Chapter 2

Mollie said: [So what if he's good to you? You're only twenty-four. Are you supposed to just live like that?]

I stared at my phone screen, thinking Mollie was right.

I was just twenty-four, married to a guy seven years older, and my sex life was already like I'm fifty.

I wasn't fine with it.

But what could I do? He really was good to me, so good that I had no reason to complain.

But one day, everything changed.

I realized my underwear was missing—not just one piece, but three.

Those were my favorite three: the black lace one, the red one, and that light purple one that cost a fortune. I'd never even had the heart to wear it.

They all disappeared at the same time.

I asked Jenson, "Have you seen my underwear anywhere?"

He was reading, didn't even look up. "No."

I said, "But it's just the two of us living here."

"Maybe the wind blew them away."

"The balcony has a railing. How could the wind possibly blow them off?"

He turned a page. "I don't know."

He said "I don't know" so calmly that it made me feel like something was off.

But I didn't dwell on it.

If he said he didn't know, I believed him.

He never lied to me.

Or at least, that was what I always thought.

Everything changed on our first wedding anniversary.

Jenson gave me a necklace—ridiculously expensive, and he didn't even bother to hide the receipt. I snuck a peek and saw it was ten thousand dollars.

He never held back when it came to spending on me.

But that day, a necklace wasn't what I wanted.

I bought a new set of black, strappy lingerie, and when I put it on, even I blushed just looking at myself.

After my shower, I walked out to find him sitting on the bed, reading.

I gave him a twirl in front of him.

He glanced up and said, "Looks nice."

Then he went back to his book.

"Don't you think maybe we should do something special tonight?" I asked.

"It's our anniversary," he said, setting his book aside and looking at me seriously. "I know."

Then he turned off the lights.

Fifteen minutes later, he got up to grab a warm towel.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and suddenly felt like crying—not because I was hurt, but because the damn lingerie I spent 150 dollars on didn't even get a second glance from him.

The next day, Mollie asked me out for coffee. When I told her what happened, she nearly threw her cup.

"Are you sure he's straight?" Mollie blurted.

"We do it, once a week," I said.

"That's just doing your duty, not real sex. You've been married a year. Has he ever told you he wants you?"

I thought for a second and then said, "No."

"Has he ever said you look hot?"

"No."

"Has he ever seemed even a little bothered when you're on your period?"

"Nope. He actually looks relieved when I'm on my period."

Mollie gave me this look, like I was about to join a convent.

"Girl, hear me out," she whispered, "I think your man's got problems."

"What kind of problems?" I asked.

"Either he's gay, or he's seeing someone else, or..."

"Or what?"

"Or he's got something wrong with him."

After I got home, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

There was no way Jenson was seeing someone else. He was either at work or at home, barely had any social life, and I could check his phone anytime—nothing suspicious at all.

And he didn't seem gay either. We did have sex. Even if he was kind of perfunctory about it, his body was definitely into it.

So that left only one possibility.

He was just a cold fish by nature.

Mollie came up with an idea. "Why don't you try to shake him up a little?"

"How am I supposed to do that?" I asked.

"Make him a little jealous. Let him think someone else is interested in you," she suggested.

"You mean... make him think I'm cheating?" I asked.

"Not actually cheat—just give him a little scare. Guys are like that—if you don't poke at them, they'll never get a spark in their eyes," Mollie said.

Honestly, it made sense.

But I chickened out.

Seeing me hesitate, Mollie added, "Then start with something less dramatic. My friend opened a massage place—totally above board. Just tell him your therapist is a guy and see how he reacts."

"Isn't that kind of shady?" I hesitated.

"Don't you want to know if he even cares about you?" Mollie pressed.

I gritted my teeth and agreed.

That night, after my shower, I made a point to tell Jenson, "Mollie's taking me for a massage tomorrow. She said it's a new place, and the male therapists are supposed to be amazing."

I made sure to put extra emphasis on "male therapists."

He was wiping his glasses, and for a split second, he paused, like, maybe a third of a second.

Then he just kept wiping and said, "Okay, just be careful."

That was it?

Seriously? That was all I got?

I was so pissed off that I barely slept a wink that night.