Page 68 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

…Faye Strummer.

Faye fucking Strummer, global pop icon and double-platinum musician, is standing behind my counter, serving my patrons.

My body breaks out in a cold sweat. I blink frantically, trying to make sure I’m not seeing an apparition. This could be just my imagination. There’s no freaking way.

Behind me, Haley literally crashes to the floor. I hold out my hand to pull her up. She takes it and stands up, but her jaw is still very much on the ground. She looks like she’s forgotten how to speak.

“See?” Denise seems to be enjoying our reaction. “I told you it was epic.”

I look around at the mass of people. Everything is slowly making sense. The article that was released, the crowd, even the fact that they are still ordering food. Faye seems to be taking selfies with doting fans, and her staff have developed an efficient system in the space of a few short minutes. I watch as a sobbing girl walks up to the counter and orders a cinnamon bun—my heart thrums with pain again. There are a couple of other girls behind the counter with Faye, assisting her in taking orders and handing them to my staff.

“Wow,” Haley mutters under her breath. She seems to have finally regained her voice. “She’s doing our job better than us. Wonder if she’ll want to get paid at the end of the day.”

“She said I should let her know when you come in,” Denise chimes in. Her face clouds with excitement as sheslips behind the counter, heading for Faye. I watch her, paying closer attention to the women next to her.

Am I imagining it, or do they look familiar?Toofamiliar, even.

“I can’t believe it,” Haley is whisper-screaming. “Faye knows us? She wants to meet us? You think she read our website?”

“No.”

Haley glares at me in surprise, but I’m too focused on the girls helping Faye. A pit forms in my stomach as I attach names to the faces. Britney Steinmann, wife of former Philly Titans player Alex Steinmann, is handling the cash till. Beside her is the beautiful, curvy brunette, Harper Turner, who also happens to be the wife of another hockey player, Reggie Turner.

Faye Strummer—Blake White’s wife—didn’t just find this restaurant by accident. This isn’t a chance meeting, one where she tries to help a local business.

It’s an ambush.

I’m suddenly filled with the urge to turn and walk out of the kitchen, hell, to keep walking until I’m back in my room and swaddled underneath a dozen blankets. And yet, all I can do is watch as Denise strides up to Faye, the glee still evident on her face. One of Faye’s guards, who is shadowing her, lets her pass. I watch as Denise whispers into Faye’s ear.

She turns around and fixes her warm eyes on me. The other two women follow her gaze.

“Oh my God.” I know from Haley’s voice that she just realized what’s going on. “Is this about…Ken?”

I swallow a large ball in my throat. It’s the epitome of irony, really. The first day I decide tostop wallowing about Ken and go to work, I’m waylaid by the wives of his buddies.

The next few moments pass by in a blur. I’m dimly aware of Denise shuttling me toward Faye, and my exchanging hugs with all of the women. Faye introduces herself, or she must have, because I can barely remember. The next thing I know, Faye’s chatting with Haley, taking a couple of selfies with her and asking if she can borrow me while Haley takes over.

I’m prodded into my office in less than ten minutes by the three hockey wives.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Charlie.” Up close, Faye seems…normal. She’s still as breathtakingly beautiful as her music posters and in her dance videos, and there’s an ethereal glow about her, like a quantum field that pulls you in. Yet, she seems human. She’s taller than me, her red hair cascading down her back, a few freckles painted on her nose.

Plus, she’s talking to me like we’re old friends.

“How do you know me?” It’s a lame opening question, especially since I know the answer, but I can’t think of anything else to say.

“You’ve been making all our husbands miserable,” she snorts.

“What?” I croak.

The three women exchange glances and start giggling. It’s like they are in on a secret joke. I’m positive they are not making fun of me, but I still feel tears threatening. It appears all I can do nowadays is cry, really. I blink furiously, hoping they don’t notice.

“Sorry,” Britney chokes out after a while. “You haven’t been making our husbands miserable, of course. But you did do something to Ken Edwards, yourhusband.” Sheemphasizes that last word. “Remember him? He’s sulking and sad, so all our husbands are in on the ‘I’m feeling sorry for myself vibe.’”

My chest burns. The women could not be more cordial, and it’s obvious they’re joking to get me to relax. Still, I feel like I’m standing in front of a tribunal.

“You know about our marriage,” I mutter, as Faye links her arm with mine and leads me to sit in my chair. “He told his buddies?”

They exchange glances again. Faye speaks up first. “Ken has been really chatty lately. Told his friends all about you, and it traveled down the pipeline. But I suspected there was more to it.”

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