Practice Husband

by Noelle Adams

  When I’ve finally talked myself out, I look over at Hunter in bed, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go on so long about it.”

  “What are you sorry for? I liked it.”

  “You did?”

  “Oh yeah. There’s no one as smart as you.”

  Chuckling softly, I say, “I think that might be a slight exaggeration.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re the smartest person I know. And I love that you get so excited about books and ideas. I love to see you excited like that.”

  I’m not sure if I should be pleased or embarrassed, so I don’t end up saying anything.

  Then he adds, “When you get your tattoo, maybe it should be a hobbit hole.”

  I give him a playful swat. “I’m not going to get a hobbit hole tattoo!”

  “A ring?”

  “Or a ring! I’m not getting a tattoo at all.”

  He’s laughing warmly, huskily, and he reaches over to brush a strand of hair back from my face. “I know. I know. A tattoo is forever, and I’m just your practice husband for a year.”

  He’s obviously teasing, but his words trigger a little worry I have to answer. “It’s not about you. It’s about putting something on my body I might not like twenty years from now.”

  “Why wouldn’t you like it?”

  “I don’t know. Who knows who I’ll even be twenty years from now.”

  “You’ll still be you.” He’s reached over again to brush that strand of hair away, although I didn’t feel it on my face this time. “And I bet you’ll still love talking about books.”

  “Probably,” I admit.

  “Why don’t you become a teacher?” His expression is still soft but more serious now.

  “I’m not really good with kids.”

  “I don’t mean teaching kids. I mean teaching college. A professor. I’ve never had anyone explain literature to me the way you did right now. You didn’t just make me understand it. You made me care about it. You’re really good at it. And you love to do it, don’t you?”

  I take a little breath. “Yeah.”

  “So why not be a professor?”

  “I’d have to get a PhD first.”

  “So? You got three master’s degrees. You can do a PhD.”

  “I don’t know. A PhD is different. It’s harder. It’s not...”

  “Not what?” He knows me so well. He might as well be reading my mind. “Not a sure bet?”

  “Yeah. What if...” I lift my eyes to meet his. “What if can’t do it?”

  “Then you fail. At least you tried. You’ll pick yourself up and start again. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. And I’d be there to help you.”

  My heart has started to do something very fluttery in my chest. Very dangerous. “It takes years to do a PhD.”

  I don’t say it, but I’m thinking it.

  This marriage is only a year.

  One year, and then it will be over.

  He reaches over to cup my face with one hand. “We’ve been friends since I was sixteen. You really think I won’t be there for you a few years from now?”

  “Will you?”

  “Of course I will. I took a detour for a while. A bad one. But I’m not going to do that again. I’m right here, and I’m going to stay here.”

  Not in my bed. Not as my husband.

  But at least as my friend.

  The knowledge touches something deep in my soul.

  “Thank you,” I mumble, leaning into his hand.

  He finally drops it. “So you’ll think about it?”

  “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

  “Think how nice it will be to be able to support yourself and not have to live off Pop.”

  “That’s true. Although I don’t really mind living off Pop that much.”

  “He’s your family, so maybe it shouldn’t matter. But he holds the money over your head. You and your sisters. And he uses it to get you to do things you might not otherwise have done. Like marry me.”

  I turn on my side so I’m facing him. “But I’m glad I married you.”

  “I’m glad too. But that doesn’t make what Pop does to you right.”

  For a long time, we just look at each other, the room lit only by the screensaver on the television.

  “You’re right,” I say at last. “I know you’re right. I don’t want to hurt him by cutting him out of my life, but I also shouldn’t let him hurt me.”

  “So just think about it.” Hunter leans over to kiss me gently. “You’d be an amazing professor.”

  Maybe I would.

  Maybe... maybe I would.

  I’m feeling a swell of affection for Hunter right now, one that I absolutely have to act on. So I crawl over so I’m sprawled on top of him, and I kiss him for real.

  He seems to appreciate the transition, and his hands start to slide up and down my body over my gown. I went shopping with Chelsea a couple of weeks ago and found some better stuff to sleep in, including the little knit gown I’m wearing with thin straps and a soft flattering cut.

  When I break the kiss, he pulls the gown off over my head and stares up at my naked body for a long time.

  That look in his eyes is intoxicating. It’s not just lust. It’s need and awe and ownership. And it doesn’t go away as I start to kiss my way down his chest, lingering on the artistic ink of his tattoo.

  He’s wearing just his underwear to bed as usual, and I can see and feel he’s growing aroused as I kiss my way down his body. His belly tightens, shudders slightly as I trail kisses down toward his waistband.

  His hands are tangled loosely in my hair.

  I raise myself up so I can carefully pull his boxer briefs over his erection and down his legs. Then I lower my face toward his groin and slant a look up at his face.

  His head is lifted so he can see, and he meets my eyes across his body.

  His eyes...

  “Angel,” he breathes just before I lift his erection with my hand and take him in my mouth.

