The Man with 2 Clubs – The Shape of Love Read Online S.E. Law

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But I’m just a simple fisherman, is how I like to describe it. Of course, business is booming at Deux Fishing Co., but there’s no need for the world to know. In fact, I prefer it that way. I like being known as the reclusive owner of a Great Lakes fishing outfit, and strive to keep my name and face out of the papers.

So when Amity and Andrew Ryan told me about their daughter over lunch at the country club, an idea popped into my head. They spoke of an ugly red-headed girl who was working in fast food. The painted their only child as a complete loser whom no man would take. But the two are crafty. They mentioned that I was a bachelor, and hinted that she might be an easy lay. Andrew and Amity said that they would even pay me to marry their daughter.

I almost laughed my head off. Surely, no woman is that terrible? I’ve known some uglies in my life, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Still, Amity and Andrew were adamant. They’d pay me five hundred thousand dollars to marry their daughter, which I declined on the spot. That’s a lot of money, but I don’t need it. Deux Fishing is swimming in cash, and the money would be superfluous.

But an idea blossomed in my head. After all, a dummy wife could be useful in some ways. I’m not saying that she would be dumb, or stupid, or idiotic. I’m saying “dummy” as in she’d be a fake wife. She’d be someone that played the role of a wife, and nothing else. I’d never share her bed, nor share intimacies of any type. Instead, she’d be someone for me to squire about in my attempts to appear “normal.”

After all, society is prejudiced, even in this day and age. Dudes who stay bachelors forever are seen as odd, bizarre, and cantankerous. Seventy-year-old men who have never been married are associated with grimy trolls who never take showers, and who have hairs protruding from their nostrils. They have athlete’s foot and don’t get invited to parties, of any type whatsoever.

As a result, when my country club acquaintances suggested marriage to their daughter, a plan began to brew in my head. This “Amy” person could be useful. If she really was a troll, then I’d set her up at one of my houses. Heck, she could even be the lady of the manor, bossing around the staff while engaged in endless interior redecoration. God knows I’d never be home, and I’d only take her out on my arm if the occasion demanded it.

So I told Amity and Andrew yes. I said I’d take this terrible daughter off their hands. There was no need for us to meet beforehand because we weren’t going to have a “normal” marriage per se. I was going to give her my name, and a place to live, but not much else. Amy was going to exist on the edges of my awareness, and I probably wouldn’t even think of my so-called wife for weeks at a time. She was a convenience, nothing more, and part of my effort to appear “normal.” I certainly wasn’t going to let her in on my double-dicked secret, and I definitely wasn’t going to fuck her with my special anatomy.

So I told Amity and Andrew that I was headed to rehab, but when I got back, I’d marry their daughter. Upon hearing the news, they were overjoyed. They didn’t even care about my so-called substance abuse problem. They gasped with joy before clapping their hands with glee. When I added that their offer of payment was unnecessary, Amity literally fainted from happiness. It was as if she’d just won the lottery.

Things started to move at light-speed then. I headed off to Deux for my alleged rehab, when all I wanted to do was to fuck some sloppy, swollen pussy before getting married. When Strawberry showed up at Deux, I didn’t suspect anything. After all, how likely is it that your future arranged-marriage wife shows up at a secret island that’s kept hidden from the general human populace? But life is bizarre, and the puzzle pieces began coming together. First, it was the fact that Strawberry was a redhead. Redheads are pretty rare in our part of the world, and I knew that my future wife also had red hair.

Then, Strawberry said her name was Amy, and I was suspicious because it sounds like Amity, her mother’s name. What were the chances? I squinted at her features, and although she’s much prettier than her mother, I could see faint outlines of Amity and Andrew there. Not only that, but Straw mentioned that she was from St. George. Holy fucking shit. Immediately, I googled Amity and Andrew Ryan to try and find a picture of their daughter. It was tough. Those two assholes tried their best to scrub the internet clean of their allegedly ugly offspring, but using reverse searches, I was able to locate a childhood photo taken when Amy was ten or eleven. It was definitely Strawberry.

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