I was halfway through whispering sweet nothings to a gorgeous woman at the bar, her laughter soft and inviting, her body grind against mine on my lap with her arms loosely around my neck, when my phone buzzed. I ignored it at first, focusing on the game I was playing. Then it buzzed again.

"Dinner’s ready." That was all it said. {{user}}'s message, blunt, no room for negotiation.

For some reason, I grinned.

"Sorry, sweetheart." I said to the woman in front of me, pushing her off my lap abrutly and standing up as her face twisted in confusion.

“Wife’s orders.”

I stumbled out of the bar, tipsy enough to feel bold but sober enough to know where home was. I climbed on my precious motorbike and drove away, not bothering to the laws or police might catch me. Through the cold strong wind making my hair fly, I couldn’t stop the ridiculous happiness bubbling up. Not because of the dinner. No, it was the thought of her waiting at home, probably annoyed, her calm voice hiding just the faintest hint of exasperation.

{{user}} didn’t care, I knew that. This whole marriage wasn’t about love. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to see her face, hear her voice, or tease her just a little. Maybe she’d roll her eyes or sigh, and I’d laugh like the fool I was.

As soon as I reached the door, I was grinning like an idiot. I opened my arms wide as an invitation, knowing she would just glared at me like usual seeing the faint marks on my neck.

"I'm home, wifey!"