by Darcy Burke
He looked over at where she sat on the couch, her eyes glued to the horrendous TV show that he never would’ve guessed in a million years she’d watch, let alone like. She was completely gaslighting him or at least trying to dupe him—all so he would give her a divorce, he’d bet.
He narrowed his eyes. Two could play at that game.
Sliding a piece of pizza onto her plate, he made sure to add extra artichoke hearts. He took it to her with a broad smile. “Here you go.”
She glanced down at the slice, and he sensed her hesitation. “Aren’t you going to eat it? You ordered all your favorite toppings, right?”
Without a word, she took a huge bite. Amid the chewing, she said, “Delicious. By the way, I thought I’d take the bed tonight, and you could have the couch. I think we should take things slow.”
He nearly laughed at her attempt to gross him out by talking with her mouth full of half-chewed pizza. Instead, he pasted a placid smile on his face. “Can I get you another piece?”
“Please.” She grinned back at him, showing more food between her teeth, and then went back to watching the television.
He brought her another piece of pizza and then picked off half the toppings from his piece before choking it down. God, he hated sardines, and he’d missed one.
After grabbing another beer from the fridge, he sat next to her on the couch. An episode of the ghastly show was just finishing up. “Any chance I can persuade you to change the channel?” he asked.
“None.” She turned to look at him, her expression pained—almost in an exaggerated way—and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being a TV hog. What do you want to watch?”
“Anything else.”
“Okay, sure.” She picked up the remote and surfed for a minute until landing on Storage Wars.
“Stop!” He couldn’t think of a show he wanted to watch less. Actually he could, given what he’d already been forced to endure tonight, but he was eager to see if she could take what she dished out. “I love this show.” He caught the look of surprise she flashed him.
“Have at it then,” she said, yawning. “I’m heading to bed.” She handed him the remote.
“Really? I was hoping you’d watch it with me. We’re supposed to be reconnecting, aren’t we?”
She belched. Loudly. “Oops.” She stood and stretched, yawning again. “I think I’d better turn in. See you in the morning.”
She traipsed into the bedroom and shut the door. He had his answer: She could dish it out, but she didn’t want to take it. He turned the TV off and stood up to get ready for bed.
Would she continue her campaign tomorrow? He hoped not but figured she probably would. And in that case, what was the point of all this? She wanted her divorce, and he needed the show. He’d offered a mutually satisfying solution, which she’d disdained.
It was going to come down to who had more stamina—and who wanted his or her objective more. Sean would play her game, and he meant to win.
WHEN THE ALARM on her phone sounded at 4:55 a.m., Tori reconsidered Operation Divorce Me. Without opening her eyes, she rolled over and turned the alarm off. She didn’t have to get up this early. No, but her plan would go so much faster if she did.
What had she been thinking when she’d come up with this crazy idea to drive him to divorce her? He’d shocked her by offering the divorce yesterday, but she hadn’t liked his terms. She wanted the divorce—more importantly, she wanted him and the memories of Alex he dredged up out of her life. And doing the show wouldn’t accomplish that.
While talking with him outside yesterday, she’d said there were lots of things they probably wouldn’t like about each other. The idea to show him exactly what those things were—even if she had to manufacture them—had overtaken her. If she could show him that she’d be an awful wife, that he’d be miserable with her, he’d be more than happy to give her the divorce. And in his haste to get away from her as quickly as possible, he’d leave without bothering about the show.
That meant making herself into the worst wife possible—someone she wouldn’t even like. Muffling a groan, she pushed herself up and flicked the lamp on. She scrubbed at her eyes and then dug through her bag for her workout clothes.
Last night had gone well. She’d purposefully ruined dinner—not that it had taken much effort, she really was the worst cook ever—and ordered the most disgusting pizza she could think of. Choking down two pieces, particularly with the excess of artichoke hearts, had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
And finding the Toddlers and Tiaras marathon had been a stroke of extreme luck, but she feared she’d never be able to forget the horror of it. As a former child reality star, she understood how it felt to be watched by millions, and she couldn’t imagine putting that sort of behavior on display—not that the kids were to blame. It was their mothers—or more accurately, the show’s producers—who probably encouraged such behavior.
She couldn’t fathom Sean doing such a thing. He’d seemed quite put off by the show, to his credit. She’d felt bad and decided to let him watch something else. But when he’d landed on another annoying reality show, she’d recalled his asinine offer to give her the divorce in exchange for doing his show, and her outrage had kept Operation Divorce Me on track as planned.
Yes, she realized she could have the divorce quite easily if she simply agreed to do his show, but she wouldn’t be coerced. Time to kick things into high gear.
She finished tying her shoes and pulled the DVD from her bag. She went into the living room where Sean was asleep on the couch. Dawn light filtered through the wood blinds, bathing him in a dim, almost seductive haze.
Shaking herself to rid her head of such counterproductive thoughts, she slid the DVD into the player and turned the TV on. Then she flicked the overhead light on and ticked up the volume. As expected, he practically fell off the couch as he was jolted awake. Again, she almost felt sorry for him, but he was the one who was making demands, so she’d give him what he asked for.
