Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“I can. They’re assholes.”
“You knew it was a bad idea, didn’t you?” She sucked in a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Experience breeds wisdom, Poppins.” I shrugged indifferently. “Scars are great reminders to avoid future mistakes.”
“Do you think they know about you and Gretchen?” she asked as she flagged the waitress for the bill.
“Nah.” I stood up, tapping my front pocket and stretching with a yawn. “They’d have interrogated us to death. Be right back, doodie calls.”
“You did not just say that.” She speared me with a wrathful glare. “‘Doodie calls.’”
“Problem?” I curved an eyebrow.
“Sometimes I think you insist on aggravating me.”
“You really think highly of yourself, don’t you, my secretly working-class fiancée?”
I slipped away to take care of the check. Then, I returned, calmly tugged my fiancée by the arm, and whispered in her ear, “How fast can you run on these heels?”
“Why?” Her back stiffened.
“We’re dining and dashing.”
“No, we’re n—”
But then I started running, and she had no choice but to follow me.
After all, I did take her Kate Spade purse ransom.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RIGGS
We took the subway back to her apartment. I sprang over the barriers again.
After she stopped chastising and berating me about the unpaid check, she felt so charitable she stopped at a Duane Reade and treated me to a few pairs of new socks, because mine, as she explained, had “more holes than a plot in a porn.”
“Have you ever even watched porn?” I walked shoulder to shoulder with her across the platform now. I couldn’t imagine the woman touching a penis. No, scratch that—I definitely could. Mine. Kneading, stroking, spitting, kissing. But I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was still a virgin.
“I’m not going to answer that question.”
The air stood still, hot and humid, as summer soaked the walls of the subway. There were only a few people loitering on the platform.
“Just tell me you know babies don’t get delivered by storks.”
A look of confusion marred her delicate face. “I beg your pardon? I’ve just ordered one from the internet. The stork agency offered a great discount.”
I chuckled, pushing my fingers into her hair and messing it, just as an excuse to touch her. She wasn’t so bad when she was being her true, undiluted self.
“If you ever want to watch porn, I have some recs,” I offered.
“Color me surprised.”
“We could do a fake-movie date to go with our fake relationship.”
“That’s a real pass from me.” She scrunched her nose.
“Is that because I’m poor?”
“It’s because I don’t do one-night stands, especially with people I have to share a flat with for the unforeseeable future.”
Cocksucker must’ve been a shitty lover if she was so prickly about discussing sex. We were both grown-ups. Me, mostly chronologically, but still.
“The offer still stands,” I said easily. “Everyone should watch porn at least once in their lifetime. It’s an experience.”
“Right. So!” She clapped her hands together, seemingly eager to change the subject. “What are you going to do now that your boss thinks you’re staying in New York for a while?”
“Wanting to get rid of me already?”
The train approached the platform with a loud shriek.
“Don’t pretend like our arrangement is ideal.” She crossed her arms defensively.
It wasn’t. And she was right: I needed to find a project to throw myself into. There was no way I was going to sit around in the same place for months.
“I’ll just do short trips for a few weeks, then tell Emmett you were a huge mistake, and we’re getting a divorce. You won’t mind if I spread a little rumor you gave me syphilis, right?”
“And what if . . . you know.” She cleared her throat. “This works out, and we wait until I get a green card? The time period between a CR1 visa and a green card is just a couple years.”
“What’s the point in that?” I frowned. “Don’t you wanna marry up?”
“Marrying up would take time if BJ and I don’t get back together.” She licked her lips, looking down. At least she was honest enough not to deny her life’s ambition.
“Is that really the height of your dreams? Marrying for money?”
“I won’t be marrying for money. I’d be marrying for security. For peace of mind. For the privilege of not having to worry about where food is going to come from, paying the electricity bills, or having something warm to wear during the winter. Marriage has been a pragmatic arrangement between families and individuals since the dawn of time. Love is a recent, unwelcome development. Indulgent and self-centered. I personally reckon it’s all Jane Austen’s fault. Couldn’t she have written a murder mystery? She would have spared all of us gold diggers the hassle.”
Now I was laughing so hard I couldn’t fucking breathe. She didn’t mean to be funny, but she was. My fiancée was reddening next to me, apparently mistaking my amusement for mockery. I wasn’t mocking her. I had a feeling her need for financial security was deeply rooted in some really dark memories, and I couldn’t judge her for it. It was her ruthless hardheadedness that I found refreshing. She was like John D. Rockefeller. She had a talent to find opportunity in disaster.