, literally, on his bathroom floor.”

  “Oh my God, Skylar. Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I did. It was awful. I was choking and crying and I legit thought I was going to die.” I feel sick just thinking about it. How embarrassing.

  “I’m not sure you can die on popcorn.”

  “You can die on anything.”

  “Okayyyy…” She’s not convinced.

  “Anyway, that was humiliating, but Jude was super sweet. The next day, he took me to visit his aunt and uncle with him.”

  “Dude, you are so living the married life.”

  I laugh and shove my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. “I know, like what life is this?”

  “No clue, but I hope there’s some good stuff going on.”

  My pulse quickens just thinking about all the good stuff. “I’m getting to that.”

  “Well, talk faster, girl.”

  “His aunt and uncle are in their seventies and they were really cool. His aunt gave me a T-shirt she got at Woodstock. Like the Woodstock. No lie, Megs, I looked it up when I got home, and I saw someone selling the same exact one on eBay for six thousand dollars.”

  She turns to me with her eyes wide. “Shut up!”

  “I’m serious.”

  “That’s so insane. How’d she even know you’d be all batshit over a vintage T-shirt?”

  “According to her, Jude talks about me all the time. That’s exactly what she said. That he talks about me nonstop.”

  “Girllll… What is happening?”

  “Wait, there’s more.”

  “Ladies, it’ll be spring by the time you complete one lap. Pick up the pace!” Mrs. Stephens yells at us.

  We roll our eyes in unison.

  Megan groans. “I can’t walk any faster, I think I sprained my vag Saturday night.” To demonstrate, she lifts her knees up abnormally high as she walks.

  “Oh my God, what?” I’m not sure if I should be horrified, amused, or jealous.

  She turns to me with a big Cheshire Cat smile on her face. “Erik decided to get his freak on. We had sex seven times.”

  “In one night?” Horrified. I’m horrified.

  “Yes. He’s slowly coming out of his shell and he does not disappoint.”

  “Okay that’s not a good visual. Now I’m seeing like a dick coming out of a turtle shell, and it’s not at all sexy.”

  “Don’t be thinking about my man’s dick, Skylar,” she jokes. “I will cut you like a cheese slicer.”

  “Trust me, I’ve banished the vision already.”

  My pelvis hurts just thinking about having sex seven times in one day. I wonder if they spread it out over a span of twenty-four hours, or if they somehow crammed that into two or three hours.

  I decide these are details I’d rather not know.

  “I’m still waiting to hear what else happened over the weekend,” she urges. “Your obsession with old clothes is great, but I hope there’s more.”

  My kiss with Jude will probably seem lacking to Megan compared to her and Erik’s sexolympics. But for me, the kiss was earth shattering. I was up all night replaying the kiss in my head, reveling in how his lips felt on mine—how soft and full they were. His body, however, was anything but soft. He was all hard muscle and ink under my hands as I massaged his back. And hugging him from behind felt amazing. I didn’t feel crushed or trapped—I felt safe. Then there’s that thing he does with his hands—the way he moves his fingers in between mine all slow and soft…

  But the look in his eyes before we said goodnight was it for me. The dark, intense longing, the way his sterling gaze slowly shifted to my lips. The way he licked his own lips before he walked away, leaving me standing there with a thundering heart and wobbly legs.

  As dreamy as all that was, it also terrified me. I shouldn’t be feeling that way about him, and what he said last night was true. We shouldn’t be kissing and touching. We’re friends. Roommates. Over a decade apart in age. Our arrangement doesn’t come with a side of Friends with Benefits.

  Crossing that line could get really, really complicated and messy, with my biggest fear being that he might divorce me before I’m able to get better and get my life on track.

  I can’t risk that.

  “Skylar, hello?” Megan prompts impatiently.

  I’m lost in my thoughts; not entirely sure I want to share my and Jude’s private moments with Megan. I want to hold them inside, keep them as my very own, safe, near my heart.

  “Nothing happened,” I say casually. “We started watching The Office. You were right, it’s really funny.”

  She stops walking and grabs on to my arm. “Seriously? That’s not what you w
ere going to tell me.”

  “Yes it—” We both jump as a shrill whistle pierces our ears.

  “Ladies! If you don’t move, you’re looking at an hour of detention, and you’ll be required to sprint this track the entire time!”