“Tori?” He rubbed his eyes and blinked at her. “What time is it?”
“Five.”
The host of the video started talking as Tori moved the coffee table and a chair. It still wasn’t quite enough room to work out well, but that wasn’t the point.
He sat up slowly. “Why are you up so early?”
“To work out.” She looked at him as if everyone woke up at five a.m. on a Saturday and did T25.
“It couldn’t have waited until, I don’t know, say at least seven?”
“Nope.” She started doing the warm-ups with the host and his crew. “That’s when I have to be at the race. I’m volunteering at a ten-K over in Mac.” She’d just offered to help last night as part of her master plan to show Sean why he should divorce her.
“If you want, you can go sleep in the bed. I’ll try to be quiet.” Not at all.
He squinted at the TV. “Is that Shaun T? I did a shoot with him a few years back—nice guy. Do you mind if I join you?”
She stopped in mid high-knee run. “Uh, sure. But hurry, it’s only twenty-five minutes.”
“Right, I remember. I’ll have to dig up some workout clothes. Be right back.” He grabbed his bag and went into the bathroom.
Tori frowned. He wasn’t supposed to want to do this with her. Ah well, she’d still interrupted his sleep and given him the idea that she was at least oblivious, if not outright inconsiderate.
When he came out of the bathroom, he wore a T-shirt and bike shorts that hugged his ass and thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination when it came to his package. A package she’d come to know and appreciate quite well.
She turned away from him and doubled her efforts on lunging. She hated this sort of workout, preferring to be running outside or at least on a treadmill.
“I brought my cycling clothes in the off chance I could get in a ride. I don’t suppose your dad has an old bike lying around?”
“I doubt it.”
Now she was just being mean. Dad had tons of bikes, and the minute he learned Sean liked to ride, her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s stock would skyrocket. “And I wouldn’t ask him. He’s pretty territorial about his cycling stuff.” Yep, she was going to hell for sure.
They got through the workout, and she had to admit Sean was pretty fit. It was attractive and frustrating all at the same time.
“You don’t mind if I run through the shower first, do you?” She was already getting her stuff from the bedroom before he could answer.
“Sure.”
“Great. And then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Wait, what are you doing at the ten-K? Can I come?”
He wanted to come? Was he actually the nicest husband ever, or was he just trying to score points to get the TV show? She chose to believe the latter, as it was easier to make herself be obnoxious that way. “Oh, it’ll be a bore. I’m handing out water at mile five—near the end. Lots of standing around and then handing cups to runners. You don’t want to come.”
“The point is for us to be together, right? I’ll come.”
She forced a smile. “Great!” She shut the door and proceeded to take a long shower, turning the hot water up and leaving it running for several minutes in order to drain the water heater.
Satisfied that she’d done a good job, she shut the water off and got ready. She could put her makeup on and do her hair in her bedroom, but why bother when she could make him have to rush? She took her time and finally emerged at quarter after six. “Can you be ready in five?” She flashed him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I took that long. I do love a nice, long hot shower. If you can’t be ready, it’s okay. You don’t really need to come.”
“Five minutes is fine—I’m a guy.” He snatched up his things and rushed into the bathroom.
She heard the water start and a minute later could swear she heard him say, “Fuck me sideways.” She stifled a giggle. He swore better than anyone she knew.
She gathered up her purse, intent on leaving as soon as the five minutes were up. The water shut off, and with about a second to spare, he emerged from the bathroom. His hair was still damp, the dark waves curling against his temple.
He slid her a perturbed glance. “Didn’t leave much hot water, did you?”
“Guilty as charged.” She purposely didn’t apologize.
“I don’t remember you doing that before.”
She shrugged. “I’m sure I did. Bad habit. You ready? I need to go.”
“Yeah, let me grab my coat.”
He went to the hook on the wall and shrugged into his leather jacket. Tori had a sudden idea. “Actually, can you drive?”
“Sure.” He picked up his keys from the kitchen counter and held the door open for her to precede him. He was being such a gentleman, and she was being a total shrew. The ends justify the means, she told herself.
Downstairs, he opened the car door for her, extending his thoughtfulness. Wasn’t he the least bit bothered by her offensive behavior? Well, she was nowhere near finished.
As he drove down the driveway, she pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it. Before coming over to the apartment last night, she’d dashed out and picked up a pack as part of her nefarious plan to drive him nuts. Ugh, she must be desperate. She hadn’t tried smoking since college, and she’d hated it then. She took a slight puff but immediately coughed.
“Are you smoking?” He sounded incredulous. “I had no idea you smoked.”
“I imagine there are loads of things we don’t know about each other.”
He inhaled and let out a sigh. “I stopped smoking when I moved to the US. It was so hard, but you Americans view it differently than we do in Europe, so I gave it up to fit in. I’d forgotten how much I miss it.”
He’d been a smoker? She’d had no idea. She took a modicum of satisfaction in knowing she was right about them being nearly strangers. But really, did the fact that she didn’t know he used to smoke have any bearing on anything at all? Yes, she told herself. It illustrated that they’d jumped into marriage without getting to know each other properly.
