Or, at least somewhat in order.
Besides, I gotta give my chica a chance to catch up here. She has a little bean that is keeping her quite distracted from the ever exciting world of Cedar Falls!
So, without further ado, enjoy the next little bit, this time from Grey!
************
Grey realized he needed to work on giving apologies. He’d meant to, he really had, he’d meant to tell her as soon as they sat down that he was sorry for being an asshole that morning. But instead he’d managed to rile her up again and get all defensive and arrogant and, well, he’d been an asshole all over again.
She thanked him for the bagel and OJ and he sipped his coffee grimly. Could he say it now? He looked her over while she chewed an over-large bit of her bagel. She had been hungry afterall. He hoped for her sake that she was able to keep it down. He wondered how much longer this morning sickness (which struck at all hours, not just the goddamn morning) would last. He had no idea how far along she was, or anything like that. Well, he had some idea, of course, but not a real accurate one.
“Maybe we should do the car thing another day.” She offered, and he recognized that she was working hard to keep her tone polite and neutral.
“What’s your schedule like for the rest of the week?” He asked, to be fair. He had every intention of getting everything done today, but he’d pretend to entertain the notion.
She chewed thoughtfully and twisted the plastic top off her bottled OJ. He watched her take a long swallow. Goddammit. He shouldn’t be looking at her neck like that. Especially not while she swallowed something. He rolled his shoulders back and focused his eyes on the cardboard coffee cup in his fingertips.
He read the words ‘CAUTION: HOT!’ five times before she answered.
“Between work and school, I guess this is the best day—unless we can do it on a Sunday.”
Of course this was the best day, he wasn’t a goddamn moron. He knew her ridiculous work schedule from when they’d been dating and she’d left a copy of her class schedule on the refrigerator for him when she’d moved into the cottage.
“’Fraid not.” He said calmly. “We need to go to the bank and the registry and all that bullshit. So Sunday’s out.”
She was quiet for a long time so he finally looked up. She seemed to be lost in thought, staring over his shoulder at some hideous student artwork. He took the opportunity to run his eyes over the parts of her that were visible above the tabletop.
She’d thrown on some old sweater that morning, and when she’d stomped out of her room he’d had to force himself to look away. It looked incredible on her. It was clearly several years old, the style wasn’t in fashion anymore, but it was sort of classic. And loose in certain places but form-hugging in others, and the cream-white color of it set off her caramel skintone in such a delicious way that it made him ache to taste her.
Her breasts looked phenomenal. He checked quickly to make sure she was still off in her own world before allowing himself the time to linger on her chest. He could bet the old wool was fuzzy. If he slipped her bra off, the cable-knit would likely rub and tickle at her nipples until they stood rock-hard underneath. He could imagine what the full roundness of her breasts in that sweater would feel like in his hands, on his bare chest, on his inner thighs.
“Grey?”
Shit. Cock-sucking-mother-fucking-sonuvabitch.
“Hm?” he asked, meeting her eyes and hoping he looked perfectly innocent.
She eyed him skeptically. “Am I not dressed properly for all the things we have to do?”
He didn’t dare take his eyes off hers. “You’re fine.” He responded mildly.
She frowned.
“I deserved that. This morning.” He managed to grumble after several more minutes in silence while she chewed and sipped.
Maggie hurried to swallow the bit of bagel she’d been working on and took a hasty sip of her juice. “I shouldn’t have called you that—“
Grey felt his lips pulling into a smile. “I actually kind of like it.” He said roguishly.
She bit her lower lip, which made him feel all sorts of things he shouldn’t in the middle of a coffee shop, and she smiled tentatively. “You like what? Being denigrated?”
He let out a bark of surprised laughter. “Christ.” He responded, shaking his head. “No, I liked hearing you swear.”
“Oh.” She chuckled appreciatively, and he loved the color that was rushing to her cheeks.
“And I liked that you called me out.” He confessed, not realizing how true the sentiment was until it had found voice.
“I should have been more understanding.” She argued. “You’re concerned, and that’s understandable. It’s nice, actually.”
Grey felt a heat on the back of his neck and shifted in his seat. “I was an asshole—“
“You were.” She agreed solemnly.
He looked up at her, astonishment all over his face, and she was grinning.
Her smile washed over him like a cooling balm and fresh air, and he wondered how he’d ever been angry with her. He smiled back. This was dangerous. He made himself focus on the table. It wouldn’t do any good at all to start liking this woman more than was strictly necessary to get through each day.
“But, I wasn’t much better.” She admitted.
