His Every Desire (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Alexis Winter

  “What?’ he asks, but he still follows me.

  I pull up YouTube and type in “Mandela Effect”. Millions of videos pop up.

  He laughs. “You’re not turning me,” he says, voice void of emotion.

  “We’ll see about that,” I argue, playing him the first video.

  After hours of watching video after video, about Oscar Mayer, the Monopoly Man, and The Berenstain Bears, I find myself looking at a believer.

  “No! No way! It’s always been The Berenstain Bears, and everyone knows it!” Trent yells at the computer.

  I can’t hold in my laugh.

  His eyes flash to me. “Why are you laughing? This is serious. I’m living in a different reality. We have to do something about this. Make it public knowledge or something!” He stands up and starts pacing back and forth. He walks by a drink cart in my living room, and he grabs a bottle of vodka, opening it and taking a long drink. His face wrinkles. “Gah, vodka tastes better in Vegas.”

  I laugh again. “One, the only time you had vodka in Vegas was after you were already hammered. And two, that bottle is probably three years old.”

  He looks down into the neck of the bottle with one eye shut. “There’s no mold or anything. I’m sure it’s good.” His pacing continues.

  “Why are you pacing?” I ask.

  “How are you not pacing? You’ve known about this!”

  I’m now laughing so hard my stomach hurts. “What can we do? It’s all over the internet and YouTube. It’s not like anything about this is hidden by the FBI or CIA. It’s all open. And nobody has figured out how to jump realities yet. So…”

  He collapses in the empty chair beside me, and he looks exhausted as he pushes his hair back, away from his face.

  “What else don’t I know about?” he asks, eyes wide.

  “Did you hear about CERN and their Hadron Collider?”

  “Are you speaking English?” His brow furrows.

  I roll my eyes. “You seriously need to up your YouTube game, man. A portal to hell could be opened, letting in millions upon millions of demons, and you wouldn’t even know. You’d go about your day eating your bland ass cereal and walking around your apartment in your Sperry’s. What do you watch on YouTube anyway?”

  “Porn mostly,” he laughs out.

  I shake my head and go to turn off the computer.

  “No. What are you doing? Don’t shut it off. I need to learn about this Collider and what the hell it is.”

  I laugh. “Well, knock yourself out. I’m going for a shower.” I push away from my desk and head for the hallway. But before I can step through, I turn back and look at him, eagerly clicking around on the computer. I have a feeling he’s going to be questioning everything from now on.

  Stepping beneath the hot flow of water in my own shower is beyond relaxing. I haven’t had any alone time since I left, and that’s saying a lot for someone who spends all their time alone like I do. I need time to think over everything that happened: hooking up with Trent, again and again. How I’m feeling about that. Plus, the marriage? Marriage? Fuck, I’m so stupid. How could I let something like this happen? Why in the hell did we get married? Even drunk, it doesn’t make sense. I wash off and shave, then step out, saving some hot water for Trent in case he wants a shower. Wait, is he staying here?

  I pull on some very unsexy pajamas. They’re matching pants and long sleeve shirt set that has dancing teacups on them. I then walk back out to find him neck-deep in the joys of YouTube.

  “So, are you staying here?” I blurt out.

  He shrugs. “Have you seen this?” He points to the computer screen. I mean, who knows what in the hell ramming these partials together will do. Like you said, it could open a portal to Hell!”

  I shake my head. “Pay attention!”

  “Oh, I am now! I’d like to see them get this kind of shit by me again.”

  I let out a sigh as I bend over and unplug the computer.

  “Hey!” he yells, mouth hanging open and brows pulled together in anger. He looks like a kid who’s just had his PlayStation unplugged.

  “Hey yourself. We need to talk!”

  He groans, actually groans. “Fine.” He stands up and walks back to the couch, leaving me standing and staring after him. He flops down, looks at me with a hello! look, then motions for me to sit beside him.

