“Ground rules?” I ask. “Removing all the food from the fridge is your idea of ground rules?”
“It’s food that I bought. Therefore, I believe it should be in my fridge. Also, if you noticed, the food in the pantry with the pink Post-it notes on them is mine. It’s simple roommate protocol.”
Oh hell. I move toward the pantry, switch on the light, and lo and behold, the shelves are covered in food with pink Post-it notes . . . even the baking flour.
And then her words hit me. Roommates?
I swing back around to look at her. “Roommates? I don’t think so, Myla. You’re still my wife.”
She toes the ground, her confidence slipping in and out, and I can’t quite pinpoint where her head is right now. Is this her way of getting back at me for last night? What is this wall she’s erecting between us?
“Titles shouldn’t mean much at this point, Ryot.”
They mean something to me.
I exit the pantry, frustration starting to have a chokehold on me. “That’s fine. I’ll just order food.” I grab my phone and open my DoorDash app, but it’s asking me to sign in. “What’s the username and password?”
“I changed that last night.”
My eyes lift, and my brow raises in question. “What do you mean you changed it?”
“Well, it was my account, so I changed the password. You’ll have to create your own account if you want to order food.”
My nostrils flare, and I set my phone down. “Fine, I’ll just have yogurt.”
“Yeah, that’s expired,” she says just as I open the fridge. I grip the handle tightly and turn toward her.
“So is there no food in the house for me to eat?”
“Afraid not. But the store is open, so feel free to go shop for yourself. You know what a grocery store is, right?”
“Is this how it’s going to be, Myla?” I ask, irritation creeping up the back of my neck.
Once again, she toes the ground. “Just trying to keep things neutral, so there are no misunderstandings.”
Her words and actions scream “this is war,” but her body language tells me she’s hesitant to even be around me.
I should have known this wouldn’t be easy. I just didn’t think she’d take it to this level.
“Was this Nichole’s idea?” I ask.
“She has nothing to do with this, so leave her out of it. I just want to make things fair, Ryot. You made that quite clear last night with your abuse of orgasms.”
“All because I didn’t want my wife fucking another man?” I ask. “Fucking sue me.”
“No”—she steps up, anger in her voice—“because you know I love it when you fuck me. Because you know I can’t resist you in that way. You took a vulnerable moment, and you took advantage of me.”
“I fucked up, Myla. Okay? I should never have gone that far with you. I wanted to remind you who you belong to—”
“I didn’t need the reminder. From the moment you first kissed me, I’ve been branded by your lips, rightfully yours. But not anymore.”
“We sure as fuck belong to each other until those papers are signed,” I yell, my irritation spiking before I can tamp it down. “Last night was a reminder.”
“Well, I don’t need it. I know exactly who you are to me. So now that we have that covered, let’s talk about the house rules.”
I lean against the counter and fold my arms over my chest. “Oh, this should be good.”
From the kitchen junk drawer, she pulls out a piece of paper with a list of rules.
Holding it up for her to see, she starts listing off her demands with a touch more assertiveness. “The garage fridge is mine, and anything marked with a pink sticky note is mine. Don’t eat my food. If you’re hungry, go stock up on those protein bars you love so much.”
“Fine.” This entire thing is so stupid, as is her way to gain control of the situation. Just like last night was my way to gain some sort of semblance of control when I felt like I was spiraling. Was it the right thing to do? By no means, no, it was not. But I was afraid she might revert to how she and Nichole used to hang out before I came along.
“We’ll split up the house so we aren’t forced to be around each other. Therefore, the first floor is my space since the guest room is located there. Meaning, I get the living room. The kitchen is a neutral space. We are allowed in and out of this neutral space at our leisure. Food is the only thing off limits.”
“But the living room is where the TV is located. And since you don’t like TVs in the bedroom, how the hell am I supposed to watch my games?”
She turns, hiding the smirk playing on the corner of her lips. “Hmm, didn’t think about that.” Bullshit. “You might have to skip out on those sports games you like to watch so much.”
“Baseball. You know what sports games I watch.”
“Moving on,” she says. “The pool is also a neutral zone since it’s hot and we both enjoy a dip, but please note that the right side of the pool belongs to me and the left side belongs to you.”
“I prefer the right,” I say just out of spite.
“I know.” She smiles. “That’s why I took it. If you had taken the time to make the rules, then you could have chosen.”
“I didn’t know there would be rules.”
“Yes, well, you don’t know a lot of things when it comes to this marriage, so no surprise there.” She checks something off on her list, ensuring that backhanded insult sinks in. In the back of my mind, I think . . . insult or truth? My pride is convincing me it’s an insult. “As for the usage of vehicles. I’ll be acquiring both.”
“What?” I shout. “How the hell did you figure that?”
“Easily, I’m the one who regularly maintains them. I’m the one who takes them to get serviced, makes the payments on them, and ensures they’re charged. Therefore, I will be acquiring both.”
“Why the hell do you need two cars?”
“I don’t. But it’s the principle of the thing. I don’t need all the food in the fridge, but hey, that’s what happens when you piss me off and use sex as a weapon. It comes back to haunt you tenfold. Now, shall we discuss clothing?”
“You’re not fucking taking my clothes.”
“God, no.” She shakes her head. “What on earth would I do with your clothes?”
“I don’t know, Myla. What will you do with two cars?”
“Treat them as if they’re my children and take them out every day so their tires don’t get stiff, obviously.” I roll my eyes. That sass of hers is on full display now that she’s no longer nervous and on a roll. “Now, clothes. I’ve confiscated the latest batch of laundry that I just washed and folded for you. Since I put the time in to take care of them, they belong to me, but if you would like them back—which you might since your lucky running shorts are in there—you can repay me for my dirty work.”
“Fine, how much? I have cash.”
“I don’t want your money.”
Jesus Christ. “Then what do you want, Myla?”
“It’s simple. You made it quite clear last night that there is one thing I want from you, one thing I can’t seem to forget when it comes to you—and that’s sex.”