Page 13 of The Pucking Grump

“So . . .” I say, after a few seconds of silence. “Any guesses as to why your dad just painted you out to be a spoiled flower-obsessed brat to the whole world?”

I still don’t care about the woman in front of me, but what just happened is quite intriguing.

Faye looks up at me, her eyes filled with pain and confusion. “It’s all a lie,” she says, her voice a mere whisper.

“Hard to believe, but I can tell.” The irony is that if I had not met Faye today, I would probably be guffawing right along with those reporters, certain that she was about the biggest brat in the world.

But her reason for fleeing from her wedding is absolutely justifiable, one that would have garnered a hint of sympathy, at least. Not whatever this is.

“No, you don’t understand.” She’s trembling from head to foot now. “It’s all a lie.”

I give her a blank look.

“It’s all a lie.” Her voice is getting even louder. “Everything. The stupid little songs I sang for Ben when I felt nothing. Everything I said in all of those interviews I gave. This whole, foolish wedding.”

My brows knot in confusion. “You’re not in love with We—Bran?”

“Ben,” she snaps. I feel a hint of irritation at the fact that she’s correcting me when her life is falling apart. She turns back to the TV, panting slightly. “And now my dad has gone online to make me seem like an idiot because he wants this wedding to happen, even though he knows that Ben is cheating. He wants me to suck it up for the team and keep living this sad little lie.”

I’ve never been more disoriented. What on Earth is going on? Has Faye Strummer been living a fake public life all of these years? Why?

Her panting has turned into deep, heaving breaths, and it sounds like she’s on the verge of a panic attack. “I want out.” She’s practically screaming now. “I want out of it all. My father lying, everyone hating me, those songs I sing without meaning them. I hate them. And I hate this stupid fucking wedding dress. I hated it from the moment I tried it on.”

I glance at the white monstrosity.

Now, there’s something we can agree on.

“I hate it, and I want out of it. NOW.”

As I watch, she reaches behind her, tugging something at the back of the dress, panting so heavily her entire face turns mottled red.

“What are you . . .?”

The dress slips off her bodice, hurtling downward. In the next second, it’s pooled around her feet.

I let my gaze trail slowly upward.

Her legs are a smooth expanse of unblemished, olive-toned skin that go on for miles, stopping at her hips. She’s wearing only a pair of lacy panties and a tight silk corset that does nothing to hide her abundant cleavage.

My throat closes up so tightly, I’m surprised I don’t collapse from the lack of air.

Now, I’m really starting to regret this.

5

SHEDDING THE PAST

There’s no hiding it this time.

He’s hard. Very hard. So much so that I’m certain that if he were to rid himself of his pants, he could thrust right into me without further encouragement.

And judging by the new pool forming between my legs, I wouldn’t need any prepping either.

My vagina is definitely in working order again.

My mouth dries as I let my eyes settle on the bulge in his pants. There’s no use denying it or trying to be bashful. I’m drawn to him as if he is a magnet. He’s only a few feet away from me, and I’m sure I can get to him in three strides.

Every cell in my body is telling me to close that gap. So strongly that I don’t even feel shame at my momentary loss of sanity that caused me to strip in front of an absolute stranger.

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