  I want to laugh at the whole situation, but honestly, it’s becoming a tad annoying. I walk over and sit at his side.

  “What do we need to talk about?”

  “Are you mad at me for unplugging the computer or at CERN?”

  “They’re going to end up blowing up the entire planet,” his rant begins.

  I sit back, eyes locked on his, so he thinks I’m paying attention, but let my mind zone out as his rant continues. At some point, I find him pacing in front of me, still talking about what could happen if CERN does manage to blow up the planet. I don’t say anything except uh-huh, I know, and you’re right the entire time. When I look at the clock, I see that he’s been talking about this for an hour.

  Then he turns to face me. A light bulb pops up above his head, and I can almost see the idea forming in his mind. I’m scared at what’s about to come out of his mouth. Only God knows what it could be at this point. “What if CERN is the reason for The Mandela Effects?”

  Oh, fuck my life. My head lulls back.

  “Think about it,” he says, coming to sit back at my side. “They rammed these particles together and opened a portal to another universe, a universe like ours, but not completely. Surely things can slip through. What if we willingly jumped into this universe, thinking it would be better, but we forgot all about our last universe when we entered?”

  I can’t listen to this shit anymore. Instead of trying to interrupt him, I just jump on him, pressing my mouth to his. At first, he’s surprised, and his lips don’t move, his hands held out at the side, but then, he gives in. I can feel him crumble as his hands find my hips, and his tongue slides into my mouth. Now that I have his attention, I break the kiss.

  “What was that for?” he asks, a stupid smile on his face.

  “I had to get you to shut up somehow. It’s the only thing I knew would work.” I smile as I slide off his lap and back into my seat.

  “Dirty trick,” he says, sulking as he crosses his arms over his chest.

  “You smell like the airplane. Why don’t you go shower and I’ll make us both some hot tea? When you get out, we’ll talk with clear heads. Okay? No Mandela talk. No CERN. Just us.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he mumbles, standing and grabbing his bag off the floor as he walks down the hall.

  My head falls forward as it shakes. Who knew showing him that stuff would break him? I mean, I don’t take any of it seriously. I just think it’s interesting. Now, I’ve created a conspiracy theorist that’s out of control. Sometimes, I should stop while I’m ahead. And I really should change my cat’s name so that I don’t have to go through this every time I tell someone her name.

  I wonder if I changed it, would she come when I call her? But, I guess she doesn’t really come when I call her now. I then decide to test the theory. “Mandela?” I call.

  Nothing.

  “Della,” I try again, something I call her for short.

  Still nothing.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” I say. Still nothing.

  I get up. What in the hell is that crazy cat doing? I walk into the spare bedroom and turn on the light to find Della rolling around on the bed with her tiny ball that holds the catnip. When she sees me, she swats at the ball, so it rolls under the edge of the pillows.

  “Uh-huh. You’re not being sneaky, you know.” I point at her. “I know where your secret stash is.” I flip off the light and head for the kitchen to make some more tea.

  I laugh at myself over how animated that cat is. She’s got a mind of her own, that’s for sure. I remember the day I brought home that catnip and those little balls. The first one I rolled at her,
she attacked and carried off down the hall. At first, I thought she didn’t like it. So, I tried it again a day or so later. The same thing happened. Then I made the mistake of throwing the leftover catnip in the trash. Later that day, I found her lying on the floor, covered in catnip as she rolled in it. The little asshole actually got into the trash and dragged it out. I guess there’s nobody else to blame for her junkie ways but myself.

  I make two cups of tea and set them on the coffee table in the living room. I sit down, and Trent comes walking out of the bathroom. “That’s the worst shower head I’ve ever seen,” he complains.

  “What?” I ask in a gasp.

  “The water barely trickles out. I’m going to fix it tomorrow.” He collapses at my side, wearing nothing but a low-lying pair of basketball shorts. My eyes nearly bulge out of my head, but I quickly advert them, choosing to pick up my tea instead of checking him out.

