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“I made coffee.” She didn’t look up.
“Why did you turn the lights off?”
“I keep hoping I’m asleep.”
At least he wasn’t the only one upset with how the evening had turned out. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup. “Would you like some?”
“No.” She sounded like someone had kicked her in the stomach, though he didn’t know what she had to be upset about. The night may not have gone the way she wanted, but she wasn’t the one jerking off in the shower because he had questions that could have waited until morning. “It will just keep me up.”
“It’s decaf.” A stupid, mundane conversation for them to be having when he wanted her in his bed, naked and willing, not wrapped up like a nun and worried about getting enough sleep.
He’d never been the type of heel to be mad at a woman who changed her mind about sex. Of course, he’d never been kissing a woman’s breasts when she hopped away from him and said, “I have a question first.” Vivian was full of surprises—most of them unpleasant.
And he still wanted her. He wanted her in his bed, and he wanted her on his couch, and he was willing to live with the stupid bird hopping on his dining table if it meant she was around when he got home from work.
If they weren’t having this tedious conversation about caffeine, he’d be letting his anger get the better of him or trying to seduce her. Maybe both.
But soon she would get a job and find an apartment. They would agree to divorce and visitation terms, and he wouldn’t be constantly surrounded by the scent of jasmine anymore. His life would return to normal.
He looked up from pouring his coffee to see Vivian sweep her hair off her neck. Until the moment she packed her bags, he would have to get used to a new normal of sexual frustration and bird shit.
He sat in the same armchair he’d sat in when she’d first arrived at his apartment with her bags, bird and baby. He hadn’t wanted to sit next to her that day for fear she’d be real. Now he knew she was real and was afraid he would reach for her if he sat next to her. And he wanted to look at her. She was pleasant to look at.
“Well?” Her head jerked up in surprise at his words. “Despite having lived in my apartment for two weeks, you want to know more about me now.”
“Um…” She looked out the window and he wondered if the questions were just a ruse to cover up another reason she didn’t want to have sex. The woman could really bring out the worst, most suspicious thoughts in him. “Why were you in the bar that night?”
“I’ll answer your questions if you’ll answer mine.” The shower hadn’t been as pleasurable as the woman sitting across from him would have been, but it had cleared his mind.
Her shoulders dropped in resignation, but she didn’t look surprised. “Why were you in the bar that night?” she repeated.
“It was my birthday. I was celebrating.”
She blinked. “That’s it?”
He sighed. It was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. “I turned thirty-nine years old that night. My father was thirty-eight when he died and I still can’t believe I’m older than he will ever be. You’re in this apartment because I’m not enough of a louse to turn a pregnant woman out onto the streets. But the only reason I’m not a louse is because I measure my actions against what my dad would think. And he’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
The dark made it easier to be honest. “My father always wanted me to get married and have a big family. When I bought you the first drink, I was thinking about how I was divorced with no kids.” By the time he’d bought the bottle of tequila, he hadn’t been thinking of his father or kids at all. His father would definitely have been disappointed in what happened that night, especially the misguided attempt to solve his problems with marriage to a stranger because she was good-looking and he didn’t feel maudlin when she smiled.
“Am I a Trojan horse or a blessing in disguise?”
“The jury’s still out.” Karl didn’t apologize for his earlier comment. He’d meant every word. “Why were you at the bar that night?”
