Page 48 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

What if I am just a distraction? The echoes of the mean girls are hard to ignore.

What if I started falling for a man who doesn’t know how tostay? What if I fall for a man who doesn’t need me as a meal ticket?

I pad into the kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee, and then grab my phone. I need to find a grounding. I need Shay.

She answers on the second ring, still half-asleep, wrapped in a blanket like a human burrito.

“Oh my god,” she said, voice raspy. “You did it, didn’t you?”

I groan and sink onto a barstool. “Define ‘it.’”

“You knowit. Horizontal cardio. Mattress dancing. The sin tango. Did he grill your steak and then?—”

“Shay.”

“Youdid.” She snorts. “You sound guilty. Did he ruin you?”

I paused. “...A little.”

“Damn,” she breathed. “I need more coffee for this.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “It was amazing. He was...amazing. I think I’m falling for my husband. But this is all fake. It’s supposed to be fake.”

Sadness settles into my bones. This is a fake marriage. I need a rulebook, no—a playbook.

Like, if he gives me that smile that turns me inside out, I need to tell myself it’s not real. If he texted me, it’s because he’s obligated to.

And when he makes love to me?

I need to convince myself that I’m going to hell for sinning.

Shay’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “So what if it started that way? Doesn’t mean it has to stay fake.”

“I’m scared,” I whisper. “I like him. Like,reallylike him. But if I let this happen... if I lethimhappen... I don’t think I’ll come back from it when it ends.”

She’s quiet for a beat. “Then maybe don’t let it end.”

I don’t answer. Because deep down, I already know?—

I can’t control that. It’s too late for me because I’ve caughtfeelings.

And it’s as if Finn’s been queued into the current montage of mylife. He walks in, larger than life, and he leans over my shoulder and says hi to Shay.

He then informs me that he’s meeting the boys. This means he’ll be out with his teammates with that silver Cup in tow. They’ve been my rivals for his attention. Not women, the team, which is ironic. However, the team won the Stanley Cup, and they need to savor the victory. I get that.

“Great. I have work to do, and remember I have my concert tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, yeah, the jets confirmed,” he says, but I think he’s distracted.

“Okay, I’m gonna curl up in the solarium and get some writing done.”

He leans in and kisses me, waves to Shay, whom I’ve FaceTimed, and leaves out the kitchen door. I don’t know which vehicle he took, one of the sports cars or the SUV.

“Anyway, as I was saying—her voice pauses. Then she says, “Damn, he’s handsome. I see your dilemma.”

“You’re not helping,” I snark.

“Hey, I call ‘em the way I see them. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying having all 600 feet of the apartment to myself.”