The Convenient Wife

What a mistake that was. After several text message exchanges and a few phone calls, we met for dinner. The man I thought I was meeting, and the man who showed up, were two different people.

The guy I expected had a head full of brown hair, the guy I met had the worst comb-over ever. He had literally pulled it from the top of his right ear and raked it over to his left. He claimed to be six foot one, his real height was just over five foot six.

He hated the outdoors, he hated any music that involved actual talent. He hadn’t read a book since high school, except for the Daily Ranger, and that was only because it was next to the toilet in his mother’s home. Yes, his mother’s house.

And to top it all off, he paid for most of our meal with coupons and gift cards he collected. Needless to say, I should have swiped left.

“It’s Bolt Sheckler, Em. If Bolt Sheckler asks you to go away for a weekend, you say yes. Besides, at least I’ve met him face to face already, I have a much better idea of what I’m getting into than with the swipe guy.”

I haven’t told my friend anything about our arrangement, not a word. And I won’t. I promised Bolt that it would stay between us, even if it killed me a little inside to not tell my best friend.

Emily knows everything about me—everything. Right down to my most embarrassing moment and the first time I had sex. I’m not going to go into detail with either, but I will say one involved a lubed up cucumber, and the other was an underwhelming five minutes in high school. Both ended messy and with me screaming and running in the other direction.

This is different. This is an arrangement built off trust. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize this opportunity or my future. Even if that means keeping Emily in the dark.

Layering a few shirts, I stuff my sneakers into the side pocket and zip it shut. My eyes are checking everything, moving across my dresser to make sure I didn’t forget anything.

Hairbrush, check.

Deodorant, check.

My phone buzzes against my cheek, so I pull it away to see a text floating on the screen.

I’m downstairs. Need any help bringing down your bags?

It’s Bolt, so I quickly swipe and text back. I got it, coming down now.

“Em, sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go, he’s here.”

“Star, tell me you’ll be careful, tell me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Hesitating, I let out a soft breath. “I won’t.”

I won’t get fake married this weekend. I won’t pretend to be in love with a stranger. I won’t use this man to make my dreams come true.

“Promise me,” she demands.

“I promise,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. “I’ll call you soon.” Hanging up, I feel slightly guilty. Guilty that I’m not telling her the truth, and guilty that I’m using this man for my own gain.

He’s using you too, don’t forget that.

I’m still curious about what he’s getting out of this whole fake relationship, but whatever it is, it doesn’t really matter because we’re using each other. That makes it even, neither of us are on the dark side of this thing, we’re in it together.

I’m not really doing anything wrong. None of it is real, it’s all fake. Who are we hurting? No one.

I’m doing my hardest to convince myself that this all okay, and I’ll walk away with everything I ever wanted.

Money.

An amazing recommendation.

And hopefully a long future in whiskey.

Pulling the thin handle up on my small suitcase, I lock up my apartment and head downstairs.

I’m actually a little nervous about this trip. I’ve never gone away with anyone, let alone a guy I just met, especially not a drop dead gorgeous guy that makes my toes curl with just one look.

He kissed me once, and that kiss. . . Damn if that kiss didn’t cross my mind at least five times a day. I can’t get it out of my head. Bolt was gentle with his mouth, kissing me like I was a delicate piece of glass.

I loved that kiss, and I hated that kiss.

That kiss broke me.

I’m no longer just a girl who loves whiskey, I’m a girl who loves whiskey and kissing Bolt Sheckler.

Watching the numbers go backwards, I count them down in my head.

Eleven

Ten

Nine

I’m getting closer and closer to the lobby of my building, and with each light that flickers on and off, my heart starts to race just a little faster. I’m about to spend an entire weekend with Bolt, just the two of us. A hint of excitement sparks in my belly, making me smile.

Leaning against the thick metal wall, I look down at my feet and think of his lips again, of how they tasted like pleasure, how they were warm and soft. My lips start to tingle with their own memory; the weight of his mouth, the heat of his skin, the way his tongue slipped easily between my lips and danced around mine.