Chapter Six

Lena

"This can't be happening," I complain again after Seth has left as I glance at the metal ring around my right hand, which is attached to the one around Riley's left.

Yup. We're handcuffed. To each other. For eight hours.

"Seems like it is."

Riley lifts his cuffed hand. Mine goes up as well.

I shake my head. "I can't believe we have to go through this. Even married couples don't get cuffed to each other."

He shrugs. "Maybe they should."

"And to make things worse, we even have to do ten things together or for each other."

"Well, Seth did have a point. The challenge would be pointless and the show would be boring if we could just sit next to each other and watch TV all day."

I sit back against the couch with a sigh. "So what are we going to do?"

"We could swim," Riley suggests. "After all, I'm still in my trunks."

That's true. I was just about to make coffee and he was just about to go for his morning swim. Thank goodness I was wise enough to go to the bathroom first, though I didn't even have time to take a shower.

"I don't think we can swim," I say as I tear my gaze away from his Speedos.

Why does he have to look so hot in them?

"Why not? You surely won't drown while you're cuffed to me."

"Can you even swim if your wrist is attached to mine?" I ask him.

Riley shrugs. "I guess we'll find out."

"No." I shake my head. "Besides, you may be in your swim trunks, but I'm still in my pajamas. I'm not going to swim in these."

"You could change."

"Nope. I don't think I can."

He rests his head against the back of the couch as he gives an exasperated sigh. "I can't believe I can't swim this morning. I get so restless when I don't start the day in the pool. I've got to stretch these muscles, you know."

I try not to gape as he flexes his arm. Yup. I know you've got amazing muscles.

"Then maybe we can just exercise," I suggest. "That should be more manageable."

Riley doesn't look satisfied with that, but he shrugs. "I guess we can try."

We head to the exercise room. It's a struggle at first. We end up bumping into each other and I almost twist my arm. But then we figure out that instead of standing side by side, we should stand in front of each other. Even then, it's still hard to move, especially since Riley is taller than me, but we manage to pull off some stretches and even a few jumping jacks.

One task completed. Nine to go.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," I say to Riley as we sit on the mat after our little workout with handcuffs. "That could even become a thing."

He snorts. "Only for people who don't really want to exercise but want to believe they're doing it."

I frown because I used to be one of those.

He wipes the sweat off his forehead. "Now I want to swim even more."

And I want to take a shower. But we can't take one together. Of course not.

I sweep my hair out of my face to at least keep my cheeks cool but the strands fall back.

"This is so unfair. At least you have your left hand cuffed so you can do things with your right hand. I can't do anything at all. I can't even comb my hair."

"Want me to do it for you?" Riley offers.

Well, there's an idea.

I nod. "Okay."

~

But maybe not a good one, I think as I feel Riley's fingertips graze my scalp while gathering up strands of my hair.

It's not only that I have to keep my right hand up as he tries to fix it. There's just something weird about having someone else comb my hair for me.

"Am I doing this wrong?" Riley asks behind me. "Because you've been scowling at the mirror."

I look at my reflection and realize he's right.

"I'm just not used to this, I guess," I tell him.

"Didn't your mother used to do it?"

I pause to think. Well, yes, I suppose she used to comb my hair and tie it and even braid it. But she stopped doing it long before she left.

"That was a long time ago," I say.

"When did she pass away?" Riley asks.

My eyebrows arch. "Oh, no. She's not... dead. She just... I just haven't seen her... in a very, very long time."

"Oh." He stops brushing my hair. "I'm so sorry. I just thought... Anyway, I'm sorry."

I shrug. "It's okay."

I guess she might as well be dead anyway.

"My mother passed away when I was eight," Riley confides as he continues brushing.

"Oh." That's something I've never heard about him before. Strange. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure she would have loved to see you swim and get those medals."

He falls silent. I frown.

Shit. Did I say too much?

I try to disregard the awkward silence and shake off the weird sensation of his hands in my hair as he keeps fixing it. Finally, he stops. I check my reflection and see that he's tied my hair in a ponytail. He missed a few strands, but overall, it's fine.

"Thanks," I tell him as I get the brush from him. "That feels better. Sure you don't want a career in hairdressing?"

He snorts. "I only did a decent job because you have nice hair."

I try not to blush at the compliment.

"Do you want me to comb your hair, too?" I ask him. "Though I guess that will still count for one task."

"I'm fine."

To prove his point, he gives his head a shake. His dark strands of hair bounce off his forehead.

Okay.

"Then what should we do?"

"I still want to swim."

I sigh. "You don't give up, do you?"

"I have an idea. Why don't I go into the pool? Just immerse myself in the water. And you can just sit on the edge."

"You call that swimming?"

"Well, no, but..." Riley scratches his chin.

