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“Booty call?” I ask him, reading it and looking up to him.
“Anytime. Anywhere.” Shane moves over, leans down, and kisses the side of my lips. I can smell the cigarette that still lingers on his lips as he leaves and have to remember to breathe.
My heart rate finally slows down as I close my eyes and dream. Dream of a life that I was living before this nightmare began.
“He only wants you because you’re married.” I jump, not expecting someone to be there, and my phone drops to the floor. Thankfully it doesn’t smash. Leaning down, Whiskey picks up my phone and turns it around. “Booty call,” he reads out. “He has some nerve, let me tell you that, luckily for him he doesn’t need his legs to be a drummer.”
“Luckily for you, this marriage is fake,” I say, reaching for my phone and sliding it back into my purse.
“Touché.” He nods.
“I can fuck whoever I want, the same as you. Don’t think you’ll be the only one having fun, husband.” I push past him to leave.
Whiskey stops me, our shoulders touching as he leans over. “But it’s me you wish was fucking you. Isn’t it, wife? I could fuck you right here, right now. Cover your mouth with mine to stop those screams I know you make.”
My angry eyes turn to him. “You would know, you have it all on video for your viewing pleasure,” I fire back at him.
He smirks then drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “Why deny what’s between us? You have an itch that needs to be scratched, and so do I.”
“I bet yours has been scratched and sucked lately,” I fire back.
“Surprisingly, no. But if you’re offering…” He looks me over then leans down to kiss me, but I turn just in time as his lips touch the side of my face. His kisses fuck me over and make me putty in his hands, and that fact is entirely unfair.
“Your wife doesn’t like to be fucked by liars and manipulators,” I remind him.
“You had no trouble last time,” he says with a click of his tongue.
I lean close to him, so it seems I might kiss him. “I didn’t realize who I was getting into bed with, go figure. Now I see you, know you, I don’t want you.”
Whiskey’s hand makes me jump when it touches my dress. “I can smell you. You’re an awful liar. What if I inched up farther, would you be wet right now?” His hand moves and I make no move to stop him.
“Yes,” I breathe, not even bothering to lie.
Then I reach up on my tippy toes and whisper in his ear, “But it’s not for you.” Then I pull away and return to the party.
Whiskey leaves me alone for at least an hour. The party is starting to slow down, and some people have left, Shane being one of them. When the band left, I wished I could have gone with them.
We are walking out, it’s time to leave. This time, Whiskey doesn’t touch me, which is a relief.
“You two should come over for dinner soon. Do you have any other family, Whiskey?” my father asks him as we wait for the valet to bring his car around, knowing full well both of his parents are dead.
“No, just Lottie.” He touches me again, and damn, it really is a struggle not to pull away.
“Well, now you have us as well. How fabulous,” my mother says.
I smile at her words because I know they’re fake.
“Yes. How fabulous,” Whiskey mimics my mother.
“Dinner is settled then, tomorrow at seven. Just a small gathering with the family.” He taps Whiskey’s back a few times. “That’s what families do.”
Whiskey nods. It’s funny watching the two of them standing next to each other. On one hand, you have Whiskey. Tall. Impeccable hair. On the other hand, you have my father. No hair, much shorter than Whiskey. I wouldn’t say he’s out of shape, but you can begin to see the roundness that has settled at his core. My father used to pride himself in his appearance, but the years of stress have started to creep in on him.
“We would love to,” he answers for us.
“Actually, I have a band booked tomorrow, and I’m opening…” I pause, staring at my father. “Shane’s band, you know them?
“Oh yes,” he says, as I see Whiskey’s eyes narrow at me. “You have to attend to those famous people. We all know how demanding they can be.”
