Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
I gasp at his words. “Nate…”
He smirks. “You know I’m right. If I were to slide my hand beneath this skirt that’s been driving me fucking crazy from the second I saw you in it,” he says as he runs his hand up the side of my thigh. “I bet I’d find my proof. Wouldn’t I?”
“You’re not getting any of the perks of a real marriage,” I say, keeping my tone level. “It’s on paper only. Take it or leave it.”
His fingers burn everywhere he touches. And when he moves his hand to fix his tie, I let out a sigh of relief.
“I’ll take it,” he says. “But trust me, Harley baby, you won’t make it one night in my bed without giving in.”
I snicker at his comment. “I’m not sleeping in your bed.”
He laughs. “Who said anything about sleeping?”
Seconds after we told our families about the engagement, my father was on the phone with Danika Kane. I was hoping for a sit down with my father, but our publicist appeared before I could say eggs benedict. So much for the breakfast my dad promised.
Danika works wonders. She’s proven her worth dozens of times over the years. If anyone can make this marriage look real, she can. We usually shoot greenscreens for video games in Studio D. But today, the room is filled with various backdrops, lighting umbrellas, and a full crew of cameramen. Everyone buzzes around us, the room brought to life by the overworked staff.
A woman with spiky black hair and thick eyeliner dabs at Nate’s cheek with a powder puff the size of my hand. He looks uncomfortable, wincing every time she presses it against his face. Nate is a pretty boy, with his chiseled features and effortless good looks, but he’s not used to being pampered. He hates when strangers touch him. I learned that the hard way when I made him come to the nail salon with me in eighth grade. He cringed the entire time, cursing me under his breath until we left. From that day forward, I promised to do girly things alone.
Nate glances over at me on occasion, making it a point to touch me in some way. This time, his fingers graze the side of my boob. I shoot a wicked look at him.
“Sorry,” he says with zero emotion in his voice.
When he turns back toward the makeup girl, I swear he smirks. His accidental grazes are intentional. Everything Nate does serves a purpose. This is going to be the longest fake marriage of my life.
“You know what to say, right?” Danika asks me for the hundredth time. She presses her pink lips together and smears her gloss into place. “Do I need to run the script with you again?”
I shake my head. “Nope, I got this. If we rehearse my lines another time, I might blow my brains out.”
Danika gives me a cheeky grin, though she looks a little irritated by my attitude. “And you, Little King?” She looks at Nate, shifting her hands to her hips. Paired with leather boots, her black dress stops mid-thigh, hugging her slim body. “You’re the one everyone needs to believe. I expect you to be on your A-game.”
“I’m good.” Nate adjusts his lapels with his eyes fixed on me. “I can handle a few reporters.”
“He’s a professional liar,” I quip, which earns me a chuckle from Danika. “If anyone can spin a web of bullshit people will believe, it’s Nate.”
“Aww, well, aren’t you a sweetheart?” He stares at me, his green irises shining. “Play nice, wifey, or I’ll have to spank you.” The bastard winks.
Laughing, I smack his backside, and Nate grabs my ass in response. I swat his hand for the tenth time since we stepped into this room. He drags his teeth along his bottom lip to taunt me.
“The media won’t have a hard time believing you two are together.” Danika waves her hand at us and a string of gold bracelets on her wrist jingle. “You already act like you’re married. And you make a cute couple. I would totally believe you’re together.” She brushes her long hair away from her face as she studies us. “This should be the easiest lie I’ve ever had to sell.”
“That’s what happens after close to thirty years of friendship,” Nate says.
“You can’t count the time we spent apart,” I challenge.
After our senior prom, our friendship took a serious and unexpected turn. Nate distanced himself from me, spending more time with other girls at school. I had no idea what to think, and when I moved to Rhode Island for art school, and Nate went to Cambridge to study programming, things got even weirder. We were a short drive from each other, and even saw each other some weekends, but it didn’t last long.
Eventually, we stopped returning each other’s phone calls in a timely manner and signals got crossed. Frustrated one night, I drove to MIT and saw him with another girl. He looked happy, we were barely friends anymore, and I decided to let him go. I applied to UCLA the next day, wanting to be as far away from him as possible. From that day forward, our lives changed. No more Nate and Harley.