3. Chapter 3

Kipp looks at me with wide, blue eyes, and I can't do a thing other than usher him inside.

"Give me just a second," I tell him, shutting the door and walking a few paces away. I bring my phone back to my ear. "Maman?"

"Yes, mon chéri."

"I have to go. Give my love to Papa, all right?"

"Of course. Bisous."

"Kisses," I repeat.

When I hang up, I realize Kipp is still standing inside the door, holding on to everything he arrived with. Mainly, a bunch of muffins, although the large duffle bag slung over his shoulder doesn't go unnoticed. I focus on that instead of the relief I feel at having him back so soon.

"Here, let me get those," I say, grabbing the baskets.

"Thanks," he says appreciatively. "That was your mom?"

"My grandma, actually. But I call her Maman," I explain.

"Is that French?"

"It is." I bring the muffins into the kitchen, and Kipp follows. "My birth mom was from Saudi Arabia, but my dad was French Canadian. I grew up in Canada speaking both French and English."

From Kipp's expression, I can tell he caught the was portion of that explanation in regards to my parents. He doesn't ask, though. "I didn't know that," he says, taking a seat on a chair in front of the island. His bag falls lightly to the floor with a thump.

"Frankly, there's a lot you don't know about me," I say, which is true. But I regret the words immediately when Kipp's face pinches. It wasn't meant to be a criticism. "What's going on, Kipp? You mentioned a favor?"

Barely a beat passes before he starts speaking, his words tripping over themselves. "I lost my apartment, my parents found out we're married, my coworkers know, and I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Teddy. I'm going to disappoint everyone. How the fuck do I get myself into these situations?"

"Hey," I say gently, rounding the counter to reach him. I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging his gaze up to mine. "Breathe."

He does, expelling a big breath, eyes wide and looking so lost that I feel it like a physical thing. A tug inside my chest, urging me to do something. To make it better.

"Good," I say slowly, that hook digging deeper when Kipp's eyes lose some of their tension. "Another."

He blows out another breath in time with mine.

"Okay," I say, massaging his scalp for a moment before I force myself to let go. "One thing at a time. You lost your apartment?"

He nods as I take a seat beside him. "I was living with this guy, Brodie, to save on the cost of rent, you know? But he saw our wedding pictures and was so excited because he assumed I'd be moving out, and he wants his boyfriend to move in. And I couldn't say no."

Couldn't or wouldn't?

"Where does that leave you?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Kipp offers a weak grin.

"You'll stay here," I confirm. "What's next?"

"Really?" he asks, perking up, but then he rushes on. "Okay, my family. That's…complicated."

"How so?"

"Do you want a muffin?" he asks, stretching across the counter to snag one of the baskets. His t-shirt rides up with the movement, and memories from last night assault my brain. The feel of that skin under my fingertips. The way Kipp couldn't stop rubbing himself on me like a cat in heat. There's something else, too, but it flits away too quickly for me to grab hold of. "Blueberry or chocolate chip?"

"I don't need a muffin, Kipp."

"Here," he plows on, handing over a blueberry muffin and righting his shirt as he sits back down. "I tried one on the way here. They're good."

I raise a brow, doing my best not to be charmed by this man. And failing spectacularly. "You're avoiding the subject."

He huffs in a way that has my blood running hot. Christ, if he were truly mine…

"They don't approve of my lifestyle," Kipp answers, dousing me in cold water.

"Being queer?"

"Gay, in my case. But yes," he says. "They're very…traditional."

"So what did they say about you marrying a man?" I ask, not taking Kipp's bait as he nudges the muffin closer to me. "Kipp," I warn.

"I don't know," he huffs out, dragging a hand through his hair. It musses the dark brown strands, which usually sit so neatly styled atop his head. Right now, they're falling every which way. "I haven't talked to them yet. I don't know what I'm supposed to tell them."

"What do you want to tell them?"

"Nothing?" he says, like a question. "They're staunch believers in marriage—the heteronormative kind—so they're going to be disappointed in me no matter what. I haven't actually spoken to them in over a year, and now, not only do I have to tell them that yes, I married a man, but I also have to admit I'm getting a divorce? It's not going to go over well."

Kipp ignores my frown.

"And my coworkers," he says with a groan, leaning onto his elbows and dropping his head into his hands. "They saw my posts, too. I'm fucked."

"Look at me."

He does, slowly, his head turning in his palms. For the briefest of moments, I'm hit the same way I was the first time I laid eyes on Kipp. Like a shockwave is going off right in the very heart of me.

Kipp isn't a delicate guy. He's nearly six feet tall, has a leanly muscled build, and his face could be on the cover of a magazine devoted to elegant masculinity. The five-o'clock shadow. The piercing blue eyes. The straight eyebrows and full, dark lips set in contrast to pale skin. He's not delicate, no.

But he is damn beautiful.

"It's going to be okay," I tell him, hoping he hears the truth in my words. "We don't have to make any decisions right away. Stay here, and we'll figure out the rest."

"And what—you'll just stay married to me in the meantime so I can save face?" he says incredulously.

I shrug. "Sure."

His mouth falls open. "Wait, seriously? Why would you do that?"

"I'm not in a relationship," I point out. "And I'm not planning on being in a relationship anytime soon. So why not? We could always amicably split down the road once this whole thing blows over, no harm done."

He blinks several times, gears turning. "So, I'd call you my husband?"

My pulse kicks. "Sure."

