Page 58 of Just Say When

Hang on, I’ll ask.

Yeah. According to Mom, spouses are a package deal.

Essie:

Great, my husband and his enormous package will be there. :)

Jack:

I hate you.

Maybe I’ll start dating one of your friends. See how you like it.

Essie:

You can try. One of them might take pity on you and lower her standards.

I was going to murder my husband and make myself a very happy widow.

My mom, who was aware that my marriage was a sham, sat at the head of the small rectangular dining table. My brother, who was aware that the marriage might be a sham, but its consummation was very real, sat at the foot. Brax and I occupied the chairs between them, facing each other. I wasn’t aware of much of anything at all except that Brax kept stroking his socked foot—Mom didn’t like shoes being worn inside—against mine.

And I couldn’t tell him to stop without informing my mom and my brother that he was doing it in the first place.

I was on edge.

Maybe because I kept having flashbacks to all the times we had sat exactly like this, minus Brax playing footsie with me, so many years ago. Brax had been a staple at our house from fifth grade on and generally atedinner with us once or twice a week. It went both ways, with me and Jack sometimes staying at Lodestar Ranch for dinner and even spending the night. Looking back, I suspected Jenny, Brax’s mom, had done it purposefully to give my mom a break.

Or maybe because Brax kept acting like he was my goddamn husband or something.

He kept his hand on my lower back when we entered the room together. He pulled out my chair so I could sit down. He was entirely too solicitous to my mother.

Okay, maybe that was just because Mom and Brax had always gotten along well. But still. It was annoying.

“Essie, how about you help me clear the salad plates?” Mom suggested. “Brax, will you pull the Guiness pie from the oven? Jack, there’s a bottle of red in the cupboard. Could you open it, please?”

We all got to our feet. I stacked the four salad plates and brought them to the sink, where I gave them a quick rinse and put them in the dishwasher. With Jack taking a corkscrew to the red wine, I pulled down four glasses and four dinner plates.

“Let me help you,” Brax said, setting the Guiness pie down on a potholder in the center of the table.

“I’ve got it.” I clustered the four glasses on top of the stack of plates. It was a little wobbly, but if I balanced the stack on one forearm, I could?—

Brax swept the glasses up by their stems, two in eachof his large hands, and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.

I scowled. “What are you doing? Everyone in this room knows our marriage is fake.”

“Practice.” He smirked and did it again. “No one is going to believe it’s real if you keep glowering like that every time I touch you.”

Not every time.

I could think of some very specific times when I did not glower at his touch, and unfortunately, I thought of those times right now.

I shifted, squeezing my thighs together, and my gaze dropped to his mouth.

His beautiful, smirking mouth.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered so lowly that only I could hear, “You’re wet right now, aren’t you, hellion?”

Smug bastard.

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