Page 41 of Married to the Frenemy

Her eyes light up as if this is the juiciest piece of gossip she’s heard since I told her about my fake marriage.

It probably is.

“And what did you do?”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. This whole thing has me out of sorts. First, he gives Maggie her dream bedroom. Then he says he wants to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door so anyone who breaks in has to go through him first. Then I wake up with his dick against my back. We won’t even talk about the extreme restraint I displayed when I didn’t rub my ass against it.

“Then he turns the goddamn smolder up to eleven when I was making pancakes, which made me want to climb him like a fucking tree. And then, seconds later, I walk into the bedroom to get dressed and he has the bathroom door open. And he’s jerking off in the shower. And my god, Parker…” I sigh. “It was fucking glorious.”

“Then what’s the problem? He is your husband after all.”

“The problem?” I shoot back, pushing down the renewed heat coursing through me from the memory of watching Beckham this morning. I’ve never seen anything so magnificent. So scintillating. So damn erotic. “The problem is this isn’t real. And he keeps doing things that make me wish it were. Like giving Maggie her dream bedroom and being nice.”

“The nerve of him. How dare he actually be a decent human.”

“See!” I slam my hands on the table. “You get it. It’s just…” I expel a long breath, rubbing my temples. “This is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. I thought we’d live under the same roof but wouldn’t spend much time around each other. I certainly didn’t plan on there being any of this…other stuff.”

“And there is other stuff?” She arches a brow.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I take another sip of coffee, contemplating adding a splash of whiskey to it.

While she may know that Beckham and I spent a lot of time together as kids, she doesn’t know the full story. All she knows is what most people do. That Beckham was a notorious hothead who physically assaulted the guy I was supposedly dating, and when I intervened, I suffered several major injuries to my hip and leg.

It’s not even close to the full story.

Beckham seemed adamant about leaving the past in the past. Maybe that’s what I need to do, too. It’s not like talking about it will change what happened, even if it might give everyone a better understanding.

“What did you two discuss regarding the ‘other stuff’?” Parker asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of parameters have you established?” She eyes me over her coffee cup. “You have set up guidelines, right?”

“Not really.” I shrug. “We were more focused on planning the wedding and making sure we had our stories straight.”

“Haley! What were you thinking? That’s like fake relationship 101! Have you never read a fake dating romance?”

“I’ve been on a monster romance kick lately, thanks to Grandma Estelle.”

“Okay. Well, in all good fake dating romances, the two parties typically sit down and iron out some ground rules so lines don’t get crossed. They always do, which is my favorite part. I just love when they reach their breaking point and go at each other like animals in heat.”

“You won’t have to worry about us crossing any lines. And we certainly won’t be going after each other like a bunch of horny animals.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “We’ll see about that. I already told Jude I give it a month.”

I widen my eyes. “What?”

“We made a little wager yesterday.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “You should be happy I’m giving you two a month. Jude said he’d be surprised if you lasted the week.”

“I already told you. That will never happen with Beckham and me.”

“Famous last words,” she sings. “Trust me on this, Haley. You put two people who have always had amazing chemistry in the same space for any amount of time, and you eventually cave. I can’t wait to hear all about it when you do.”

“Some friend you are,” I retort playfully.

“Just keeping it real.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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