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Nora contemplates me for a second. “You have tried helping yourself out, right? I mean, that seems like the most obvious solution here.”
I roll my eyes. Of course I’ve tried that and none of my self-help techniques are working because it’s not what I want. “Of course, I tried that,” I reply flatly.
Her brown eyes narrow in thought. “But you’ve not had sex before and you’ve been fine, so why is it so difficult now?”
I exhale loudly, hoping all my frustration can be pushed away, but it doesn’t work. “I know, but this time it’s like being told you aren’t allowed the best doughnut in the shop, and all you really want is the best doughnut that’s covered in chocolate, caramel, and muscles and… fuck’s sake. See my problem?”
“That you have a weird fetish with muscley doughnuts?”
I throw my hands in the air, slumping my arms on the table in front of me with a groan. “No one who is having sex understands me,” I whinge. “I can’t have sex with my future fake husband because it’ll complicate things, and we agreed to keep it as uncomplicated as possible. I can’t have sex with anyone else because then I look like I’m cheating on my fake husband. I’m basically going to become a person who doesn’t have sex ever again.”
Nora chuckles beside me, and I turn my head to see her amused face. “I can’t have sex with you. I can’t even offer you Grayson because, weird, but I can distract you and feed you dinner right now?”
I nod solemnly. “I don’t know how I get myself into these messes. I am the epitome of that Taylor Swift song, “anti-hero.” I’m the problem, it’s me.”
Nora cackles and throws her head back. “Oh my God, that’s definitely y—” She stops when I glare at her and clears her throat. “I mean, it’s definitely the most extravagant Zoey thing to date.”
Rolling my eyes, I pretend to ignore her, agreeing that I get older but not wiser like that bloody song says. “The worst part? He’s so nice. If he could get an award for best fake husband, he deserves the Oscar because the man is wonderful.”
Nora stares at me, holding back her smile. “You have a crush on your future fake husband?”
“I do not.”I definitely do.
“You’re adorable when you’re in denial.”
I scowl deeply at my ex-best friend. “You’re fired.” I’ll fire everyone in my life if they continue to piss me off.
Nora laughs maniacally because she knows I’m stuck with her. “You’re not firing me from being your best friend.”
“I so am.”
I tear the napkin in front of me for something to do with my hands, but her smug face makes my inner brat itch to scream at her and tell her she’s wrong, but the truth is that she isn’t. Maybe I never stopped crushing on Harrison. I had no issues bunking up with him and almost marrying the man in Vegas.Jesus, why do I do this to myself?
“Okay, so, important question. What are you wearing Saturday?” Nora asks as our food arrives. We ordered as soon as we sat down, and I was starving, but now my appetite is almost non-existent.
“I don’t want to wear a dress,” I admit because that feels like a real wedding, and I’ll reserve that for my real husband in the future, if that even happens. “I have this pale pink trouser suit I might wear.”
She catches the words I didn’t speak because that’s what she always does. Nodding pensively, she picks up her cutlery. “You know it’s okay if you feel like this is all a little underwhelming.”
“It’s all kinds of… whelming, over, under, sideways. You name it.” I sigh, picking at the rice bowl in front of me.
“And it’s okay if you want to stop all this.”
I nod.
“Don’t think I haven’t missed the fact that you’ve torn up two napkins whilst you’ve been here with me. I know you’re worried,” Nora says, calling me out again.
But she’s right. I have my own free will, but I also know that those animals need more. I need more for them. The shelter is my responsibility, my only responsibility, and I can’t let that fail. If it means tricking my parents into thinking I’m happily married to do that, then yeah, I’ll do it. And I guess I won’t fire my best friend either.
When I get home, it’s after ten and I’m torn between wanting to torture myself more with Harrison’s presence, and wishing he wasn’t around so I can slink off into my bedroom unnoticed. When I open the door and spot him slumped on the sofa, laptop open, tie long discarded and a sleepy frown pulling at his brows, my entire body deflates.Why does he have to be cute and manly?Seriously, I can barely cope with him awake, but asleep? He looks so perfect I can hardly handle it.
I tiptoe over to him, lift the laptop from his legs and he jumps with a gruff, sleepy noise that shoots straight to my nipples.Sweet baby Jesus, I need help.
“Zoey, you’re home,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.
“I am. Come on, mountain man. Let’s get you to bed.”With me,my inner ho screams. At this point, she’s got a crowbar and is trying desperately to get out of the cage I’ve put her in.
He moves and groans. I almost ask him to button it, because those damn noises… but I think better of it. He propels himself upwards, misjudging the distance between us, and suddenly our chests are touching and we connect on a gasp when he practically engulfs me with his body. It’s too hot, too much, too close, too fucking tempting.
