Page 70 of Love & Other Drunken Mistakes
“I’ll make a note of that. Once Ms. Ackers finishes her discussion with her client, we’ll review our calendars to find the best time for everyone. I’ll send the information to your email.”
“That works. Is there anything else?” I already don’t have much time to spend with Alex, I don’t want to waste any more on this phone call.
“Not on my end.” He pauses, then asks, “Doyouhave anything else to tell me?”
I open my mouth to tell him no, but what comes out is, “It doesn’t matter if we ‘consummate’ the marriage, right?”
The pause is longer this time. “Well, some judges will delay proceedings until a pregnancy is confirmed or until the child is born, but that’s not an issue during same-sex marriage. You aren’t required to share those details with the court and it’s always best practice not to share more information than necessary.”
In other words: keep your mouth shut.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll send the meeting time to your email. You have my number if you need anything else.”
When I leave the room, Alex is still talking on the phone, but it doesn’t sound like he’s speaking with Theresa.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I know it’s an … unusual situation, and I haven’t exactly shared the details—” he stops while the other person speaks. “Thank you, I really appreciate your flexibility.” After a few more pleasantries, he hangs up and notices me in the hallway. “That was my boss. Theresa thinks Friday afternoon would be the best time for a meeting with everyone. Does that work for you?”
“That’s fine.” I start toward the couch, but then there’s a knock on the door.
“Oh! The groceries!” Alex hops up to meet the delivery person. The languid, relaxed version of him is gone. He chatters about what he bought as he brings the bags into the kitchen. When he opens up the fridge to put them away, he swears. “Shit, I should have cleaned this out first.”
Our lazy morning of basking in the afterglow is officially over.
I grab a garbage bag and help Alex rearrange the fridge. I would have liked to cuddle on the couch for a while longer, but it’s not so bad, working together like this.
Like a real couple.
Alex’s mouth twists to the side as he examines the simmering pot on the stove. Red irritation still stains his cheeks and chin from my beard but the swelling on his lips has gone down, the evidence of intimacy slowly disappearing. It makes me want to snatch him up and kiss him until he’s breathless and dazed and permanently wearing my marks.
He stirs the pot, then scoops up a spoonful, pursing his lips as he blows on it gently. Deeming it cool enough, he slips the spoon between his lips and licks the whole thing clean. I can’t help but compare it to the way he licked my cock in long, savoring strokes.
“I think it’s ready,” he says.
I stand up, heading toward the cabinets where the plates are, but Alex shoos me away.
“Go sit down, I’ll handle it.”
Lips quirked in amusement, I sit at what has unofficially become ‘my spot’ at the table and wait for him to join me. A few minutes later, he sets a shallow, wide bowl in front of me filled with rice and reddish-brown curry. Then he sits down, eyes locked on me. Though he’s clenching his spoon in one hand, he doesn’t move to take a single bite.
I mix everything together, then scoop up a big spoonful into my mouth. Spices, chicken, peanut butter, tender vegetables, perfectly cooked rice all blend into a warm, filling meal. I’m halfway through my first bowl before I realize I’m clutching it, shoveling it into my mouth like a ravenous beast. A little embarrassed, I set the bowl down and glance at Alex.
The grin spread across his face is bright enough to rival the sun. “I guess that answers whether or not you like it.”
“It’s delicious.”
His eyes remain crinkled as he begins eating, chatting between bites about where he found the recipe, what alterations he made to it.
“So it’s not the first time you made it,” I observe as I get up to grab a second helping.
Alex’s smile dims. “Oh, I used to make it all the time, but Theresa didn’t like it.”
“And because she didn’t like it, you stopped?”
Eyes downcast, he pushes his curry around in the bowl without eating. “It’s not like I couldn’t eat foods she didn’t like. It just makes a big batch, y’know? I could only cut it down so much, and I’d still have meals prepped for a week. But then Theresa and I would have dinner together, and it’d go to waste … I froze it a few times, but it always seemed to sit at the back of the freezer, forgotten. Before I knew it, I stopped cooking it.”
How many other habits gradually changed while he was dating her? “Well, I’m glad you made it for me.”
