Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
He thinks we’re together together. But why does he think that?
The answer comes instantly as I flash back to Friday night. We held hands the whole time we spoke to him. I kissed her like she was mine right there in the shop we’re trying to lease. She’s wearing the blingiest ring I’ve ever seen. And he’s the hotel owner. He may somehow know we rented a room—together.
Hell, I ran a hand down her arm outside the shop when I just saw her minutes ago. We act like we’re madly in…gulp…love. To top it off, we pitched a chocolate and cocktails concept, targeting it especially for date nights.
Adrenaline surges through me. I’ve got to handle this. I’ve got to fix this problem. I should tell him the truth. Really, I should, even if it means losing out on this space.
But would we for sure lose it? Do I actually have to lie? Maybe I could just let him think we’re together without saying otherwise?
That’s not technically a fib.
I steal a glance at Elodie, trying to read her like I would when I was on the mound back in the day. Like she’s the catcher behind the plate. Is she giving me the sign that I’m throwing a curveball when she’s expecting a fast one down the middle? Her blue eyes flash with something. But is that a sparkle or a warning?
Ah, hell. It’s been a while since I read a catcher.
I take a chance and lob an easy pitch. “Who wouldn’t commit to her?”
I’ll just see if she catches it. If she’s comfortable. How she reacts.
Elodie’s still for a beat. Maybe contemplating. Her left hand is raised in the air, fingers fiddling with the ends of her hair. Ring glinting like a beacon guiding a plane to the runway at night.
Then she shrugs happily, smiles, and takes the flight in for a smooth landing when she says, “We’re totally marrying the hell out of each other.”
11
A FUNNY THING
Gage
Talk about swinging for the fences. I can’t believe she leveled up like that.
And yet here I am, going along with it. That’s the part I can’t believe the most. I’m Mister Responsible. But right now, I’m Mister Keeping Up With This Woman. I am not going to be the weak link.
“Yup. We sure are,” I say, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. Sending a message too. What the hell?
She simply squeezes back and shoots me an adoring look. So that’s how she’s playing it. Over the top in love. All right then.
“Wonderful,” Felix says, beaming. “When’s the wedding?”
I scratch my jaw, stalling, since we don’t even have time to devise a single answer to any relationship question. Like…how did we meet?
Oh, the usual way. She accidentally sent an eight-inch dildo to me.
But Elodie jumps right in. “We’re still working on picking a wedding date,” she says, breezily. “Partly because we can’t decide on a venue. Part of me wants to get married in the Conservatory of Flowers, but that’s best during the end of summer. We were considering someplace in the Presidio because of the views. But there’s also City Hall. The rotunda there is simply amazing. But so is Shakespeare Garden in Golden Gate Park.”
What. The. Hell. She’s rattling off dream venues for our fictional wedding?
“You can’t go wrong with any of those,” Felix says, then shrugs playfully and gestures around…indicating the hotel. “But The Escape is lovely too.”
Elodie laughs, bright and golden. “As if we could get on the schedule here. I’m sure you’re booked solid.”
I fucking hope so.
“We are. But I might know a guy.”
My brain screams. What is she doing? Keeping up with this sexy tornado isn’t for the faint of heart. I squeeze her hand harder. “But it’s nice being engaged too,” I cut in. “We’re enjoying the engagement so much, aren’t we, cupcake?”
Translation: slow the hell down.
“We sure are,” she says.
“Plus, we have kids, so we have to think about the best time for them,” I say, since it’s best to turn this fake romance into a long, long, long never-ending, will-not-see-the-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel engagement. “Mine’s eleven. Busy with school and softball and all that.”
“And mine’s thirteen. She wants to pick my dress too. Make sure it fits right. She loves outfits of the day.”
Felix leans back in his chair, seeming utterly charmed. “A family affair. How wonderful,” he says, then glances fondly at the photos on his desk. “And where did you two meet?”
Of course he went there. It’s a normal question. And I’m taking this one. I jump on the question before my fiancée can say a word. “Funny thing,” I begin, patting her hand once again. “Elodie loves the French fries at Sticks and Stones. She would always come in and order them. And I just thought: I need to meet that woman. So I did.”