  He picks up his cup, sniffs it, and then takes a sip. “Ew, what is this?”

  “It’s tea.”

  “It’s no tea I’ve ever tried before.” He leans forward and sits it back on the table.

  “It’s Earl Grey,” I tell him, getting annoyed once again.

  “Well, Earl Grey can keep his nasty tea!” He turns to face me with a grin. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

  “God, you drive me crazy! How did we ever get along before? Or is this something weird that happens after you get married?”

  He laughs. “Well, to be fair, we never did a whole lot of talking before. Just a whole lot of—”

  “I got it,” I say, stopping him before he can finish. “Maybe we should just go to bed. You can have the spare room, but you’ll have to share it with the cat.” I don’t dare say her name in fear that it will only remind him of his previous rant.

  “Hey, we’re married now. I’m sleeping with you, sweetheart,” he says, looking over at me with a smirk.

  “Oh, no, you’re not. We, this,” I motion between the two of us, “It’s not going to work for me. This marriage has to end ASAP.”

  I try to stand, but he catches my hand and pulls me back down. “Okay, look. I know we can’t stay like this forever, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugs. “I mean, let’s pretend to be married.” His head goes from side to side. “I mean, I know we’re already married, but let’s pretend that we want to be. Try it out. Have fun with it and see how it goes. It might surprise you.”

  “I’m confused. How is that supposed to be fun?”

  He scoffs. “You know how many women would die to be in your position? I’m a catch!”

  I laugh so hard, I snort. “If you’re such a catch, why aren’t you taken already?”

  “Psh, I can’t be caught. I’m too fast.”

  “Then how come we’re married right now?” I ask, my voice getting louder.

  “You slowed me down with lots of alcohol and your nice chest.” He grins and winks at me.

  I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

  “Come on. Seriously. What do you want in a husband?”

  I snap my mouth closed as I think it over. “Well, he has to be hot, that’s for sure.”

  “Hello?” he says, motioning toward his body.

  I ignore him and carry on. “He has to be romantic. You know, plan date nights, surprise me with a home-cooked meal, that sort of thing. He has to be sweet, kind, funny, and understanding. Someone that doesn’t like to fight and argue and is just easy going. I don’t like stress, so I try to avoid as much of it as possible. Also, he needs to be a homebody. I don’t do the whole club thing, so I need someone who is cool hanging out at home just watching tv and eating snacks, getting drunk.” I laugh.

  He leans forward and picks up the bottle of vodka. He takes a swig and holds it out for me to take.

  I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know. The last time I got drunk with you, it wasn’t a good idea.”

  He laughs. “We’re already married, what could we possibly do? Go out and get divorced?”

  I laugh and push him to the side. “Shut up and give me the damn vodka.” I take a long swig, remembering the burn.

  “That’s my girl,” he says, cheering me on.

  When I pull the bottle away, I suck in a big gulp of air, needing it to cool the burn in my throat and chest. I pass the bottle back as I cough. “God, that’s rough.”

  He snickers but takes the bottle and moves it to his lips for a drink.

  I lean back and pull my feet up onto the couch, hugging my knees to my chest. “So, what do you want in a wife?” I ask since we seem to be playing this game.

  He’s quiet as he thinks it over. “I want someone who is independent. I’m gone a lot for work, so I need someone who can carry on with their own life and isn’t so reliant on me being there. I want someone who doesn’t let petty arguments get between us. People argue, but that’s all it is. Agree to disagree and move on. She needs to be cool and sexy; someone I can bring around with my friends and who can kick back and hang out with the guys while remaining sexy and full of mystery to them.”

  I snort. “You want your friends to envy you for your wife?”

  He nods. “Hell yeah! Think about it, guys either love the girl their buddies are with, or they hate them. If they love them, they’re envious because girls that can hang out with the guys while still remaining sexy and feminine are rare.”

