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He looks taken aback. This might be the first time I’ve been coarse with him since the accident.
His eyes search my face.
“You’re angry with me,” he says.
“I’m not accepting an offer to cheat on you, Adam. Give me a break.” I spin to rinse the blueberries, turning the water on full blast over the pint.
“It’s not cheating if we come to an agreement. If you follow the rules I laid out,” he calls over. “I don’t want anyone to know about it, but… can you turn that off and sit with me a second, Chloe?”
I grind my teeth.
“Chloe?” he prompts.
I slap the lever down and tuck a plate under the fruit pint so I can carry it to the table without getting water everywhere.
“It’s not gonna happen, so might as well drop it.” I dump some blueberries into my oatmeal and nudge the pint his way. “Anyway, you did well this morning,” I change the subject the way he often does when he wants to shut a topic down. “Progress. You’re getting more and more ripped, too.” I plaster on what’s probably a poor attempt at a smile and run my hand along his bicep.
He’s got a great physique, always has. I’ve seen more definition in his upper body in the last few months because he’s working so hard at physical therapy. Although he’s worried about retaining muscle in his lower body, so maybe I shouldn’t have remarked on it. Heat floods my face and I worry his mood will take a dark turn. Not that his current mood is good either, but Adam’s dark moods are quiet. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t pick fights. He just shuts down for long periods of time. And with all he’s been through, I’ve been doing my best to keep things light so that if a dark mood descends, it’s not my doing.
He moves back an inch to escape my touch. “Pick one friend to talk about it with if you must. Alannah maybe,” He goes on like I didn’t even speak. “Though she’s a lot to take, she isn’t a blabbermouth. But I don’t want it widely known and make sure whoever you pick to tell doesn’t bring it up around me. Ever.”
I do my best to tamp my temper down while simultaneously feeling the twinge of physical rejection. Again.
He raises his blond eyebrows in challenge. Neither of us says anything for a long moment.
“Are you even here?” he asks.
“What?” I whisper.
He huffs like he’s exasperated with me. And I’m shocked at his attitude.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with you,” he states.
“Why do you think I’m that shallow? Because I pulled out a sex toy you think I want to have an affair? I already explained that I was trying to open the door for us. Us, Adam.” I gesture between us. “In all that literature your doctor gave me–”
He cuts me off with another huff of exasperation. “And I already told you how I feel about… that. I told you long before the other night that I’ll let you know if and when I might be ready and yet you’re pushing the issue anyway, despite what I asked of you.”
I blink hard and jolt in surprise.
He goes on, “That’s why I’ve come up with the alternative. Because I’m tired of being pushed.”
“Forget it,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I won’t push you anymore.”
He shakes his head sharply. “No. You can’t un-ring a bell, Chloe. Obviously it’s weighing on you. So you have my offer. Think about it.”
God, this is mortifying.
When I pulled out my vibrator, I was looking to open the door to intimacy between us, not have him push me into other men’s arms. I wanted him to participate. I wanted him to take over, or watch. Something. Anything. Anything but agitatedly asking me to take it to another room so he could sleep.
The moment felt like a record scratch. I didn’t take it to another room. I turned it off and put it in the drawer before bursting into tears and apologizing. Explaining. He kept his back turned and didn’t offer any sort of comfort, muttered for me to go to sleep, told me I was drunk.
I took a hot shower and then crawled back into bed. I called his name. I touched his back. He pretended to be asleep. The next day he told me without eye contact that he wanted to have breakfast in his home office and get an early start. He barely looked at me and we didn’t speak all day until dinner time where he talked about his job and an article he was working on. He acted like nothing at all had happened, but I know I don’t have a good poker face.
And then a day later, we’re still not talking much, and he hands me the handwritten hall pass.
“I’m okay to wait,” I insist. “Or I will be if you stop this silliness.”
“I need your needs to be met, Chloe,” he presses.
