Fake Marriage Box Set

A last glance in the full-length mirror and I called the five-minute transformation good enough for a dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. As I walked back through the living room towards the door, I made a conscious decision to keep my eyes forward. I didn’t want to look over and see Talia’s face staring at me. I needed a night off from the sadness.

I whipped into the parking lot of the restaurant and quickly found Maria at our table on the patio, sipping a lime margarita. I looked at the empty seat with a margarita already waiting and smiled.

“Thank you!” I said, pulling out the chair and sitting down. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

Maria smiled. “I bet. Sit down, relax. They’re going to bring out fresh chips and salsa in a minute.”

I nodded and took a long drink from the icy cold beverage. I let it slide down my throat, enjoying the instant refreshment. I was exhausted. The day had cooled off a great deal, and there was a slight breeze now.

“It’s nice out here,” I commented.

“Yes, it is. So, are the classes too much for you after all?”

“No, I’ll be fine; it’s just going to take some balancing, but it’ll work out,” I assured her.

Maria didn’t look convinced. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you did another semester, you know?”

I scoffed. “No way. I’m not going to stay in school a minute longer than I have to. I can do this. It will be hard, but it’ll be worth it.”

The waiter returned, bringing the chips and salsa. We thanked him and dug in. The spicy salsa was perfect with the stout drink.

I popped a loaded chip in my mouth and looked up.

“Oh my God,” I muttered around a mouthful of hot salsa.

“What? What’s wrong?” Maria said, looking back and forth.

“It’s my professor. I mean, the professor I’m working for,” I explained. “He’s inside. Small table in the far corner.”

Maria casually dropped her napkin, bent over to pick it up, and looked through the window. I laughed at her attempt to be inconspicuous.

“Wow. No wonder you want to work hard this year. He’s hot. How can you focus with that in front of you?”

I shrugged. “I guess if you like that sort of thing. I don’t know. I don’t think he’s hot. He is very, I don’t know, serious? Always serious and never smiling—unless he’s talking about the ocean. That seems to be his thing.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about? You aren’t fooling anyone. He’s hot, and you know it. Look at him! I can’t even see his eyes, but I know I would love them. What color are they?”

“Green.”

“Ha! I knew it. You know that because you’ve been looking,” she teased.

I shook my head, denying her accusation. “Whatever. I looked at him the three times we talked.”

Maria didn’t look convinced. “What color are the eyes of our waiter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, but you talked to him, not even two minutes ago. You know the color of your man’s eyes because you know he’s hot,” she said, with an abundance of satisfaction.

“I guess,” I conceded. “Old is not my thing. I didn’t know you liked older men,” I joked.

“He’s not older. I love the gray in his hair. He looks debonair. There’s a Clooney, Pierce Brosnan thing going on there, but a much younger version. I think he’s hot and I would definitely do him if he was willing,” Maria said, completely nonchalant.

“No! What? You think?” I gasped, looking at him through the window. He was talking to another man sitting across from him at the small table.

“Tessa, really. Come on, admit it. I know you’re crushing on that guy,” Maria said with a smile.

I smiled. “He is attractive, I’ll give you that. He always looks so sad though, and I want to kiss it and make it better. Is that some female maternal instinct kicking in? Overactive hormones or something?”