  Ugh.

  “Don’t lie to me, Skylar,” Megan says as we begin a brisk walk under Mrs. Stephens’ eagle eye. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing…”

  “I just told you my vajayjay is totally wrecked from having sex seven times. We’re supposed to share everything with each other. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

  Sighing, I say, “You’re right. I’m just confused. I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”

  “Talking about it will unconfuse you. I’m a great problem solver.”

  Trying to hold back a laugh-snort, I give in. She’ll bug me nonstop if she thinks I’m keeping her in the dark.

  Our walking picks up a bit as I spill everything to Megan. Everything Jude’s aunt told me, the back massage, the sexy embrace, the kiss. I dial back my excitement about all of it. I’d rather Megan think I’m more curious about the situation than her knowing the myriad of emotions I’m feeling.

  “Holy cannoli, Skylar. This is a whole situation playing out.”

  “Tell me about it. And like he can’t be telling me we're not going to be kissing anymore when he’s standing there with his smolder on.”

  “Agreed. Do you think he’s a player? Maybe he likes this whole cat-and-mouse game.”

  She asks the question I’ve been asking myself.

  “I’ve been thinking that,” I say slowly. “And to be honest, I really don’t think so. I haven’t seen any hints that he’s a player. I think he’s in the same boat as me—surprised that there’s…” I struggle to find the right word. “An attraction between us.”

  “Well, you’re both beautiful people.”

  “Stop it,” I say, looking down at my feet.

  “It’s true. He’s hot as hell. You’re adorable and beautiful. Ya’ll would make the cutest babies.”

  I laugh, thinking of Aunt Suzy shipping us for a baby, and a weird pain shoots through my jaw. I’ve felt it a few times over the past few weeks, and it’s not going away.

  “I’m not sure what to do or how to act,” I reply, rubbing my cheek. “I wasn’t expecting to be in this position.”

  “Do you feel safe?” she asks, her tone switching to serious. “Here you are, living in this older dude’s house, legally married to him. He practically owns you. Maybe you should leave.”

  And go where? I want to ask, but I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’d probably end up living in my car.

  “I don’t feel uncomfortable or unsafe around him. There’s nothing threatening or sketchy about him. And he doesn’t own me. I’ve never felt any creeper vibes. I really just feel like we both went into this as friends, with totally platonic intentions, and now there’s this unexpected connection between us. It’s more than just physical attraction. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Geez, Skylar. Don’t tell me you’re falling in love with him.” The tinge of pity in her voice irks me. I’m not a little lovesick girl swooning over someone who’s impossibly out of reach.

  Am I?

  “I’m not,” I say quickly.

  “Do you want something to happen with him? Like a friends with bennies situation? I mean, why not?” She shrugs. “You’re both consenting adults. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “I don’t know… I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to that if we were both on the same page.” An add-on like that to our situation wouldn’t exactly be horrible, but I’m still worried if things went wrong, he could boot me right out.

  “If I were you, I’d stop analyzing. Just go with it. If he flirts with you, flirt back. Don’t tease him, but test the waters. Think of it as a learning experience. He doesn’t look like he’d be shy in the bedroom if you get my drift. It’s your senior year; you should be having fun. Once we graduate, we have to start adulting.”

  “You’re right.”

  “See?” she says, putting her arm around my shoulders. “I’m a fixer.”

  Chapter 26

  Skylar

  “After you posted the photos of those new cute, inspirational mugs, we got fifty new followers—just over the weekend,” Rebecca says happily. “Great job.”

  “I saw,” I say with a proud smile. “I kept checking stats. People love them.”

  “They do. Two customers came in today and bought a few for themselves and for gifts.” She leans against the counter. “I’ve been thinking about something, and I think I’m ready to take the plunge.”

  “Oh?” My curiosity is piqued.

  “Since you started posting the photos, I’ve been getting a lot of requests from non-locals for online ordering. It’ll be a big change; I’ll have to pack and ship the items out, but I think it’ll open up a whole new avenue of sales.”

  “Wow. That’s a great idea.” I scan the displays. “You wouldn’t even have to make all the products available online. Some might be hard to mail.”

  Her brows knit together. “True. I think we’d have to exclude some items. Like that.” She points to a beautiful stained-glass lamp. “That would be a nightmare to mail.”