  He groans low in his throat as I apply suction.

  I’ve done this before, and I don’t think I’m terrible at it, but I haven’t yet done it with Hunter. I’m giving his shaft a few hard sucks, thinking through my fairly small repertoire of strategies, trying to decide what I can do to please him best, when his body starts to shake.

  He gasps and arches his hips up off the bed as he comes without warning into my mouth.

  It surprises me. He usually lasts a lot longer than that. I try to suck him through the spasms as he rides them out with soft grunts, but then his semen hits the back of my throat and makes me cough.

  So the end of the blow job isn’t terribly sexy.

  He’s panting loudly, his body softening, as I clear my throat and sit up again.

  “Fuck, angel,” he says, his eyes scanning my face urgent. “Fuck it all. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just got a little choked.”

  He pulls me down on top of him, pressing kisses into my hair. “Thank you for that. I’m sorry I lost it. Like a teenager getting his first blow job.”

  “I don’t mind.” I move my head so I can nuzzle his neck. “I kind of like that you lost it.”

  “I never imagined I’d ever feel your little mouth around me like that,” he murmurs. “I guess it just went to my head.”

  “So to speak.”

  He snorts and wraps his arms around me tightly. “So to speak.”

  He holds me for a few minutes until his body is fully relaxed beneath mine. “What can I do for you now, angel?”

  I lift my head. “Nothing. I’m really pretty content the way I am.”

  “You don’t want to come too?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m happy as I am for now.”

  He pulls me down into a long, slow kiss. “I’ll make up for my poor performance tomorrow then.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “I know. I know. But I’m going to make sure you come tomorrow just the same.
”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  He holds me for longer than usual, and I really enjoy it.

  If I’m telling the truth, I enjoy it just as much as I would have enjoyed an orgasm.

  And I’m satisfied—physically and emotionally—when he rolls over and we go to sleep.

  EVERY THURSDAY EVENING, I have a night class. Two and a half hours of lecture on Plato and Aristotle.

  The fourth Thursday after we got married, I sit in class and try to pay attention, but my mind keeps drifting toward Hunter.

  It’s really starting to get on my nerves—the way he’s distracting me from my schoolwork, from what I need to do.

  The class feels endless, but it finally ends, and I leave the building talking to a couple of friends who started the degree program at the same time I did.

  It’s after nine thirty in the evening, and it’s dark out, but the campus is well lit and always has a lot of people hanging around at this time in the evening. We’re approaching the lot where I parked when I notice someone is leaning against my car.

  Hunter is leaning against my car. Big and bearded and dressed in black. He looks more dangerous than usual.

  “Who is that?” one of my friends asks in a whisper.

  “That’s...” I pause, but there’s no reason not to say it. “That’s my husband.”

  “You’re kidding! How did you get so lucky?”

  I don’t answer this since, if I did, I’d have to explain that the way to get so lucky is to offer a guy a place to live and a job.

  I tell my friends goodbye and then walk over to Hunter. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  I make a face at him. “You’re being particularly annoying tonight. Do you have a reason for being here, or did you just want to get a head start on being obnoxious?”

  He chuckles and reaches out for my bag, opening the car door and dumping the bag inside “I have plans for you tonight. That’s what I want to get a head start on.”

  My heart jumps excitedly at the sound of his voice. “What plans?”

  “Good plans. I feel like I’ve been falling down on my job.”

  “What? How could you possibly think that? We have sex almost every—”

  “Not sex. That’s not a job. I mean my real job. Helping you live a more exciting life.”

  “Well, my life has been pretty exciting ever since we started having sex. I’m not complaining.”

  “I know you’re not complaining. You’re getting complacent.”

  “I am not—”

  “Complacent.”

  I’m frowning at him now. “What prompted this?”

  “It’s been more than three weeks since we rode the motorcycle. And that’s all we’ve done.”

  “We had sex!”

  “Other than that.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I’m not getting a tattoo, so you can get that out of your mind, but we can do something else if you want to. What did you have in mind?”

  “We’re going to a club.”

  “What?” My voice squeaks because this is the last thing in the world I want to hear.

  “You heard me.”

  “What kind of club?”

  “We’re going to dance.”

  “I’m not a dancer. I told you before. I can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t! I’m not lying to you. I look like an idiot when I try.” My heart is racing. With fear, not excitement. Because I’m suddenly terrified that Hunter is going to be stubborn on this.

  He’s going to make me dance.

  And it’s terrifying. Terrifying.

  “You feel like an idiot, but you don’t look like one. We’re going to do it. I’m going to help you.”

  “But I don’t even want—”

  “Yes, you do. You told me you wish you could be free like that. You told me, and you were telling me the truth. You can’t take it back now. We’re going to do it.”

  “But—”

  He takes my face in his hands for just a moment. “I’ll be there with you, Sam. I’m in this with you.”

  My lips part, and my objection dies on my lips.

  I was looking forward to going home and maybe having sex with Hunter.

  But it looks like we’re going dancing instead.

