I tried to think of the last time that had happened to me. My sex life with Thad was decent, which was probably not such an appealing way to describe the sexual chemistry with the man I planned to marry. But like I said, slow and steady was my jam these days.
Something else gnawed at me: how Thad was asking people in my circle to invest their money. I needed to sleep on it and see if it niggled at me in the morning. Or I could text Thad now and ask him about it … a scroll through my contacts led me to another thread.
My fingers were already typing before my brain recognized the danger.
Me
You’ve finally made it.
Stupid Husband
I have?
Me
Chicago Rebels fan fiction. You’re now a main character having unethical sex with your hot agent.
Stupid Husband
I cannot say this is something I would truly like. My agent is scary. Not hot in the slightest.
I smiled. Marty Singleton was an old curmudgeon who had shepherded Alexei’s career for the last fifteen years.
Me
The fan fiction gods have smiled on you. Apparently, your ass is worthy of sculpting in bronze.
Stupid Husband
My fictional ass is much loved. This is good.
Me
The real thing has its fans as well, I’m sure.
Not a good idea, not a good idea …
Stupid Husband
Name these fans.
Did I dare?
Me
Your reluctant wife.
Apparently, I did.
Stupid Husband
Reluctant because of the wife part or reluctant because of the ass-worship part?
Me
ALL OF IT!
I closed my eyes. Was I a touch tipsy from two margaritas? That could be the only reason I was acknowledging Nazarov’s assets.