"I don't think we can do that," I tell him. "We have to do something together or for each other."

He sighs. "I guess you're right."

The look of dismay on his face nearly breaks my heart.

"But maybe we can sit by the pool," I suggest to cheer him up.

He turns to me with creased eyebrows. "Does that count?"

I'm not sure.

"Or we can clean the pool," I say. "That would definitely count."

"And you'll let me take a dip after?" Riley asks hopefully.

"Fine," I say. "But you have to promise not to get me wet."

~

Well, Riley didn't exactly keep his promise since my arm's drenched and so is the sleeve of my pajama top. But at least my clothes are mostly dry. Riley, on the other hand, is dripping wet, and since he can't dry himself off with just one hand, I have to help him.

"Maybe I shouldn't have let you go into the water," I say as I hold one end of the towel while keeping my gaze off his chest.

I can still feel it beneath my hands and the cotton, though, as I help him dry off, and it's all I can do to keep myself from blushing.

I really shouldn't have let him get wet at all.

"Well, maybe this counts as task number four," Riley says. "I mean, you are doing it for me."

He's right. That's the consolation.

"I guess."

Four down. Six to go.

He grabs the towel from my hand. "That should be enough."

I'm relieved to hear it, especially as I watch him dry off his thighs and legs on his own. I definitely don't want to go there.

Still, I wonder why he's being so considerate of me when just yesterday he was being so aggressive, even pushing me down on the bed. Since then, he hasn't made another move. He's not even trying to tease me. And to think that this is actually a perfect opportunity for him since we're handcuffed and all and I literally can't get away from him. What made him change his mind?

Wait. I'm not disappointed, am I?

"There," Riley says as he finishes drying his feet. "I should be dry enough to get inside the house. Then I can change and we can have something to eat. I'm starving."

Now that he's mentioned it, I am hungry, too. Well, we haven't really had anything to eat today.

"Yeah, I guess we should try to fix--" I stop as I realize something. "Did you say change?"

~

Yup, he's changing.

And here I am facing the wall and desperately trying not to look over my shoulder as he constantly tugs at my arm and I hear the rustle of fabric behind me.

Whatever you do, Lena, don't look.

I can't stop my imagination from running, though, or from painting a picture of his naked body--I mean, he has to be completely naked at one point, right? Thank goodness it isn't detailed. Well, I wouldn't know how to draw that part of him because I've never seen it, never seen one, for that matter, except on the internet, though something tells me his is fairly large and--

"Done." Riley's voice nearly makes me jump.

I draw a deep breath and turn around slowly. My eyes grow wide as they rest on his bare chest.

I tear them away. "I thought you said you were going to put on clothes."

"I'm wearing pants."

Yes, I can see that. Wait. Where am I looking?

"I can't put a shirt on," Riley adds, raising his handcuffed hand.

Right. Of course he can't. Well, I guess a pair of pants is better than wet Speedos.

"Let's just go to the kitchen." I tug on his arm. "And see what we can whip up with just one pair of mismatched hands."

~

Sandwiches. That's what we manage to finish making an hour later.

They were the easiest to make. Well, actually, I wanted to just put something in the microwave, but Riley wouldn't hear of it. So sandwiches.

I say easiest, but they were still a struggle. I couldn't chop stuff, so Riley had to do all that. And boy, did he take his time. I had a feeling he couldn't cook since I've been doing all the cooking, but I don't even think he's ever chopped vegetables in his life. I kept holding my breath, scared that he'd cut his finger off. Thankfully, that didn't happen. Then we assembled the sandwiches one ingredient at a time. And juiced some oranges for our drink. More accurately, I put the oranges into the machine and Riley pressed the juice out of them. Then I poured them into glasses.

But preparing food was the easy part. Eating it is even more of a challenge. We have to take turns picking up our sandwiches and biting them. Each time, they fall apart a little more. Needless to say, we end up making a mess.

"I think my plate ate more than me," I say as I glance down at it.

"You think so, too?"

At least my stomach's not grumbling anymore.

I reach for my glass of juice with my left hand and take a sip. "At least we did three more things--making sandwiches, juicing and eating. That's seven things we did together with handcuffs on."

"So three more," Riley says. "What next?"

"I think we should take things easy. What about a movie? We can't watch a movie all day, but we can watch one. That counts for one thing."

He shrugs. "Okay."

~

Riley doesn't look okay, though. He gives another yawn as I turn off the TV as the credits of Taxi Driver begin to roll.

I turn to him with a frown. "You didn't like the movie, did you?"

"No. I did," he argues. "It's just..."

"Boring?"

"A bit much. And maybe a bit depressing and ugly."

My eyebrows arch. "But that's the point of the movie. It's supposed to make you suffer and cringe. It's intense. That's why this movie is so good."

He shrugs.

