Pretend We're Over (Pretend 2)

She gasps like this is a mystery novel, and I just found the murder weapon.

“I’d say we fucked. Unless you can think of another use for a condom.”

She looks away, like she’s embarrassed.

“It wasn’t…” Now I’m the one at a loss of words.

“It wasn’t?” She smiles at me because she knows what I’m afraid to ask.

“It wasn’t your first time, was it?” It’s another one of my rules. I don’t fuck women more than once, and I don’t do virgins. Sure, it makes me sound like an asshole, but it’s all about self-preservation.

She bats her eyelashes at me, eyelashes that still have a thin layer of smudged mascara on them from last night.

“No,” she finally puts me out of my misery.

I let out a long breath. “Good. We can move on then. We had our one night together; now we can go back to Santa Barbara and continue on with our lives.”

Millie stills as if my words hurt her.

Jesus, is she one of those women who will date a man no matter how clearly wrong he is for her just because she slept with him? Instead of admitting that sometimes she likes to fuck men just to fuck them?

I rub my neck, and her eyes fall to my dick again. “Can we just admit the sex was great, but that we don’t belong together? That we shouldn’t waste each other’s time dating?”

“I think you should put clothes on.”

“Why? Are you hoping for a round two? Because I don’t—“

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what? Does my naked body make you uncomfortable?”

She holds up her left hand like that’s supposed to mean something to me.

I shake my head, not understanding.

She points to her ring finger, where a large diamond sits.

“Fuck, Millie. You’re engaged?” I don’t fuck engaged women. Or married women. That’s where I draw my line. Except apparently, I do fuck taken women. I need to know who she’s engaged to so I can apologize and let him punch me, which I clearly deserve for fucking his fiancée.

“No, at least, I don’t think I’m just engaged.”

She’s talking gibberish. “Is that Oaklee’s ring? Are you safeguarding it?”

She shakes her head; that isn’t true either. Oaklee’s ring is pink; this one is gold. I was with Boden when he picked it out.

“Okay…what am I missing?” I ask.

Her head nods in my direction. I follow her gaze to my left hand, where a gold band sits.

“No way,” I say, staring at my ring that wasn’t there last night. My gaze lifts to Millie’s ring, that now that I think of it, also wasn’t on her hand last time I checked.

“No!” I say again.

Millie winces but forces herself to say the words. “I think we got married last night.”

8

Millie