My Fake Husband (A Secret Baby Romance) - Page 18

“Uh, false! The DeLorean is the best character, bar none. No argument. The DeLorean makes the series. If it had been a fucking Camaro, nobody would’ve wanted a sequel. It’s the gullwing doors and the overall coolness.”

“So, you always wanted that car?” she said dubiously.

“Well, yeah,” I said, “Didn’t you?”

“No, but I had a little crush on Marty.”

“Uh, he did the mouse voice in Stuart Little. We had to watch it in grade school. You were crushing on mouse-voice?”

“He was cute in these movies,” she shrugged.

“I don’t know if I can even look at you right now,” I said, mock offended.

She threw a handful of popcorn at me, and I caught a piece in my mouth, crowing my victory.

We watched the last two movies together. She fell asleep with her cheek against my arm during the third movie, which she had proclaimed was her favorite and yet she nodded off at 7:30 trying to watch it.

If I let her sleep against me for a while, it was just to be a good friend, obviously. It wasn’t because the fact she felt safe with me made me feel so damn strong, so protective. Like I was a real husband, and she was my real wife. When she stirred, she woke suddenly, realizing what she’d done. She bolted from the couch, staggering and half asleep, talking about needing to make a salad or something for supper.

“I ate a bowl of popcorn while you were asleep. P.S. I was right about the third movie—total cash grab when the idea was tired.”

“Then you don’t understand the quality of the third movie. You must be heartless.”

“You have thought way too much about this,” I teased. “Now go get some real sleep. You’re obviously wiped out.”

“I will. Hey, thanks for watching with me. It was fun,” she said a little shyly.

“It was. Let’s do the Die Hard series this weekend when I’m not on call at the station,” I said, feeling weirdly excited about Netflix and no-chill with my own wife.

11

Trixie

Longest two weeks of my life. Sure, things were going fairly well, as long as I didn’t think about the fact that Damon couldn’t so much as pour a glass of juice without a surge of lust nearly knocking me off my feet. He was nothing but kind and respectful and helpful. He’d even lent a hand in cleaning up the back room at the shop. In short, Damon being wonderful wasn’t making me any less attracted to him.

It was deeply distracting. I’d started making dinner on nights we were home, pasta or a salad, once I’d made a pot roast because my mom insisted I make him a real meat and potatoes supper. I liked sitting at a dinner table with him, hearing about his day and telling him about mine.

“Brody keeps sending me sex tips, messaging me teen magazine articles about your first time and how not to be nervous. Is Laura doing the same for you?”

“No, thank God, but my mom offered me some back copies of Cosmo with diagrams in them. Either they legitimately think we don’t understand how tab A goes in slot B, or they’re completely savage.”

“Savage, no question,” Damon said. “This pot roast is fucking fantastic.”

“Thanks. My mom’s recipe. I used a bay leaf and everything. It was like I was channeling June Cleaver.”

“You don’t have to cook for me, you know.”

“I know. But you’re doing me this tremendous favor. Opening your home to me and letting me use it as collateral. I can cook you some dinner,” I shrugged.

“It’s nice. Having supper made for me, knowing you’re here when I get home,” he said. My stupid heart turned over and I felt all mushy about it.

That was how dinner went. Flirting, accidental blunders admitting my lust and concealing it poorly. It was a minefield of meat and potatoes.

We went to the bank to add my name to the deed on his house and complete the paperwork on the application. On the way in, I stopped him.

“Something on my tie?” he asked.

“You’re tie’s perfect. Are you sure you want to do this? This makes it real. What if I can’t pay this for some reason?”

“Okay, first of all, marrying you was pretty damn real. And I have faith in you. You’ve got a successful business, you’re responsible and loyal, and there’s no doubt in my mind you’ll be fine.”

I was grateful that he believed in me, and it put my mind at ease a little. We sat together while we waited, and I showed him the email from my landlord who wanted out from under the headache of the building and its need for repairs. He essentially said it was mine if I could afford it, and named a price lower than what I had expected. So I completed the paperwork, optimistic for once.

Tags: Natasha L. Black Romance
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