Page 39 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

My lips tease into a watery smile. “Thanks.” He’s steering the conversation back onto firm ground, and a pool of disappointment forms in me. But there’s no need for that, I remind myself. I would neverhave admitted that I wanted him.

“Did you learn how to massage while you were a ballet dancer?” he asks.

It’s my turn to stiffen. I look up at him, and the bitterness I could manage to keep back a few minutes ago floods back in. Maybe it’s because this is the first time in ten years that Ken is asking me a pointed question about ballet.

Or maybe it’s because it’s easier to hold on to the past than consider telling Ken what I want now.

“No,” I say. I take a firm step back. It’s now becoming easy to ignore the bulge in his shorts and his body. I'm carefully filling my head with what happened the last time I let him get too far with me.

Ken’s eyes narrow. He’s detected a change in my tone, I can tell. His lips part, and I know he’s about to ask what’s wrong. About to make me explore my most painful memory.

I’m not up to it tonight…or ever. If I find that I still want Ken badly enough, I’m going to think of some way to get it across to him.

But for now, I’ll keep doing what I do best: bury my memories deep inside me.

“Goodnight,” I hiss.

I don’t wait for a reply before I walk across the living room, heading for the stairs. Only when my door is closed behind me do I feel like I’m able to breathe again.

ELEVEN

A RECIPE FOR TROUBLE (KEN)

“Didn’t expect to be back here, you know, ever.”

I ignore Blake, pushing open the door to Charlie’s restaurant so the rest of the guys can saunter in. Almost everyone on our team wanted to eat out after the workout today. About a dozen of us pile in. Blake waits until everyone else is inside before he follows, falling in step with me.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that you didn’t even have to be the one to suggest we eat here? Looks like business is going well for your….” he snickers “…wife.”

I look around the place. It couldn’t be more obvious that a lot of things have changed. True, the walls are still in need of a fresh coat of paint, and the furniture is rigidly the same. But the place has come alive. There are servers at the counter, and the blackboard on the wall lists several dishes in a feminine, cursive script. Also, even though it’s almost ten p.m., there are still half a dozen customers in the restaurant, some of whom throw us curious looks as we settle across three tables.

Blake’s right, sans the annoying comment. This place isdoing well. Good enough that it was another player who suggested we eat here before going home. So, we squeezed into several cars and drove to Charlie’s place.

Blake leans across from me after we sit down. “We haven’t had time to talk, you know, about how your marriage is going,” he snickers again.

He would’ve almost fooled me if his lips weren’t twitching at the corners. “Fuck you, asshole.” Two servers come bustling up to us. I take one of the menus offered, scouring through the choices.

“Can I have a cinnamon bun before we order food?” I ask the waitress, jabbing the words on the menu.

“We don’t have those right now,” she says, smiling politely. “We ran out. But could I interest you in a pecan pie, if you want to start with something sweet?”

“No, I’ll have steak with a side of vegetables and potatoes,” I say, my gaze focused on the menu again. I’m dimly aware of Blake giving his order, as well as the other guys doing the same. When the waitress leaves, Blake turns back to me.

“Let’s hope you enjoy your wife’s food.”

My fingers fold into fists. “Say that again. Only louder, in case someone hasn’t heard you.” The other guys at my table are speaking to each other in low tones, but if Blake repeats “wife” one more time, everyone will start noticing.

“Oh, come on.” Blake chuckles, giving me a friendly clap on the back. “You know I’m kidding.”

All things considered, he could be making things a hell of a lot harder for me. My friends took it in stride when I announced that I’ve been in an arranged marriage for months. There has been almost no teasing. Mostly because this is the first free night we’ve had in ages.

“I can tell you hate the menu,” Blakesays now.

“Not really.” I scour down the list again. I hadn’t had the time to look thoroughly the last time I was here, but it’s obvious Charlie gets her inspiration from my mother. Most of these dishes were a staple in the Edwards household.

Blake pulls my attention away from what I’m looking at. “How’s married life treating you? Really?”

I’m almost convinced he’s not joking this time, and that makes me answer more easily. “A whole lot of nothing.”

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