The Marriage Contract by Natasha Black (best novels ever .TXT) 📗

that go. We weren’t in a real relationship. It was fake. Everything was fake. The make-out session on the couch had been because of alcohol and loneliness and nothing else. I needed to tone things down.

I needed to not get upset.

Telling myself that didn’t seem to change anything, though. Instead, I stood in the back, throwing my attention into the work and seething. I felt protective and hurt. I wanted to rush out there and kiss her right there in front of that customer. To claim her.

My thoughts were interrupted by cutting my finger, and I cursed loudly. All the onions I had just cut needed to be tossed as there was blood on the cutting board, and I rushed over to the sink to wash it off. Grumbling, I decided that I just needed to keep to myself that night and cool off before I lopped off a body part.

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly with service being easy enough and customers not being too picky about their food or sending it back. Usually as the night went on, I got less of that as we went more from restaurant to bar and the alcohol increased tolerance for an errant pickle or their burger being ever so slightly pinker than they wanted it.

I was just about done with the kitchen, since we closed it an hour before the last call, and my line chef was handling all the closing duties anyway. That meant that as soon as I plated the last plate of mozzarella sticks, I was done. I grabbed the handle of the fryer basket and dumped them onto paper towels to soak and was grabbing a plate when I heard my phone ringing. Considering the late hour, I rushed to it, wondering who would need me.

It was Tom.

“Hello?” I said, answering the phone hurriedly.

“Matt, hey,” Tom said. He sounded tipsy. For Tom that was rare. What the hell was going on?

“Tom, what’s up? You usually don’t make calls this late.”

“I was still up,” he said. “Busy planning Mom’s party.”

Shit. That was the upcoming weekend. Just days away. The entire reason I was doing the fake marriage with Chloe was to avoid Mom’s insanity. Now I had just a few days to get everything set and done and get over my jealousy issues with seeing her do what we agreed we could do. I had to invite her. I had to bring her and show her off and pretend everything was perfect.

Then I had to tone things down.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m excited.”

“I bet you are,” he said. “I heard you were seeing someone. Might bring them.”

“Yup,” I said, dumping the mozzarella sticks onto a plate with a ramekin of marinara sauce and hitting the bell.

“Well, just make sure she comes. Amanda is dying to meet her. She thought you’d never get married.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, no, not like that,” he slurred. He must have had a hell of a party. Tom was never like that. “She just thought you weren’t planning on ever settling down. We’re happy about it.”

“Good,” I said. “Look, I have to close the kitchen. I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Alright, buddy,” Tom said. “See you then. Tell Jordan and Hannah I said hello.”

“Will do.”

With the call over, I sighed and put the phone back in my pocket. I needed to let Chloe know we were a go and that everything that happened last night was okay. We needed to be on the same page. Usually, right at last call, after the last of the drinks were served, the waitresses would take a small break. I saw them filing past the kitchen for the door outside and poked my head out as she came by.

“Hey, babe,” I said, getting a look from Hannah as I did. “Can you talk to me in the office for a sec?”

“No hanky-panky in the office,” Hannah called out as she went outside.

“No promises,” Chloe shouted back at her, and we went in. I shut the door behind her as she sat down on the desk. When I turned to look at her, any anger or resentment I had still was gone. She was so freaking hot, and the way she sat on the desk, her hands behind her, holding her up and her ankles crossed, was adorable. I just wanted to pull her into me and kiss her right then.

“So,” I said.

“So,” she repeated. “About last night.”

“No, I didn’t call you in to talk about that,” I said. “Not specifically. I mean, partially.” I grunted with frustration. “Look, you were a hundred percent right last night. We can’t get too carried away. It will make things messy when it’s time to end it.” She nodded. “But we have our first real challenge. My Mom’s birthday is coming up, and her party is this weekend. Everyone wants to meet you. “

“Won’t it be weird to meet your mom at her birthday party?” she asked. “That seems awfully familiar.”

“Not really,” I said. “She is a very, extraordinary welcoming person, especially to women her kids bring home. I am more concerned about you being comfortable since she will inevitably ask about grandchildren.”

“I’m fine with that,” she said. “It begs the question, though, how do we feel about children?”

Her lips were full and pink, and I wanted to press mine against them. Just talking about our fake relationship as if it were real was enough to clench my stomach and make my cock twitch. I busied myself with sitting down on the chair by the desk, but that just brought me in range of her intoxicating perfume and within inches of her legs. Legs I wanted to pull apart and wrap around me.

“Avoid the subject,” I said. “Like the plague. The worst thing for Mom after all this is over is the imaginary grandchildren she would have had that she will feel robbed of. The less we feed into it, the easier it will be when we eventually split up.”

An expression crossed her face