Page 26 of Against The Rules

Doesn’t stop everyone from comparing us, though.

I chew like the sushi’s personally affronted me, then get up and fumble around the kitchen until I find a clean glass and fill it with ice and water from the fridge, grateful for the distraction.

“Do you want some water?” I ask her.

“Sure,” she says, and my mood lifts slightly from the pleased tone of her voice. Like she’s grateful I even bothered to ask.

Who the hell doesn’t ask if someone else wants a drink when they get up?

Ice clinks into the bottom of her glass, and I refill mine too, setting them on the table.

“Is it just you and your brother?”

“Just the two of us,” I confirm. “What about you?”

“Only child.” Her nose wrinkles.

“I can’t imagine,” I say. I can’t. As much as I love my brother, and admire him, I’ve always been in his shadow. Always.

I’m not sure having the sole focus of my parents’ attention would be much better, though.

“Eh.” She lifts a shoulder and drinks from her glass slowly.

“I remember you saying something about your mom that night.”

“That night?” she asks. Condensation drips down the side of the glass, and she traces a line through it, letting water puddle on the tabletop.

“The night you married me.” It comes out smug, and I waggle my eyebrows.

She laughs, and I grin back at her, gratified.

“It’s crazy, right? What we’re doing.” Her eyebrows rise. The light dusting of freckles across her nose captivates me, little brown sprinkles of color.

“Why do you say that? I’ve heard worse.”

She sighs, then shakes her head as she pushes the food away from her. “I’m not sure that’s the stamp of approval you think it is.”

“All I’m trying to say is that this,” I motion between us with a flick of my hand, “this could be much worse. We get along, right?”

“Right,” she stretches out the word like it’s old saltwater taffy left over from last summer’s boardwalk candy haul.

“So I’m helping you, you’re helping me. We like each other.” I shrug, then regret putting so much emphasis on the word ‘like.’ “We’re friends. Or,” I say quickly, as her blue eyes narrow, “we could be friends.”

“We’re married.” She raises her glass, drinking quickly, like merely saying the word’s dried out her mouth.

“Which, now, of course, is a business arrangement.” I cringe inwardly because who says garbage like that? Fuck it, I might as well take the shitty comparison all the way to the endzone. “And this is likewise a business arrangement. So tell me how much money you need to get your business off the ground, and I’ll give it to you in weekly installments in exchange for you helping me get my parents off my back. Just like we already talked about.”

Business arrangement.

How did something that seemed so perfect turn into that?

Probably because everything at two AM after too many drinks seems like a great idea.

Still— Savannah? She is more than a great idea. She’s the dream.

“It’s just…” she sighs, running a hand through her still-damp hair. “When we were in Vegas, it seemed… easy, you know? Now it’s real. You’re in my house. I’m going to meet your parents and pretend to be your girlfriend. No one can find out about us. It feels like we’re building a house of cards and the deck is on fire.”

“That would be a neat trick.”

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