He smiled a little at the table. This was awkward. He’d never done this sort of conversation with a girl before. Usually once there was a fight the ‘relationship’, such as it was, was over. If there was an argument or even a heated disagreement it meant that Grey’d stopped caring enough to play the part of the perfect suitor. It meant he was over bull-shitting and pretending to care about what the girl wanted or expected of him. Or, of course, it meant that she’d found out he’d been cheating on her which was a pretty good indication that the relationship was over already.
This was all new to him. Having to apologize, having to clear the air, having to give a shit about the other person’s feelings and opinion. Because he had to go home at the end of the day and live with this one. Sure he could blow her off, treat her rudely, and get on with his life as if she were not a factor, but… He’d tried that on the honeymoon and it had been awful. He thought it’d be easier for him to conduct himself in accordance with his own whims, just as he’d always done, but it had felt pretty shitty actually. When he was considerate and pleasant to her the days and nights just went by much more smoothly.
Peculiar.
“I like when you get all fired up.” He said with a playful smile at the table. “Your people are adorable when they’re in a temper. I only wish you’d gone off in rapid-fire espanol.”
She growled but she laughed too. “We’re a passionate people.” She agreed.
A flash of her gorgeous naked body riding his cock made him blink and shake his head. She certainly could be a passionate little hellion.
“Anyway, I was wondering how pissed off I’d have to get you before you brought out the big guns.” He said, and lifted his drink to his lips. In his peripheral vision he could see the soft cream color of her sweater and he felt hotter than was comfortable.
“You mean the ‘f’ word?”
He started laughing before he’d finished swallowing his mouthful of coffee and choked a little. She looked concerned and made a move to get up and help him, but he waved his hand to indicate he was fine.
Grey cleared his throat with a grin. “Yes, Mrs. Delaney, the ‘f’ word.” She was so fucking cute.
She bit her lower lip again and he let himself look this time. If she was going to persist in doing it he’d better figure out a way to get used to it.
“Probably the only time you’ll hear me say that is right before I plunge a knife into your heart or something.” She lifted her hot coco to her lips and sipped demurely.
“How very Telemundo.” He responded with a smirk. “I bet I can get you to say it in another context.”
She furrowed her brow. “Ok, maybe not murder. But I’d duck, if I were you, because if I’m using that language I’m probably throwing dishes or some other household items.”
He chuckled. She’d missed his innuendo. She was so sweet and naïve. “You can’t think of any other instance you might use the big bad ‘f’ word Mrs. Delaney?”
She balled up her napkin and thought for a moment. “You think I’ll say it in labor?” She half-whispered, almost scandalized at her hypothetically potty-mouthed self.
The lightness drained out of him. She’d really missed his innuendo, and gone right to a place he’d rather not imagine. “I guess I’ll probably deserve it on that occasion too.” He muttered.
She smiled. “I hope I don’t say it then, but if I do, please forgive me.”
He took a deep breath in and finally looked her in the eyes. He didn’t know what to say. He tried to imagine her in labor, having a baby, his baby, but he was having trouble picturing it. It was all too surreal. He didn’t really comprehend that such an outcome was inevitable. “Naturally.” He responded smoothly.
“And next time I have an appointment you’re welcome to join me.”
Grey thought of Jonah for a moment. Thought of the appointments he’d been to with other girls because his dad had told him it was the right thing to do. At those ones he usually sat in the waiting room. She was talking about actually going in there. Images of ultrasounds and stirrups and speculums swam in his imagination. He swallowed. He couldn’t speak.
“Because you were concerned about my choice of OB…” She explained weakly.
He nodded, coming back to the present after that pre-natal detour. Right. Part of his outrageous tantrum that morning had been to malign her judgment in medical professionals. “I’m sure your doctor is perfectly adequate.” He responded civilly.
She reacted to his sudden mood shift. Her face washed over in concern and her muscles went taut. “You aren’t required to come along.” She told him, a stiffness in her voice ineffectively masking a vulnerability.
Again Grey thought about his dad. Then he thought about his mother. Then he sighed and looked at Maggie. “I would like to.” He lied.
She could tell he was lying. They locked eyes for a long moment. Was she going to call his bluff?
“So which place is first? The social security office?”
Grey felt the urge to apologize again, though for what, exactly, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d given the right response there. The gentlemanly response. But. He just generally felt like he’d done something wrong. Like an asshole.
“Yeah, I think so. Are you ready to shed the Ramirez?”
Her hand paused midway between the table and her lips, her cocoa in limbo. “Oh.” She said. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” She looked a little shaken.
“Why don’t you keep it?” He suggested quickly. He didn’t give two shits about her last name.
But she shook her head. “No. I’m your wife.”
His lips got tight. Yeah, he guessed if it was going to be ‘in name only’ they’d better go ahead and change the name, huh?
“You sure?” He asked.
She nodded resolutely.