She took another pull and tried desperately not to cough. She only just managed to keep it together. “Do you want a hit?” She sounded like she’d swallowed a hunk of sandpaper. Felt like it, too.
“A hit?” He chuckled. “I think you mean a drag. No, I’d better not. I’d probably never stop. Besides, my car rental agreement said no smoking. Would you mind putting it out?”
Thank God. She doubted the car had an ashtray—newer cars didn’t anymore—but opened something that could maybe be one and stubbed the cigarette in it.
“What are you doing?” For the first time there was a thread of irritation in his tone.
She was finally getting to him. “Isn’t that an ashtray?”
“I doubt it.” He rolled his window down and threw the butt out the window.
“I hope you don’t get a ticket. That’s offensive littering in Oregon.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror, likely to see if there was a police car anywhere in sight. He was quiet a minute, and when he spoke again, he sounded calm. “You’ll have to give me directions.”
“Sure.” She could definitely screw that up. “But first, let’s stop at the coffee drive-thru on our way out of town.”
“I thought we were in a hurry.”
“Oh, we have time.” Volunteers were supposed to arrive between seven and seven thirty, but she didn’t clarify that. She gave him correct directions to the drive-thru and he ordered two black coffees.
“Wait, I want something different.”
“Make that one black coffee, and hold on.” He turned to look at her. “What do you want?”
“A tall non-GMO soy, extra-hot, split quad-shot latte with light whip.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a moment. “What’s a quad-shot?”
“Two shots decaf, two shots regular. They know what it is.”
“Okay.” He looked dazed as he turned his head to order. “A tall non-GMO, split quad-shot latte with whip.”
“Extra hot and light whip,” she yelled past his ear, making him jump.
“You got that?” he asked the person on the other side of the speaker.
“Tall non-GMO soy, extra-hot, split quad-shot latte, light whip, is that right?”
He looked over his shoulder in question. Tori nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
“We’ll have your total at the window.”
He pulled forward and glanced over at her when they came to a stop. “That’s quite a drink.”
“It’s really good; you should try it.”
The barista opened the window and handed him his coffee. The smell nearly drove Tori to her knees—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone without coffee for so long after waking up. Sean paid for the drinks, and the barista handed him the latte. One of Tori’s coworkers drank these every day, minus the non-GMO soy, and she hoped it was remotely palatable.
She took a sip as he pulled out of the drive-thru and winced.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It isn’t non-GMO soy.”
He stopped the car before turning onto the road and gaped at her. “You can tell the difference?”
She offered an annoyingly sweet smile. “Would you mind running back and having them make it over again? But look, the drive-thru line’s too long now; you’ll have to walk up.”
He stared at her. “Aren’t we going to be late?”
“We’re good.” She batted her eyelashes. “Please?”
He parked and took her drink inside. While he was gone, she snuck several drinks of his coffee and closed her eyes in ecstasy. A few minutes later, he returned with a new drink. “He said they used GMO-free.”
“They lie,” she said, taking the cup. He was being such a good sport. She almost felt bad. Almost.
“Ready?” He hesitated in starting the car.
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you going to taste it?”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You just said they lie.”
“Oh, don’t worry; I’ll suffer through it if it isn’t right.” She began to think she might be in actual danger of not liking herself. “We are, unfortunately, running out of time now. Let’s go.”
He backed out and pulled onto the road. She gave him brief directions and then sipped her drink. She made a show of trying to hide her distaste, but he caught it, which was what she’d intended.
He exhaled. “You don’t like it.”
Discomfort pricked at her, but she pushed it away. This was going well. She wanted to put an end to this farce of a marriage, didn’t she? “Do you mind if I have your coffee? I’m such a shrew if I haven’t had caffeine.” And when I’m trying to alienate you in every way possible.
“If it’ll improve things, then yes, by all means, have my coffee.” He clenched the steering wheel, and she knew she was getting to him. The urge to apologize was overwhelming. She bit the inside of her cheek.
She set her drink down in the empty cup holder and snatched up the coffee. “You can have my drink if you want.”
He picked it up and gave it a try. He cocked his head to the side and then took another sip. “Not bad. Though the decaf half is a waste of liquid, if you ask me.”
She couldn’t agree more but didn’t say so. She remembered the early days of their acquaintance, learning all those little things that they shared in common, which only augmented their physical attraction. Yes, there were things they didn’t know about each other, but there was plenty they did—including the fact that he was incredibly thoughtful and sweet. That he was taking her crappy drink and making the best of it made her feel horrible.
“Here I thought you were a black-coffee-only girl,” he said. “I guess you’re right. There’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”
Guilt snaked up her spine and provoked the dark emotions she’d battled for months. She’d endured as much as she could; she didn’t want any more sadness or distress. Sean was a constant reminder of the very guilt she was trying to shake. He could be the nicest, most considerate man in the world, but that didn’t change the circumstances of their poorly timed marriage. And if she did this show . . . It was too much. She wanted to retreat to the protective bubble she’d created over the past seven months, where she was safe.
