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

the bad guy in a Scooby Doo episode, trying to hide my antics from the gang. I stammered something about going to work early tomorrow and scampered off to my room to feel like an idiot. It was either that or blurt out that I was with child, which didn’t seem like the best option.

24 Damon

Things had been going so well before she went to Savannah. Maybe her sister had said something to her that made her withdraw from me. Maybe she was having second thoughts about playing house with me. Whatever it was, things had gone to crap since she came back. She avoided me. If I was home and came into a room, it wouldn’t be five minutes till she had to go to bed or call her mom or some other excuse to get away from me. It was upsetting, and when I asked her about it, she brushed it off. I knew something was wrong, and I wanted her to tell me what it was so I could fix it. So I could have her back.

Living with her like this was worse than being alone, I decided. Because it was so damn frustrating. I wanted to talk to her, really talk, watch a movie, laugh, take her to bed. But all I got were mumbles about work and being tired. She was stonewalling me, shutting me down anytime I tried to so much as give her a hug or make plans to hang out with her. Brody was more available than she was, and he had a pregnant wife he was worried about. I literally saw him more than I saw her because we grabbed lunch together one day. I didn’t bother him about my marriage drama, because he had enough on his plate.

“Laura’s great, man. She’s a warrior. There’s no keeping her down. Her test results are all good, and she’s back at work, bitching that I put her on desk duty. She said if I bring her one more Gatorade, she’s gonna throw it at me. Keeping hydrated is really important during pregnancy. And I don’t mean iced coffee,” he said with an eye roll that was practically affectionate. He doted on my loud-mouthed sister just the way she deserved.

“I’m glad you guys are over the scare and baby Damonette is doing well,” I said.

“We are not naming our kid after you. Have your own kid if you wanna give it a dumb name,” he said.

“We’re not doing that.”

“Last I checked y’all were doin’ a lot of ‘that’.”

“I mean we’re not starting a family. It’s not a real marriage,” I said flatly.

“You were gonna go all in, tell her how you felt. Did it not go well?”

I shook my head. “I was planning on telling her. Then she went to see her sister, and she’s been so busy since she got back. There’s not been time. We haven’t even had a meal together, much less a conversation.”

“You gotta make time, buddy.”

“I would if she didn’t run out the goddamn room every time she sees me,” I blurted out.

“How’d you piss her off so bad?”

“I didn’t. I think she’s just—done with me. Like maybe I wanted more than a fling for the first time in my life, and she didn’t. I was just—convenient but she had enough.”

“That’s crap. She’s not done with you. She’s upset about something. Quit making it about you. Find out what’s wrong and fix it.”

“I want to,” I said.

“Then quit feeling sorry for yourself and don’t give up.”

I still hadn’t found a minute to talk to her. I was wondering if I should just call her. It was easier for her to blow me off on the phone than in person, but I was about to crawl out of my skin waiting to talk to her. As soon as my shift was over, I’d go by the flower shop and corner her, tell her to give me ten minutes, kiss her into submission if I had to. It was time to hash this out, no matter how terrifying it seemed.

I only had two more hours on my shift when the call came in from dispatch about a gas leak downtown. I immediately recognized the address as Trixie’s shop. I was on that truck as soon as the address was given. We sped to the street, and I was off the side before the truck was stopped. She was standing outside the shop, arms crossed, face too pale. I went to her and started checking her over.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, assessing her for injury. I took off my heavy uniform coat and draped it around her, “Are you hurt?” I demanded. She shook her head mutely.

The other guys went in to check things out and turn off the gas. I was too busy looking at her weary face and the shadows under her eyes.

She didn’t say a word to me. I folded her into my arms, held her against me. She finally leaned into me, rested her head on my chest. I stroked her hair, then shrugged her away and tipped her face up. I cupped her cheek in my palm and kissed her. I kissed her so long I was breathless and didn’t care. I was sliding my tongue in and out between her lips, making her rise on tiptoe, making her clutch my arms. I could feel her start to melt for me, and I kept going, kept kissing her like my life depended on the slow, sexy slide of our tongues against each other, and the crackle of that wildfire chemistry kindling to life after way too long.

She was plastered against me as close as I could have her, and our mouths were fused together. I didn’t care that we were on the sidewalk, that a crowd had gathered when the fire truck veered onto the street. I cared that she was safe and whole and in my arms. I could tell her something with my