"And we'd live together?"

"For now," I say, trying to ignore that tug in my chest.

"And what would you get out of this?" he asks, pushing up from his slouched position.

"I don't need anything out of it, Kipp," I tell him, which is really only a half-truth. I would get something. The chance to take care of him.

I don't tell him that, though. Barely want to acknowledge it myself. It's been a long damn time since I've had someone to care for. And it didn't end well for me last time.

"Okay, fine," Kipp says, blowing out a breath. "But if this creates any issues for you, you have to tell me. I don't want to be a bother."

"You couldn't be," I assure him.

"Fuck," he says, hands scrubbing through his hair. "This is ridiculous. I can't believe we got married." His laugh is a little strained. "Oh, fuck. I'm married."

"Breathe," I remind him, sliding to the edge of my seat and bracketing his face in my hands again.

He nods, breaths coming out in choppy increments. "I think… you're the best husband… I could have asked for."

It takes everything in me to hold back the sounds that want to climb out of my throat. The whimper. The growl. "You barely know me, Kipp."

"Yeah, but Niko trusts you. Which means I trust you. Actually…" He shakes his head. "That's not even the full truth. I just trust you, too. I always have."

I let my hands fall away, standing up before I do something I can't take back. "Come on. Let's get you settled. Is the one bag all you have?"

Kipp grabs his duffle off the ground. "For now, yeah. I told Brodie I'd be back for the rest."

"All right," I say, waving him forward. "We'll make space for whatever you have."

"Thanks, Teddy," he says, his words sounding like a sigh.

"Don't mention it."

When we reach the hall, Kipp walks ahead of me, strolling right past the bedroom and bathroom and going for the final, closed door. I watch in amusement as he throws it open, stopping just inside my office and looking around in confusion.

"Um," he says, stepping back into the hall. "Where's my bedroom?"

I snort, grabbing him by the shoulders and leading him to my room. He stutters a step at the entrance.

"Oh," he says, swallowing hard as his eyes meet mine over his shoulder. "So there's only one bed."

I bite my tongue hard before answering. "Yep."

He purses his lips and nods. "So, uh… I don't suppose you sleep naked?"

My lips twitch at his hopeful tone. "Guess you'll find out."

"Teddy," he groans.

I keep my laughter to myself and give him a small nudge into the room. "Dresser's there. Closet's there. Unpack wherever you want."

He makes a small sound of acknowledgement, and I leave him to it, heading back to the kitchen to store the muffins. I don't realize Kipp has followed me until I hear his voice close by.

"Teddy?" He's standing at the entrance to the living area, hands on either side of the narrow hallway. "Why haven't we fucked? I'm asking sober."

My stomach tumbles over, and I ease out a breath. "You never askedbefore."

His brow furrows. "And if I'm asking now?"

I grab a storage container to buy myself a few seconds. "We're not having sex, Kipp."

"Why not?" he says, just short of a whine.

"Because we're married."

His mouth opens and closes once. Twice. "I fail to see the problem."

My lips twist, but I shake my head quickly. "We can't get an annulment if we have sex," I point out.

"We could get divorced."

When a bark of laughter leaves my mouth, Kipp grins, his blue eyes bright.

"You want us to fuck so we can get a divorce?" I check.

"I mean, shit, when you say it like that…"

"Kipp, we're not fucking," I say, trying to keep my voice firm. And my resolve. "It's a bad idea."

"Says who?"

"Me."

"What about a little fucking?" he asks, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Just the tip?"

I snort before clearing my expression and glaring as best as I can, which isn't very good at all. Kipp continues to grin at me. "Kipling, go put your things away."

His mouth falls open. "How the hell do you know my real name?"

"I know a lot about you. Now go."

"Dude," he complains, spinning around.

"I'm not your dude," I call.

"My husband is mean," he shouts from the bedroom.

I laugh before clearing my throat. Don't get attached, I remind myself firmly.

Less than a minute later, there's a yelp of happy surprise. Kipp reappears at the end of the hall, eyes wide.

"Holy shit," he says. "What is this?"

He waves the massive dildo my way, as if I couldn't see it.

"You went through my nightstand?" I ask, amused despite myself.

He waves me off. "I'm your husband. I'm allowed. Do you use this?"

"What do you think?"

He presses a button on the base of the dildo, jolting when it starts to move. "Teddy," he says in awe, flicking the part at the bottom that stimulates the perineum. "Can you give me a demonstration?"

I raise a brow. "Sure," I say evenly. "Drop your pants and bend over."

He blinks at me. "What?"

My grin is all wolf. "I never said I use it on myself."

He visibly gulps, looking down at the dildo, contemplating, if I had to guess, whether or not he actually wants said demonstration. It's a huge toy. Not at all for the faint of heart.

"Do you…have something smaller?" he finally asks, carefully turning the dildo off like it might bite him. "You know, something a little less likely to eviscerate me?"

My lips twitch. "Put it back in the drawer, Kipp."

"Teddy, nooo," he whines, coming to the edge of the kitchen and holding the dildo between his flattened palms. The tip hits his chin. "Please. Fuck me with the Dildo of Death. I beg of you."

"Not happening."

"I can take it." He eyes it again dubiously. "I think."

I point down the hall. "Drawer."

Kipp curses, wheeling around and heading toward the bedroom. "Worst husband ever!"

"Love you," I yell after him.

His laugh has me grinning from ear to ear.

Shit.I'm in so much trouble.