  CHARLESTON DOESN’T have much of a club scene.

  At least, I never thought it had. Sure, there are plenty of bars, and if you prefer dancing to country music, you have your choice of establishments.

  But the kind of clubs I see in movies, with pulsing lights and loud music and fancy drinks and a wild sort of ambience... I never thought we had those. I’ve certainly never set foot in one.

  Hunter knows where he’s going, however, as he drives through downtown and parks on the street. When we get out of the car, he takes my hand and walks me half a block, where he opens an exterior door, greets a big guy who must be some sort of bouncer, and then gestures me up a dim stairwell.

  It doesn’t look very nice, and I’m already nervous. I’m not sure I would have gone up the stairs had Hunter not put a hand on my back and pushed me gently.

  “No stalling,” he says gruffly.

  I can already hear the music, the pounding of the bass line.

  “I can’t dance, Hunter,” I say.

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Like you couldn’t ride a motorcycle.”

  I’ve reached the top of the stairs and I turn to face him. “That was different.”

  “Why was it different?”

  “Because you rode the motorcycle. I just hung on.”

  A little smile dawns on his lips. He leans forward and murmurs into my ear, “So I’ll do the dancing. You just hang on.”

  I take a deep breath and nod.

  This isn’t coming out of the blue. Hunter isn’t forcing it on me.

  I’d told him the truth last week when I said wistfully that I always wondered why I couldn’t be one of those free, uninhibited people. I vividly remember in high school and college watching my friends dance while I sat on the sidelines, uncomfortable, wishing I could do what they were doing, knowing I never could.

  Something inside me did want this.

  But I never believed Hunter would force me to act on it.

  Trying to be casual, I stretch up so I can ask him, “Do you come here a lot?” I have to talk right into his ear because the music is too loud for regular conversation.

  We’ve entered one big room which is full of people. About half of them are dancing, and the other half are scattered around, talking and flirting and sipping drinks.

  I had no idea a place like this existed in Charleston.

  “Almost never,” he said.

  “How did you know about it then?”

  He shrugs. “Just around.” He reaches for my hand again. “You ready?”

  “Can we have a drink first?”

  “One. Then no more stalling.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoyingly bossy?”

  He flashes me a smile. “Only you.”

  We go to the bar and Hunter orders himself a whiskey and me an Amaretto sour. Then he guides me through the crowd until we reach a corner that doesn’t feel quite as claustrophobic. I try to relax, telling myself that I don’t know anyone in this room.

  I’ll probably look like an idiot trying to dance, but no one is likely to notice me.

  It’s going to be fine.

  Fine.

  Fine.

  “Stop stressing,” Hunter says, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me to his side. He smells like whiskey and heat and man. The scent does something strange to my insides.

  “Stop bossing.”

  “This is why you married me.”

  “I didn’t marry you to boss me around.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  I shoot
him a quick glare and see that he’s grinning down at me. I try to hold on to my righteous indignation, but I end up smiling back at him instead.

  “If you’re going to finish your drink, do it now,” he says.

  I take a big swallow, and it warms pleasantly as it goes down. I take another sip, fully determined to finish my drink.

  I’m going to need to dull the edge a bit if I’m going to try to dance.

  “Oh God,” I groan.

  “Okay. That’s it. If you wait any longer, you’ll think yourself out of it.”

  I take my last swallow of drink before I let him drag me away. “There’s nothing wrong with thinking a lot.”

  “I know that. I like that you think. But you get to the point where you think so much that it gets in the way of what you want to do. So turn the thinking off for the next half hour.” He’s got me by the hand, and he’s not letting go. He’s walking toward the dance floor, and I have to go with him.

  “Half hour! I can’t dance for a half hour. I was thinking about five minutes.”

  “Well, make it for five minutes, and then we’ll see.”

  I’m awkward and nervous as he pushes our way through the crowd of bodies. Everyone is flailing around, rocking their hips, swinging their heads. But they all look natural, like they belong there.

  I’m all clunky limbs. I stand where Hunter puts me and look up at him.

  “I feel like an idiot,” I say.

  “Who cares?”

  “I care. I don’t like feeling like an idiot.”

  “It’s good for you.”

  “How can it possibly be good for me?”

  He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer. He tilts his head down as he says, “Because you’re so smart and so good at everything. If you didn’t feel like an idiot occasionally, then you couldn’t commune with us mere mortals.”

  My lips part as I stare at him. He’s teasing, but he also seems to mean it.

  “Okay,” he says. “Move your hips.”

  I look around, watching what other people are doing. “I can’t move my body like that.”

  “Yes, you can. I know you can. I’ve had sex with you, remember.”

  “This isn’t sex.”

  “Yes, it is. You’re with me. Just keep remembering that.” Before I know what he’s going to do, he leans down to kiss me.

  It’s not a normal in-public kiss. It’s deep and passionate and intimate. My body responds to it almost immediately, and one of my arms goes around his neck without thinking.