Page 31 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

Tools lets out a sound of deep disgust before she’s completely out of earshot.

“I know you’re going to want to get with her, but I’ve got to warn you. We have another half an hour here, and…”

“I’m not.”

My words seem to stop Tools in his tracks. For the first time, he drops the murderous look and simply looks stunned. “You’re not? Atta boy, focus on your recovery properly.”

I bite back a tinge of irritation. It’s only natural he’s surprised, after all. I mean, he’s witnessed this scene play out a million times. And he’s never seen me turn down a girl who approached me during our workouts. The cycle is as trusted as Tools’s regimen: I’d meet up with them afterward, have a nice time back at the apartment, and send them on their way.

“We should get started with those calf raises,” I remind him.

For the first time since I’ve known him, he doesn’t jump into action after hearing me say “let’s get started.” Instead, he keeps gazing at me.

“You okay, buddy?” His tone is gruff, but there’s no mistaking the concern in his voice. “If I pushed you too hard, then…”

“No.”My fingers ball into fists. Tools looks down at them, and then up at me. Something close to worry is etched deeply on his face, but he leads me over to the leg press and starts to drill me.

Bolts of fury roam freely in my skull as I follow. This time, working out doesn’t come with any sort of pleasure. In fact, I get more pissed as time goes by.

Not at Tools. Or at today’s routine. Orat the woman who approached us, whatever her name was.

No, I’m fucking pissed at Charlie.

Over the past few months, she’s messed up so many areas of my life. My job. My friends, who I have to avoid because they keep bringing her up. My brain. Hell, my fucking marital status.

And now, I couldn’t even think of being with another girl while she is back in my life. She’s screwed up that part so badly that even Tools notices.

Any woman who fucks with my head hard enough to get Tools to show concern isn’t just a woman. She is a damned siren.

The worst thing about Charlie is howshe manages to screw my life by merely existing. I’ve only seen her a handful of times and haven’t spoken to her at all since she told me we were married. And yet, it feels to me as though I’ve been breathing her in every damn second of the day.

Our last conversation didn’t go the way I expected. Not even a little. From the moment she pulled out that certificate, my brain sort of broke in half. But then, it made a lot of sense. I remember feeling distinctly bothered when the word marriage came up in a conversation with Alex and Blake. A part of me knew there was more to that night than two old friends hooking up. I just hadn’t let myself sift through the memories well enough.

I’m a married man. For months now. Ironically, as I realized then, I am now the husband of the only woman who I’d considered committing to since I’ve been old enough to know what that meant.

My first impulse was to demand an annulment. It was either that or throttle her in fury. Even before she admitted to it, I knew that she needed the marriage to secure a loan—I still remember her speaking about loans with the gym dude. She could’ve come to me and asked for an arranged marriage, and I would have done it. Or just plain asked me for the money. I would have given it to her. This was her way of holding on to control, of cutting corners so she still wouldn’t have to talk to me.

She is holding on to her pride above everything. That pisses me off as much as being lied to.

So, I decided to hold off on asking for a divorce.

Instead, I chose another way to win: unravel her, layer by layer. Watch her let go of her pride and admit how human she is underneath her false bravado.

It started well, I think. Holding her, fingering her… It more than made up for the shock of our so-called marriage. Every single moment felt precious, too good to be true. It was overwhelmingly difficult, forcing myself to not plunge into her then and there.

But I managed it. Reminded myself that CharlotteChapman is all sorts of dangerous. I wasn’t going to go all the way until Charlie admitted she wanted me, even outside the bonds of her plan. That if we were to live together, our sexcapades were going to be whatshewanted, not just an unwelcome side effect.

I hadn’t even gotten her to say that when she fled. It’s what Charlie does best now: run.

I’m used to it. But for the first time, something about her departure feels like my fault.

And I can’t figure out why.

Tools is as good as his word. He keeps me sweating with single leg deadlifts, cable rows, and core work for another twenty minutes before moving me over to box jumps and medicine ball slams. By the end of the session, every single sweat pore on my skin is oozing. I collapse on the mat, exhausted beyond words. Normally, I’d be looking forward to refueling and taking a long nap. That, orhooking up with a puck bunny.

But I feel nothing of the sort today. Because as bracing as the workout was, doing the physical work doesn’t quiet my mind. It’s still muddled up, focused on only her.

Damn Charlotte Chapman to hell.

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