“Magdalena Delaney sounds a little ridiculous.” He pointed out helpfully.
She scowled. “Our family will all have the same name.” She told him firmly.
He winced. Family? A cold sweat crept across the back of his neck and down his front. “Well I’m not changing mine to Ramirez, so I guess you’re stuck with being Magdalena Delaney.” He teased half-heartedly.
She rolled her eyes.
“Maybe keep the Ramirez too.” He offered and finished the last of his coffee.
“Maybe.” She responded, non-committal.
He stood to collect her plate and empty juice bottle along with his coffee cup.
“That might make it easier to switch back.” He added. He remembered his mother saying something about what a hassle it had been changing her name back to Calder from Grey after her divorce.
“I need to use the restroom.” Maggie announced suddenly, rising with purpose.
“Sick?” He asked, feeling almost dismayed. She needed to keep food down and actually digest it, for God’s sake.
“No, no. I just, better go before we leave.” She said hurriedly, and she moved past him, careful not to make any contact with him, and pretty nearly rushed toward the back of the shop where some local artist had done a hack job of re-creating the Venus DeMilo on a pink door. He toyed with heading back to the blue counterpart, the one with the David painted on it, but he decided to wait with their coats. He tossed their garbage into the psychedelically decorated trash bin and returned the little bagel plate to the counter.
He sat down to think about what they needed to accomplish, and wrestled a piece of folded stationary from his coat pocket where it rested over a third chair. He unfolded the crisp white letter-sized paper and scanned hid Dad’s neat, organized handwriting.
Name change; License change; (Credit Cards change?); Joint bank account.
A line had been drawn under this list and Jonah had outlined another section of to-do items.
Life insurance; Will; Medical Proxy; College fund?
Jonah knew about the baby.
Then Grey’d added: CAR.
Jesus Christ, thought Grey, What a fucking hassle. He’d call Ward about all the legal stuff. That shit didn’t need to get done today.
Today would be all the name change and that bullshit so they could set up the bank account (that way Maggie could stop asking him for money, which made him more uncomfortable than just about anything in the world), and then they’d go pick out a car so she didn’t have to ask him for rides (which didn’t bother him at all, but he could tell it bothered her. And besides, who doesn’t have a fucking car?).
Maybe when she had access to a joint bank account, and when she’d gotten used to just how much money was in said account, maybe she’d relax with the insane work schedule. He didn’t need her running herself ragged. She needed to take care of herself. She didn’t need a couple of minimum wage service jobs for fuck’s sake.
Whatever. That would be her call. No way he was going to open his mouth on that subject—he was already enough of a controlling asshole, right?
His phone buzzed in his pants pocket and he retrieved it, only half interested in who might be calling. Shit. It was Phelan. The guy had been calling and texting like crazy for a week. Of course Grey’d forgotten his phone charger and had spent much of the honeymoon with his phone out of commission until he’d finally decided to get off his ass and go buy a new one. When he finally had plugged the little beast in it had lit up like the Fourth of July with texts and messages from his roommate, but also from his sisters, his friends, a few girls he had lined up dates with, and even his parents—who knew where he was but just wanted to check in. He had almost wished he’d left it dead. So he chose to ignore the messages and questions, the ‘where the fuck are you?’s and especially Phelan’s “Holy fucking shit, your mom just told me you got married. This is a fucking joke, right?”
Now he opened a text from his best friend that read: “Fuck my cunt with a donkey cock—did your little bride kidnap you and sell you into white slavery south of the border?”
He’d need to face his friend sometime. But today wasn’t the day for Phelan and all that crazy bullshit.
Today he had to deal with Maggie. He returned the phone to his pocket, the text unanswered, and tried to think objectively about his ‘little bride’.
He decided he needed to start treating her like what she was—a roommate. He never fought with Phelan the way he did with Maggie. He never flew into crazy, irrational tempers at anything Phelan ever did. Well, almost. Yeah. And he had certainly never spent all night or day wondering how Phel was feeling, or what he was thinking about; and he had definitely never wasted time imagining his roommate naked or in provocative sexual positions. And he’d never forced himself on Phelan while drunk either. So. Yes. He needed to start pretending that Maggie was nothing more interesting or special than a platonic roommate.
With whom he shared a bank account, a last name, and eventually a child.
Grey grunted at the list and folded it back up.
“Ready?” Her voice made him start.
He looked up at her before he could prepare himself. He was at eye-level with her perfect breasts. Phelan never looked that good in a sweater and jeans. Fuck. This roommate thing was going to require a lot of cold ass showers.
“Vamanos.” He replied dryly. And he stood to help her into her coat.
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2 comments:
i want to know if hecheated on her on her on the honeymooooon.....
ooooooh. I wonderrrrr?????......
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