Page 11 of Chasing Bandit

He nodded, “I saw the paperwork. Unfortunately, they can.”

“Damn, that sucks for you.”

“No shit.”

We swayed back and forth on the float as the sun's morning rays grew more intense. It made sense now why Wylie had snapped last night. I finally turned to him and asked, "So, how do you plan on finding someone to marry you?"”

“Oh, I don't know. Walk into any bar anywhere in Texas and ask the first pretty woman I find. It can’t be that hard.”

I snorted, “Wylie, who in their right mind would want to marry you in less than three months?”

His tough facade faltered for just a moment at my comment, and for a second, I felt a pang of guilt. Then he quickly regained his composure, the armor he always wore snapping back into place. "I've got prospects," he replied.

I snorted again.

“What? You think you could easily find someone to marry you in less than three months if you had to as part of some stupid legal requirement?” he shot back.

Without hesitating I responded, “Without a doubt.”

“Yea, ok.”

“I could literally call five guys right now who’d marry me if I told them I needed them to on paper only for twelve months because of a contract.”

He flopped back on the raft and looked up at the sun. “I might be screwed.”

“You think?” I teased.

“Women take this marriage shit way too seriously. Any woman I talk to is going to see this as wasting their first marriage on a favor to me. I can't offer them anything to make it worth their while. I can’t think of anyone who would see it for what it is—a transaction, a marriage of convenience.”

I shrugged, “You gotta find something that’s valuable enough to entice a woman to agree.”

He sat up quickly, gesturing towards his crotch. He hadn’t put on swim trunks since he’d fallen asleep outside and was currently wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. His noticeable bulge dangled between his legs as it pressed through the pool-soaked fabric. I didn't need the reminder of how big Wylie was, I'd seen it with my own eyes only a few months ago, but that didn't mean I didn't take the opportunity to shamelessly stare at the behemoth lying dormant next to me.

“Oh, give me a break,” I responded though I knew my cheeks were flushed, “even if you enticed them with the prospect of some hot sex for twelve months, that’s not enough for someone to marry you.”

“I’m an orgasm-god. You’re telling me you wouldn’t marry someone for twelve months to have a guaranteed orgasm every day?”

“My vibrator can do the same thing.”

He growled and mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like, 'not the way I did it for you five months ago.'

“That sounds a lot like you propositioning me for a marriage,” I responded.

“Would it be the worst thing in the world? You’re already going to be here for six of the twelve months working on setting up the co-op for Jovie. We'd just have to stay married for six more and then I’d officially get the ranch and we could split.”

Now I was pissed. The nerve to think I’d marry him as a favor when he hadn’t done a damn thing for me except belittle me and question my intentions. Just a few days ago he’d questioned whether I was even capable of making sacrifices when it came to my family.

“You’re insane." I chuckled, "We can barely stand to be around one another. Why would I marry you?”

“It’s a marriage of convenience, not a marriage for love." He retorted.

“Yea, helluva lot convenient for you. You get a ranch worth multiple millions of dollars at the end of it and the opportunity to continue your family's legacy as the oldest child managing it. What the hell do I get except a headache and pain of an ass ex-husband?”

“I’d be your husband on paper only. It wouldn’t be legitimate.”

“I get that!” I snapped back.

“You’d get the orgasm-god.” He deadpanned with a face so straight I considered laughing directly in it.

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