  I let out a long laugh. “What about Tessa, remember that girl from college?” Tessa was our age, hung out with mostly guys, and always looked good.

  He waves his hand through the air, dismissing me. “Tessa was… well, for lack of a better word, she was a whore,” he blurts out. “She only hung out with guys so she could sleep with them, and she wasn’t good at hanging out with guys. She didn’t know anything about football, fishing, or UFC.”

  I shake my head. “So, I have to learn about football, fishing, and UFC?”

  He nods. “If you want to be my wife, you do,” he teases, taking another drink and passing the bottle.

  A laugh bubbles out as I grab the bottle and take another drink. Shaking my head, I pass it back. “You know that’s never going to happen, right?”

  His head turns as he gives me a shocked expression. “You already know about football. How many games have we gone to and watched on TV?”

  “I know football. And I’ve watched enough UFC fights to at least sound like I know what I’m talking about. But fishing? No way am I touching a nasty worm or a fish for that matter. And I’ve never gone.”

  “I’ll take you fishing. I’ll even bait your hook and remove the fish…if you catch one.”

  “Awe, my hero,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  He snickers. “You’re always such a smart ass.” He swats at my knee, causing it to bump into my other leg, my knees clanking together with a deep thump.

  “Ouch,” I cry, smacking his chest with the back of my hand. Little did I know, I missed and accidentally hit the bottle as he’s taking a drink.

  “Oh, fuck,” he says as a little vodka spills. His hand comes up and covers his mouth.

  I laugh. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  His eyes are wide with alarm, and he still hasn’t let his hand fall.

  “Are you bleeding?” I ask, thinking maybe the bottle busted his lip or something when I not-so-gently smacked the bottom.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, his hand still covering his mouth.

  “Well, move your hand. Let me see.” I place my hand over his and try to pull it away, but he won’t let go.

  “No. Stop it.” He slides over on the couch, now laying on his shoulder.

  “Trent, stop being a baby and just let me see,” I say, scooting down so there’s nowhere for him to go. I place my hand on his wrist and start to pull his hand away, but he sets the bottle on the floor and uses his free hand to try and push me away.

  “What’s
wrong? Just show me already.”

  He lets out a long drawn out breath, then lets his hand fall.

  His mouth looks completely fine. “What’s the big deal?” I ask, looking at his perfectly plump lips.

  He smiles wide, and that’s when I see it. The bottle must have hit against his front tooth. It’s broken in half at a diagonal angle.

  I gasp when I see his tooth, and I feel my eyes widen. My hands come up to cover my mouth, trying to hold in my laugh and cover my smile. I quickly stand, trying to walk away.

  “What? Is it bad?”

  I’m pacing the floor, trying to keep myself from laughing because I know that will only make matters worse. “No. No, it’s not bad,” I lie.

  He quickly gets up and rushes to the mirror hanging above the fireplace. He opens his mouth, and his eyes double in size.

  This time, I can’t hold back my laugh any longer. I fall to my knees in laughter, rolling on the floor.

  “You think this is funny?” he asks, not moving away from the mirror.

  I’m laughing so hard I can’t talk, but I nod my head.

  He walks over to me, hovering over me as he bends over to look at me. “This is NOT funny, Mia. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  More laughter. More tears. More gasping for air. No talking on my part. I can’t.

  He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you did this to me. Look at me!” Instead of waiting around for me to open my eyes and look at him, he moves back to the mirror to inspect his tooth himself.

  After a good five minutes, I’m able to pull myself together and stand. I take a deep, calming breath as I walk up to him. His eyes find mine in the mirror. “It’s okay,” I say slowly, trying to control my emotions. I’m tired, a little drunk, confused, and stressed due to this unlawful marriage. “We’ll call an emergency dentist. We’ll get it fixed,” I promise. I sit on the edge of the couch and pull out my phone, googling emergency dentists near me.

  “Here, look, here’s one,” I say, hitting the button and calling the number.

  8

  Trent