Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You
Chapter 166: Real Date

Chapter 166: Real Date

Rebecca

"How about I take you out on a real date?"

I stare at the text message, trying to figure out what to say.

Should I say yes? Or should I say no? But why would I say no to Kevin?

It’s not that I am committed to Marcus. Sure, my body feels hot from the memory of our phone call the other night. The way his voice deepened as he asked me...no, told me to touch myself while thinking of him.

Oh god...

But Marcus never promised me anything. And I didn’t promise him anything. We are free to date whoever we want.

Aren’t we?

"Ms. Rebecca?" a little voice brought me out of my wanderings. I look down at the little blonde girl and Smile. "Yes, Tracy?"

Tracy furrows her brows. "Mikey took all the toys out of the box without asking again, Tracy complains.

I sigh. "Did he, now?"

Tracy nods dramatically. "Yes! And he won’t listen to me when I tell him to stop. He said I am not his boss!"

I decide to deal with the text later. Right now, I need to focus on my job.

"Alright, let’s go talk to Mikey together, shall we?" I declare.

For the rest of the class, I was busy dealing with the chaos of my classroom. Some days, I feel more like a mother than a teacher. When it is finally time to go home and I have sent the last kid home with his parent, I am exhausted.

My phone dings as I walk toward my car.

"So... is that a no?" The text message says.

Shit. I completely forgot to answer his text message!

I quickly type a reply; my heart is pounding. "I didn’t exactly say no yet," I say.

His reply comes fast. "Oh, Good. I thought I scared you at the party or something."

I smile and reply: "I teach kindergarten. It takes a lot to scare me."

"Then how about going out with me this Saturday? I promise I will make it worth your while."

I look at the text and think.

Sure, why not? Why not give Kevin a chance? Kevin is nice, funny and someone who is a lot more...attainable than Marcus. Marcus is probably just playing with me.

"Sure," I type before I give myself the chance to back out of this. But as I head home, I feel a knot in my stomach.

God... why do I feel guilty?

I owe Marcus nothing. I can date whoever I feel like. I am not his girlfriend and he is not my boyfriend!

I keep repeating these words in my brain as I drive home.

But they don’t help. Not really.

Because as soon as I get home. Shoes kicked off, purse dropped by the door, I see his name on my phone screen.

Marcus: Busy today?

Just two words. Innocent. Normal.

And yet, I feel like I’ve been caught cheating.

I don’t answer right away. I toss my phone on the couch and head to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge even though I’m not really hungry. There’s half a takeout container and a bottle of white wine I’ve been meaning to finish for weeks. I grab the wine, screw off the cap, and take a sip straight from the bottle.

I am a grown woman. I am allowed to say yes to a date with Kevin. I’m allowed to want something that isn’t so complicated, so dangerous. I’m allowed to choose peace over obsession.

And yet...

My feet betray me. I walk back to the couch. Pick up my phone.

I type: Kindergarten madness. Just got home.

He replies almost instantly.

Marcus: Did you get my picture last night?

My stomach flips.

Oh, I got it. I saved it, even though I’ll deny it until I die. Just a photo of him in bed, messy hair, low lighting, half a grin like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I must’ve stared at it for twenty minutes, debating if I should reply with something equally reckless.

I didn’t.

Now I type back:

Yeah. Nice sheets.

It’s safer that way.

Marcus: Nice sheets? That’s all I get? I was shirtless, Rebecca.

I bite my lip.

You want a medal?

Marcus: I want you.

There’s a pause after that. He doesn’t say more. And I...I just sit there, staring at the words until they blur.

God.

Why does he always do this? Why does he know exactly how to say something so simple it slides past my defenses like smoke under a door?

"Well, you can’t have me," I type.

A few minutes later, I got a reply. "Oh no? Playing hard to get, huh? How long do you think you can keep up the charade?"

I stare at the message, my breath caught somewhere between my ribs.

Playing hard to get.

Charade.

The words hit me like ice water, like he’s just reminded me of exactly who he is—Marcus in all his arrogant, too-smooth confidence. The kind of man who always thinks he’s three moves ahead. The kind of man who thinks I’m the one pretending.

Except... maybe I am pretending. Maybe I’m pretending this whole thing isn’t affecting me. That I don’t check my phone for his name more often than I should. That I didn’t feel heat pool low in my stomach just from that photo.

God.

I toss my phone on the couch again like it’s suddenly dangerous. I pace. I take another sip of wine. I sit down. I stand back up. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s sparking.

I could block him and go on that date with Kevin and try to build something normal.

But I don’t have it in me to do that.

I send him another text: "I am going on a date with Kevin this Saturday, Marcus. I am not playing hard to get."

The silence after I send the message is deafening.

No immediate reply. No three-dots typing bubble. Just stillness.

And my own heart thudding so hard it feels like it’s shaking my entire ribcage.

I stare at the phone, willing it to ding.

Nothing.

A minute passes. Then two. I set it down on the coffee table like it’s a bomb I’ve just defused, except the anxiety still thrums under my skin.

This was the right thing. The adult thing.

Honest. Direct.

I told him the truth. I drew a line.

So why do I feel like I’ve just stepped out onto a ledge?

Finally, my phone buzzes.

Marcus: Kevin.

One word. Flat. Sharp. I can feel the bitterness baked into every letter.

Another message follows.

Marcus: He doesn’t even know you.

I stare at it, lips pressed tight. My fingers hover above the screen.

And then—

Marcus: He’s not the one you think about when you can’t sleep.

He’s not the one who makes you wet with just a voice.

He’s not the one you saved that picture for, is he?

My breath catches.

Another ping.

Marcus:

But go ahead. Go on your date.

See how that feels when you’re lying in bed Saturday night, and it’s my name in your mouth.

I should be angry. I should be furious. But all I feel is shaken. Torn. Lit up in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

I don’t reply.

I can’t.

I put my phone on silent and sink into the couch, arms wrapped tightly around my knees.

Marcus is dangerous. Not in the way that hurts your body, but the kind that seeps into your thoughts, your routines, your choices. The kind that changes what you want without asking.

And now I’m standing at a crossroads: Kevin, who is safe, and kind, and available...

And Marcus, who makes me feel like the world narrows to a pinpoint when he looks at me.

Saturday is coming.

And I don’t know which part of me is going to show up.

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