Oops! I Married a Rock Star

“I didn’t want anything complicated. It’s only for a year.” Immediately after saying that, he tsks, like he’s annoyed with something.

Maybe he’s finally decided the shade of pink on my bed isn’t as nice as the one in the guest room. Or maybe he just has a wedgie. Hard to tell what’s making him unhappy.

My phone beeps.

–Tasha: You need to make a statement about your husband’s arrival in the Society!

The Drover Secret Society. I hadn’t even thought about the group. But how did Tasha know so fast about Devlin getting here? It’s not like she stands by her window all day.

I note Devlin closing a nightstand drawer he just opened, then walking to the bathroom with his duffel bag. He really has the most gorgeously wide shoulders. He probably works out—they were hard underneath my fingers when I clung to him.

And his ass… I trace the curvature with my eyes. Can a butt look like that naturally? If I hadn’t felt it with my own hands, I might suspect he did something to those black jeans to make his butt look so perfect. Like push-up jeans. Or ass implants.

My phone beeps again.

–Tasha: The Society is exploding with comments about your man! Sandra posted a video of him driving up in a fancy car, although the quality is sort of sucky.

Oh, boy. Sandra lives to post gossip in the Facebook group.

–Me: OK, thx. I’ll do it later.

Once Devlin and I figure out what we’re going to say.

Another text pops up. Not from Tasha, unfortunately.

–Sylvie: Grandma wants you to bring Devlin over for dinner at 7. Bring dessert and salad, too.

I roll my eyes at the way she phrased it, like Devlin’s on par with dessert and salad. I remember her whiny cry about how it isn’t fair I married a rock star. If she could, she’d find a way to take him from me.

I glance at the bathroom—where Devlin is banging around doing God knows what. Hopefully, he won’t give in to Sylvie’s attempts at “seduction.” She slept with two out of the three boyfriends I had in high school, both while we were still dating. That’s why I quit picking men from Drover and tried other towns close by. Not that it helped much, given how Jeff cheated on me.

Bastard.

I haven’t confronted him since coming back from New York. He isn’t worth the drive or the gas it’d take for the round trip. Actually, he isn’t worth a single minute more of my life.

“We’re having dinner at seven at my grandma’s place,” I call out. “I’m going to make a peach pie and salad.”

“Okay,” Devlin says, coming out of the bathroom. He dumps his duffel bag in the closet and starts to plop down on the bed. Suddenly he stops. “Are you going to make them right now?”

“Soon. It’s already five.”

“Do you have what you need?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let me help.”

I give him a skeptical look. He doesn’t strike me as the type who’ll be a plus in the kitchen. More like a guy who stands on the other side of the island counter and looks gorgeous while a woman slaves away for him.

“Can you bake?” I ask after a moment.

“I can follow directions.”

Hmm. Hard to picture him taking instructions from anybody, except maybe in bed, when a woman screams, “Harder, faster, more, more, more.” I probably got demanding when we were together, although the exact details are sort of hazy. My mind was too busy being destroyed with pleasure.

Now the house feels too hot. Stop thinking about that before you start fanning yourself like an idiot.

“Let’s go downstairs.”