"This movie is one of the best American films of all time, and that's not just according to me," I go on. "The story is good. The acting. And the shots. This is one of Scorsese's finest. Someday, I want to make a movie just like it."

He gives me a look of surprise. "You want to make a movie?"

Didn't I tell him that?

"Yeah." I nod as I turn my gaze back to the empty screen. "I want to be a director."

"Wow. You really like movies, don't you?"

"Maybe as much as you love swimming," I answer. "I used to watch them with... I used to watch them all the time."

"No wonder you didn't have time to do sports."

"It was easier," I admit. "Plus I learned so much from every movie as opposed to playing just one sport."

"Ouch."

"But I admire your dedication," I add. "Who knows? I might make a film about you someday."

Riley snorts. "No thanks." He stretches his arms, taking my right arm with him. "I think far too many people know too much about me already."

"Do they?"

"Plus I don't think you can find an actor who can swim as fast as me."

"Show-off," I tease him. "He doesn't actually have to swim as fast as you, you know. He just has to look like it, which is easy."

He frowns. "Anyway, enough about movies. We still have two tasks left to complete the challenge."

He's right. "What do you have in mind?"

Riley gets off the couch and I follow him to the baby grand piano in the corner.

"Do you play?" he asks me.

"My sister used to," I answer.

His eyes grow wide. "You have a sister?"

I nod. "She's older than me. She taught me a few pieces."

Though I can only remember one, I think.

"What do you know?" Riley asks as he pulls out the chair.

Wait. We're playing? Riley knows how to play?

I sit beside him. "Blue Danube."

"Really?" He lifts the cover off the keys. "That's easy."

He starts to play but stops after the cuff hits one of the keys by mistake.

"Why don't you and I play together?" he suggests. "You can play with your left hand and I'll play with my right."

"Okay."

I guess that makes sense. Actually, it might just be the perfect arrangement.

"You start," Riley says.

I position my free hand over the keys and begin to press them. I get the third one wrong on the first try, but on the second my fingers remember which keys to press. Then Riley takes over, playing with his right hand.

Our hands take turns, then play together. One by one, the notes fill the air, creating a melody that I nod my head along to. We're playing so well together that I almost forget my right hand is cuffed, and when it's over I stare at the keys in awe.

"I can't believe we just did that," I say out loud.

"Yes, we did," Riley agrees. "And very well, too. I'd clap if I could."

I look at him. "Who taught you play?"

"A tutor taught me the basics," he answers. "I learned the harder pieces by myself."

"And here I thought all you could do was swim," I tease him.

"And here I thought you didn't have any talents," he teases me back.

I frown but let it go.

He holds his left hand over the keys. "Shall we try that again?"

~

We try that two more times before Riley tries to teach me a new piece--Fur Elise. Afterwards, we head to the bedroom to do our last task--taking a nap together.

When Riley first suggests it, I think it's easy enough. We just have to lie on the bed and close our eyes, right? Now that we're in bed, though, I can't seem to set myself at ease.

Even if I close my eyes, I'm aware of Riley lying next to me. I can hear his shallow breathing. I can pick up the scent of his bare skin. Weird. I've been beside him all day. I should be used to his presence by now. I didn't even mind it anymore when we were playing the piano. But now, as much as I try not to mind it, it bothers me.

Maybe we should try something else.

I'm about to suggest that, but as I turn my head, I find him already asleep. At least, he looks like it. His eyes are closed, and for the first time I notice how thick his eyelashes are. I notice, too, that his hair is not all black--there seem to be some dark brown strands mixed in--and that his skin is incredibly smooth.

He really is so handsome.

I lift my left hand to touch his cheek but stop. I shake my head.

What am I doing? I should just let him sleep. And I should sleep, too, not fantasize about Riley.

On impulse, I turn on my side away from him. The next thing I know Riley's body presses against mine.

"Whoa," he says.

Shit. How could I have forgotten about the handcuffs?

I lie on my back only to find my face inches from Riley's. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. His gaze holds mine captive and my heart begins to pound.

What the hell am I doing?

My thoughts begin to evaporate as I stare into those dark eyes. I can't move. I can't breathe. When his searing gaze proves too much, my eyelids fall. My lips quiver.

I wait for his to press against them. Instead, I feel Riley move away.

"You should be more careful," he tells me. "Anyway, the cuffs won't be on for much longer."

My eyes slowly open and stare at the ceiling.

He didn't kiss me? Why? Since the wedding ceremony, he's been kissing me once a day and trying to more often than that. Yet, today, he hasn't. He hasn't even tried, even though God knows he's had far more chances today than before, like just now.

Why? Doesn't he want me anymore?

If so, that's good, right? That's the deal.

Then why does my chest suddenly ache so much? I don't understand it at all.