Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
She freezes, and I realize I messed up. “Why—why would you say that?”
“Oh, just, uh…I don’t know. I really don’t know why I said that.” Actually, yes, I do. Because Smitty told me all about that poor decrepit dog that he found at the shelter. The dog was initially found on the street, so someone must have dumped him at some point. He clearly didn’t have an easy time surviving either. Of all the dogs Smitty could have picked, he thought Weland would love that one best.
He knows her. I don’t. And it makes me feel like I’m thrashing around in my own skin.
“Well, I got this dog,” she says. “I actually just got him. He’s probably not that old, but he looks old. He looks like a hairy potato and an ancient dry sausage had a baby. He’s the sweetest. Most people would say he’s so ugly, but I think he’s beautiful. He makes me want to speak dog so I can ask him to tell me about what happened to him, about how he lost an eye and an ear and half his tail.”
“Jesus Christ.” Smitty didn’t go that far in his description. He just said sad. Very sad. And heartbreaking. The obvious choice for tons of love from someone who has love to give.
“Yeah, I know. It’s really sad. He’s so sweet, though. He’s a good boy despite all that. To me, he’s lovely. I just wish he could talk to me when I talk back. He’s a great listener, but I want him to tell me if he’s hurting. In his soul or in his body. He’s old, so I can’t imagine that’s very comfortable.”
This. Woman.
Of all the women in the world I could have picked to be fake married to, I knew she was the one the second I heard her angelic voice and took in the plea for people to share her videos so she could maybe get one viral in order to support the people she loved. Yes, fake marriages require one as well, and it requires two people who know they can make it work. I didn’t want someone who was just in it for the money. Even if it would only ever be platonic and I had no plans to ever meet the woman who signed her name next to mine on the paper, even if she knew nothing about me, it was still important to me that she had a good heart and a good head on her shoulders.
“I don’t imagine it is. I’d like to hear more about him. What’s his name?”
“Beans. But I don’t know if I’ll keep it. The only accurate thing about that name is that he smells like farts.”
“Oh geez. Like bad farts?”
“I don’t know. Like real farts. He’s gassy. It’s not a lingering body smell, and it’s not coming from anywhere but the rear. It’s legit farts, and I think a better diet will help.”
“Beans. I like that. Beans are tough. They’re a staple. Versatile. Delicious.”
Her face lights up. “Seriously? You like Beans?”
I shouldn’t find this so thrilling—this conversation about old dogs and Beans—but I do because Weland smells good, and she’s gorgeous and funny and sweet, and she’s so close to me that it’s doing things to my pulse, blood pressure, and man parts.
“I seriously do.”
Chapter three
Weland
As far as turn-ons go, the phrase you like Beans shouldn’t be one of them, but who am I kidding? It certainly is. It takes a brave individual to admit to liking such a thing and an even braver one to talk about farts. It tells me this guy is comfortable with himself, his body, and the grossness that sometimes happens. He doesn’t expect perfection, even though his suit screams he has enough money to be perfect. He’s clean cut, which I normally find a little bit abhorrent, but maybe the Beans talks take the edge off the neatly trimmed dark hair, the too-square jawline, the handsome features, the soft dark eyes, and the tall broadness that is nothing short of drool-worthy. I’m a big grown-up girl, and I know guys like this can have the pick of the litter, and it’s not me.
Obviously. I’m platonically married, and despite talking a big game yesterday, I’m not going to cheat on that fake marriage. I’m not going to break the contract. I shouldn’t even be talking to this guy right now.
Or shouldn’t I? It doesn’t hurt to just talk. He’s nice even though I spilled my water all over him. Anyway, it doesn’t hurt to just give him a bit of conversation. Plus, I’m enjoying it.
I’ve looked forward to this night for so long. I thought I could go out and pretend everything was normal and that I was the same person I was four years ago before any of this happened and my life changed and all the secrets started, but I can’t pretend, even to myself. I don’t feel like I fit here. And honestly? My friends are just fine without me. Kate would still have a great time even if I left early. I call her my bestie because she is, or at least she was, but they’ve all moved on with their lives while I’ve been frozen in place, and as I said before, drifting apart is a real thing.