My Fake Husband by Black, L. (lightest ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Nicole said. “I’m starving. Do you want me to order pizza or go get something?”

“Uh…” I said. “I hadn’t really thought about it. But I’ll totally feed my help. Order whatever you want. My treat.”

“Ooh,” Michelle piped up, “then I want lobster and champagne!”

“Diamonds, I want some diamonds. I’m ordering those, too,” Nicole teased.

“Oh, shut up. I meant you can have BBQ or pizza or whatever,” I rolled my eyes.

I heard a knock at the door and looked up to see Rachel with three bags of food and a drink carrier from the diner. I opened the door for her.

“What’s all this?” I asked. “You didn’t have to bring us dinner!”

“Oh, honey, it wasn’t me. I’m just the delivery girl. Feel free to tip big, though,” she laughed. “Looks like somebody doesn’t want you girls going hungry tonight.”

“Who sent all this?” I said.

“Your hubby, of course. Sweetest thing I ever heard, he calls up and says, ‘my wife’s working tonight, it’s the first day the shop’s been back open, and she’s having a real big day. I gotta work till ten or I’d take it by myself,’” Rachel said.

I blushed while Nicole and Michelle made obnoxious kissing noises behind me. I fished out a twenty and handed it to Rachel for her trouble and took the bags from her.

When she was gone, I flapped my hand at the girls to get them to stop acting stupid about Damon sending us food.

“It’s your favorite! Even the pie!” Michelle swooned. “He really pays attention.”

“You bring me a muffin sometimes. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not. Because I’m not trying to get laid. You’ve always had a crush on him. So I think this is a pretty clear signal from him. It’s a total boyfriend thing to do.”

“Early boyfriend, first flush of love, just started sleeping together boyfriend thing to do,” Nicole corrected. “Super thoughtful, shows how well he knows you and also shows off a little in front of your friends. No offense to my friend the florist here, but it’s better than sending you flowers at work or something. It’s food. Food is the universal symbol of love.”

“No, flowers are,” I protested.

“You say that because you sell flowers,” Michelle said. “I’d rather have a burger. No question.”

“He probably asked Rachel what we all like, since she always takes our orders at the diner,” I said.

“Whatever, he likes you. Your husband likes you. What a concept!” Nicole insisted, laughing.

We all bickered and giggled while we ate our delicious, greasy meal. By the time we closed the place at 7:30, everything had been delivered or picked up by the customers. I’d made up the morning orders as well, and they were chilling safely in the cooler. We cleaned up, I took out the trash, and I thanked the girls.

“I owe you drinks,” I promised.

“Lots of drinks. Saturday,” Michelle said emphatically.

“We’ll have drinks on Saturday,” I promised. “I’m closing at three on Saturday so I can get everything cleaned up and in order for Monday.”

“We’ll see you Saturday, then,” Nicole said. “Unless Michelle brings you a muffin so you’ll sleep with her. Tell Damon we said thanks for supper.”

“Nah, I think she’ll thank him for all of us,” Michelle said archly.

I stuck my tongue out at her and grabbed my keys so we could all walk out together.

By the time I got home, it was nine-thirty, and I wanted a shower and to go to sleep. I also remembered that Damon got off work at ten. I could get a shower, wait up for him and, as Michelle said, thank him for all of us. I jumped in the shower and blasted myself with hot water, scrubbing all over with my coconut body wash and shaving my legs. My hair was clean and I even used the blow dryer on it for a few minutes so it wasn’t a wet, lanky mess when he got home. I put on my nice pajamas, brushed my teeth twice. And flossed. And used mouth wash. I wanted to be minty fresh when he came in the door.

I was in the kitchen trying to decide if it was still too warm out to make him hot cocoa or if I had time to stir up some brownie mix and throw a pan in the oven. I heard his truck and dashed into the living room, not unlike an eager Labrador Retriever, I thought ruefully. I was smiling, wondered if I should go get a beer out of the fridge for him or if that was too 1950s.

Damon walked through the door. He was tall and broad and handsome, every line of his face tired and discouraged looking. A day’s worth of stubble was auburn and brown along his square jaw. I stepped forward of my own volition, the words of thanks for the French toast and for dinner dying on my tongue. I went to him, put my arms around him and hugged him. His arms closed around me instantly, hugging the hell out of me.

“Oh, God, I needed this, Trix,” he said. “After the day I had.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, hugging him tight. He released me and I rocked back on my feet.

He toed off his boots and sat on the couch. His dry-fit RFFD shirt clung to lines of muscle and squeezed his strong arms. I tried not to ogle, but navy blue was a hell of a color on a man with eyes like his and any color was awesome on a body like that. I cleared my throat, sat beside him but not too close. I curled my legs up under me and leaned my elbow on the back of the couch.

“Well, I got my ass handed to me by the chief today.”

“Why? You’re a hero!” I said indignantly.

“Easy, tiger,” he chuckled, “sure, it looks that way from seeing it on the news, but the film from the Overton chief’s bodycam and the orders I was given—I went against a direct order to stand back,