  “I think if you stay away from anything too big and fragile, you’ll be okay. I’ll help you as much as I can.”

  “You’re a gem. I’ll be doing more research this week, and I’m meeting with a new web designer on Wednesday. I made the appointment in the afternoon so you can sit in.”

  My first business meeting! I try to mask my excitement by straightening the business cards in their little holder next to the register.

  “I’ll be there,” I reply.

  She fixates on me for a moment, and I wonder if I said something wrong or didn’t act interested enough.

  “Is your cheek swollen?” she asks.

  My hand comes up to touch the right side of my face. “Is it?” Worry instantly floods through my veins in a hot rush, obliterating the happiness I felt over the web-design meeting.

  Squinting at me, she nods. “I think it is a little. Does it hurt?”

  “Yeah, it started a few weeks ago, but today, it’s much worse.” I lightly touch the top of my jaw. “Right here.”

  “It could be your wisdom teeth. I was your age when mine came in.”

  My anxiety accelerates to a level eight.

  “Oh no, I didn’t think of that. What should I do?”

  “You can take Tylenol, but you should probably go to the dentist.”

  Forcing a grateful smile, I say, “Okay. I’ll try to find one.”

  “You don’t have a regular dentist?”

  My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “No, I haven’t been since I was little.”

  “I see.” She smiles sympathetically. “Actually, a good friend of mine is a dentist. I’ve been seeing her for years.” Rebecca grabs a pen and writes a name and phone number on the back of one of her business cards. “Dr. Katz. Give her office a call now, tell the receptionist you work for me—she knows me. Maybe they can squeeze you in this afternoon.”

  “Today?” I repeat with surprise. “I was going to take new photos today.”

  “That can wait. You should have it looked at if you’re in pain.”

  I call the dentist as soon as she goes back to her small office, and I’m surprised when the receptionist offers me a five o’clock appointment today.

  Today… I have next to no time to mentally prepare myself.

  After the call, I take a quick break in the restroom. Splashing cold water onto my face, I breathe in and out slowly, like the therapist taught me. When I go to the dentist, they’ll put their fingers in my mouth. They’ll put things in my mouth—like cotton and sharp tools.

  Things that might taste weird.

  Things I could swallow and choke on.

  I stare at my cheeks in the mirror, examining my jawline. Stretching my mouth open as wide
as I can, I lift my lip up. Nothing looks abnormal to me, but it’s sore.

  Calm down, I tell myself, but it does nothing to stop the churning of my stomach and the racing of my heart.

  In my purse, my anti-anxiety pills are waiting in a tiny metal pillbox that has a hummingbird printed on the lid. The rationale was that taking meds would seem less scary if they weren’t in a prescription bottle with warnings in itty-bitty text printed on the label next to my name.

  I take one antidepressant and one anti-anxiety pill daily (among other pills). The doctor said I can take an extra dose of the anxiety medication when I’m feeling extra panicky and overwhelmed with all the thoughts in my head.

  Now seems like one of those times, but if I take it, it’ll make me drowsy. Within an hour, the brain fog will dull me down so much that I’ll appear like a zombie to our customers, and to Rebecca.

  And to Jude.

  But if I don’t take it, I’ll spend the rest of the day hyper-focused on the pain in my jaw. The jittery feeling that springs from my anxiety will distract me to the point of making idiotic mistakes. My shaky hands will get me side-eyes from the customers. If I wait until I get home to take the pill, I’ll crawl into bed before nine p.m. and wake up feeling groggy.

  I want my mother. Maybe not my mother, but a real mom. I want someone to tell me what I should do. I want someone to tell me I’m going to be okay.

  Even though my feet clomping down the basement stairs make quite a bit of noise, it isn’t loud enough to be heard over the rock music blasting from the Bluetooth speakers mounted on the wall.

  “Jude,” I call out and stop short about six feet away from his gym area.

  I debate turning around and going back upstairs before he sees me. I shouldn’t be down here when he’s working out. It feels like I’m invading his privacy—seeing him shirtless, on his back on the bench. Hearing his primal grunts as he presses the weighted bar up, then down, then up again. Sweat glistens over his body, beading up on his chiseled chest and abs, brightening the ink of his tattoos.