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That’s it: I just need to jerk off. After I give Dean his food, I’ll go have a nice hot date with my right hand in the shower. Then all will be right in the world and I’ll stop thinking about my husband all oiled up and naked. Maybe then my head will stop spinning.

I clear my throat, announcing my presence while also trying to tamp down the wave of arousal threatening to pull me under. Dean looks over his shoulder at me, then immediately goes right back to his reading.

“I told you I didn’t want anything,” he grumbles.

Apparently, the bug that climbed up his ass at the photoshoot earlier today has yet to dislodge itself.

I guess spending the morning recapping our history and spinning it in a “we’re so in love” web of lies finally got to him.

It’s the only thing I can think that explains his unusually piss-poor attitude.

“I know. I just thought you might be hungry, and you never turn down chicken tenders and fries from Hayes diner. I got extra honey mustard because I know it’s your favorite.” I cross the threshold, quietly nudging the door shut behind me as I enter Dean’s space.

“Luke, at any point tonight has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t feel like chatting?”

“Yeah, the thought occurred to me when I found you in here and not in the bed you insisted on sharing with me. Did it ever occur to you that you’ve been acting like brat ever since the photoshoot this morning and that I, as your husband, deserve to know what the hell is going on with you?

It can’t just be a headache that’s got you all snippy,” I say as I sit down on the bed.

He sighs when he feels the mattress dip under my weight and I watch as he reluctantly shuffles until he’s sitting up and leaning back against the headboard.

Fuck, he is so hot like this. How am I supposed to match his annoyed and huffy demeanor when he looks like that—all sexy and broody and lickable.

If I thought Dean’s back was mouthwatering, his front side puts the rest of him to shame.

Every inch of him is thick and hard, and when he’s standing up, he is like a walking, talking washboard.

His abs are insane, carved and bulging like he does nothing but crunches all day long.

But when he sits, everything in his middle softens.

The sweet pooch of his belly makes his body look sweet and lived in, causing his outside to match his golden retriever inside.

“It's not a headache. But I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news, babe.

The good news is these fries are still hot and delicious and perfect for eating your feelings,” I say, and Dean almost smiles as I grab a fry off the plate, dip it in the honey mustard and hold it out towards him.

“The bad news is, I’m not going anywhere until you also share your feelings.

So, spill. Why the hell aren’t you in our room? ”

“It’s complicated,” he sighs.

For some reason, those two words light a spark in me, and I quickly veer off the “Bothered But Understanding Husband” Highway and take a hard left onto “Dean Is Annoying The Shit Out Of Me” Lane.

I don’t want to play whatever game this is anymore.

We’ve got to face things head on and talk to each other, for fuck’s sake.

I’m in my mid-thirties, I’m a parent. I’m done with the miscommunication run around .

“It can’t be that complicated. It was your idea for us to share a room in the first place. So why are you here, avoiding me? In fact, why do you sneak out of said room every morning before I wake up? Am I that repulsive?”

My words come out angry, but my insides are laced with insecurity. It can’t be one-sided, can it? All this heady attraction and buzzing chemistry and freaking electricity can’t just be in my head.

But maybe it is. I’ve been wrong before.

Maybe I’ve been fooling myself this entire time, and while I’ve been grappling with this growing crush, Dean has just been cruising.

Possessive because that’s who he is as a person.

Charming because he doesn’t know any other way. But otherwise, oblivious to it all.

“What? No. It’s complicated because of the rules, Luke.”

The rules…

The rules he wrote down in his notes app? The ones about keeping the convenience part of this arrangement a secret?

“I am so confused,” I say with a huff.

“Luke. We said we both reserve the right to make changes to the rules at any time. I want to make a change. This isn’t working for me.”

My mind whirs, thoughts going a million miles a minute while I struggle to keep up .

“What rule isn’t working for you? Dean, are you trying to tell me that you’re regretting getting married? Because I gotta say, babe, you’ve got really shitty timing if that’s the case.”

I’m a high wire tension line, taut all over and buzzing with nervous energy.

Dean laughs, a rough, throaty, humorless sound that sends a shiver down my spine before grabbing me by the chin and forcing me to look at him right in the storm clouds of his eyes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, no. I don’t regret getting married. I will never regret our marriage, Luke. I just think it’s about time we consummate it.”