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My phone vibrates in my lap, stopping my lusty, wandering thoughts.
Crystal snorts. “Speak of the devil.” She turns away, pulling my door shut as she leaves. “Make it happen, Val.”
I rub my lips together, trying to remind myself of all the reasons I have to do this. Have to seduce Fynn Hadaway.
Not just seduce him. Convince him a sham marriage could solve both our problems.
If I’m already married, I can’t be forced to marry anyone else. If he’s got a happy, adoring wife at his side, looking at him like he hung the moon, people will assume he’s changed. Become a better man. In a year, he can claim I broke his heart and return to life as he knew it.
And I can find a life like I’ve never known.
I take a deep breath before lifting my phone to read his response.
Hawt?
Freaking Crystal. I pull up the text string and type out my first actual contribution.
I meant handsome. Damn autocorrect.
I set the phone down so I won’t keep staring at it and stand up to slip off the pencil skirt I chose for tonight because it shows off my ample ass. It barely has time to hit the floor before my phone dings.
Thank you.
Fynn Hadaway is polite. Another thing I didn’t expect. I plop back down on my bed and stare at his simple response. It would be rude not to be polite back, right?
You’re welcome.
I chew my lip for a second, thinking of all the things Crystal would tell me to say. I hate every one of them.
I know she means well. Wants me to have a life of my own as much as I want it for myself, and she wants it for reasons similar to the one that makes her hate Fynn. Nothing pisses women off more than seeing one of their own being screwed over by a man.
Men, in my case.
But Crystal has the kind of personality that takes over a room. It’s probably a huge asset in her side gig as a DJ, but in a friendship it can be overwhelming.
I blow out a breath and start typing.
Thank you for walking me home. It was very sweet of you.
The response dots appear, then disappear over and over before a text finally comes.
Not many women call me sweet these days.
Without context it’s impossible to know the tone of his words. It’s why I freaking hate texting. There’s just so much room for misinterpretation. So much room for misunderstanding. Plus I want to hear his voice again.
Can I call you?
It’s sent before I can think it through. Maybe talk myself out of it. Out of all of this.
I should just let Fynn be. Walk away and pretend like none of this ever happened. But I can’t. Partially because Crystal is right. I don’t want to go back to everything I ran from. I don’t want to be back under my father’s all-consuming proverbial thumb. If I’m going to marry a man to get somewhere, then it’s going to be to get where I want to go.
This time Fynn doesn’t respond right away. I have enough time to put on my pajamas and brush my teeth before peeking out of the bathroom to find Crystal already passed out on the couch with a Judge Judy rerun blaring from the television. I grab the remote and start to turn it off.
Then my text alert dings.
Sure.
I set the remote down, deciding the added noise will work in my favor. Give me a tiny bit of the kind of privacy I’ve never had.
