Page 21 of Against The Rules

I should have checked my phone earlier, I should have remembered Ty would want to meet up, and I should have tried to tidy up. I have half an hour to get ready for him to come over.

Not that I care what he thinks of me…

This is all pretend. I mean, yes, we’re really married, but that just means I get some money when our little… arrangement is finally done.

Arrangement. Yeah. I like that word for it a lot better.

Still, shame flickers through me, bright and hot.

Quickly, I power clean, wiping down the kitchen counters and putting the few dishes in the sink into the dishwasher, then catch sight of myself in the dark reflection in the microwave.

“Shitballs,” I mutter, then make a mad dash for the shower.

My first lesson. My first lesson in how to be sexy. I should shave. Do I have time to shave? I’m shaving. Just in case. It’s August, it’s hot, I should shave.

I’m in and out of the shower in record time, but there’s not enough time to do my full glam cheerleader routine.

Oh god.

I blink at myself in the mirror, slicking on some mascara and using the three-in-one creamy stick. I usually don’t let guys see me without the whole… cheerleader armor on. Not that we’re allowed to advertise the fact we’re cheerleaders, but it always makes me feel better to be fully made up, hair done.

The doorbell rings, and I try to dry my wet hair even faster with the towel, then throw on one of the easy dresses in my closet and race towards the door.

I slow before I open it, taking a few deep breaths and wondering at the way my nerves are absolutely jangling.

I’m nervous for him to see me, to see where I live.

It shocks me a little, and I stare at the door in surprise.

I care about what Ty Matthews, my accidental husband, thinks about me.

I glance out the peephole, and sure enough, there he is, looking absolutely delicious in a tight shirt and grey sweatpants.

My stomach explodes into butterflies and I open the door slowly, unable to keep the silly grin off my face.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” he says, then bursts into infectious laughter. “Can I come in?” He holds up the sack of food in his hand like it’s his ticket inside, and I stare at it, caught off guard.

“Sushi?” I ask, pleasure winding through me.

“Yeah, it’s one my favorites. Don’t worry, I got you a salad with ginger dressing and miso soup and some sashimi. But I also got a lot of rolls, so if you want some…” He shrugs, and my hunger is suddenly replaced by thirst, my attention going to his absolutely cut upper body.

Yum.

He clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring. “Er. Come in,” I say, ushering him inside.

I glance around him, but the car parked in the driveway isn’t flashy or flamboyant, and fits right in. Thank god.

“Nice place,” he says, and a surprised laugh bubbles out of me.

“You think?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and following him into the kitchen.

He’s huge. I forgot how big he is, how larger than life he is, and having him in my cozy little townhome is so weird. He sucks all the air from the space, commanding attention.

I’m married to him?!

I couldn’t look away from Ty Matthews if I wanted to.

“Is this okay for dinner?” he asks, and the perplexed look on his face tells me it’s not the first time he’s said something. How embarrassing. “I should have picked something different, huh? Not everyone likes sushi, that wasn’t—"

---