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“Just don’t fall in love with me or some shit,” he warns. “This doesn’t end with babies and a picket fence.”
“I know,” I tell him. For a second, when I look up at him, I’m almost able to convince myself that I’m telling the truth.
Chapter 5
Oracle
If I had any doubt about why I went through with this whole charade, I get my answer the second I get a flash of her pussy as she climbs out of her car outside of her little duplex house. Apparently, I was a little eager to get her naked and tore her underwear last night.
When I picked up the tiny strip of lace, after we got out of the shower, I think I fell a little in love with the way her cheeks heated. The woman just swallowed my cock like it was made for her throat, in the shower, but then got embarrassed at the sight of her panties hanging tattered from the tip of my finger? The contrast between the two things made me glad I agreed to this silly lie that’s going to take an attorney and a judge’s signature to resolve.
“Jesus,” I mutter, holding my hand out to help her out of her car. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“What?” she asks as she stands.
“I swear, woman. It has to be some sort of hex, a fucking curse of some kind,” I mutter, more to myself than to her.
Her light laughter draws to an end when I press my palm to her back to guide her up the cracked sidewalk. She pauses, looking up at me as if she’s quickly realizing that she made a huge mistake.
Instead of telling her that she’s right, I urge her forward. I’m having too much fun. Besides, she’s right. I’m already going to catch a load of shit from the guys. There’s no way I can explain how this was a good idea because she was so sad last night at the bar. We literally save sex trafficked women from evil men. We literally hear sad stories every day, most that are worse than a woman who is the laughingstock of her small town. There’s no valid or sane reason as to why I agreed to any of this, yet here I am, guiding her to her house to change so we can attend a memorial together. A situation that puts us right in front of every person she knows and all the men I respect and want to respect me.
I can’t count how many times I’ve voiced my opinion about staying single, about the number of proverbial notches I have on my bedpost. Despite what I’ve told her, I doubt there will be a man who I approach today that believes there’s any substance to our marriage. If anything, I’m going to embarrass the hell out of myself. I can’t recall the exact moment I was willing to do that to myself in order for her to save face in front of the people who have mocked her for years. I met most of the people from Lindell last night before I locked eyes with Beth. I don’t get the vibe that they’re intentionally hurtful people. I think they’re the product of a small town and have very little else to talk about. I’m sure a lot of people tease in good fun, not realizing the pain they’ve been causing her, and Beth doesn’t appear to be the type to correct anyone. If anything, she’d probably smile and razz herself in order to keep others from feeling bad about how they’ve made her feel.
“What?” she asks, pausing right inside her tiny house. “Too personal?”
“Hmm?”
I grin when her lips turn up in the corners.
“Did you want to come in while I change?”
“Sure,” I say, stepping over the threshold, feeling a little foolish for so easily getting lost in thought. “But only if I can watch you change. I’d like to—”
The suggestions that she put on a little music and sway her hips while she dresses falls away immediately when I hear someone else talking.
“Who the hell is that?” I ask, pointing at the wall.
I can hear voices, but not well enough to actually distinguish the topic of conversation.
“That’s Marlene,” Beth says, five more steps taking her to the door of what I have to assume is her bedroom. “Despite being like a million years old, she plays those online games. Things get pretty heated later in the evening when she’s growing tired.”
“I can hear her through the wall.”
She frowns, looking past me to the wall in question.
“I guess I’ve gotten used to it,” she says before turning around and walking further into her bedroom. “Makes me feel less alone.”
Regret for even pointing it out scratches at my skin, an irritation that makes me want to backpedal and apologize.
