Page 24 of Scoring Chance

“No.” Another lie.

“Well, you’re acting like someone whose ex just posted a tell-all on TikTok.”

I press the martini glass to my temple. “It’s nothing.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to have a secret wedding, and then his kids would have medical coverage until he got a new job in a few weeks. But now my entire company knows we’re married, and my boss is dead set on meeting my new “family.” If Stan finds out any of this is a lie, I can not only kiss creative director goodbye, I can kiss my job at Petty/Marsh or any future job in the ad industry goodbye.

I’d become an anecdote laughed about over happy hours for generations to come. Did you hear about that ad guy who lied about having a family so he could get a promotion?

All it would take is one of Tanner’s kids accidentally saying something they shouldn’t, or Tanner and I messing up our timeline. Fifteen years of building a career would vanish overnight.

“You seem so stressed.” Jeremy holds out my martini to my lips. “Drink your juice, Shelby.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

I refresh my messages, hoping for a reply. “I’m waiting to hear from my husband.”

Jeremy chokes on his drink. “I’m sorry. Your what?”

Fuck.

“My friend,” I stammer out.

“No. You said husband. As in husband.”

I take Jeremy’s hand, trying to get back to my suave self. “It’s nothing.”

“I’m not a homewrecker. Oh God.” He looks around my apartment. “Is this like your secret residence where you take all your side pieces so your family doesn’t find out? Do you and your coworkers own this apartment together and take turns bringing your mistresses here for illicit sex?”

I don’t know what kind of expression I’m making, but it sends him leaning forward, curious.

“It’s…complicated,” I mutter, staring down at the lemon twist floating like a smug little snake in my drink.

“So you’re not married then?”

“No!” I bite my lip. “Well, technically, I am.”

“Technically?” His mouth opens so wide I regret that I’m not going to get a blowjob from him now.

“We’re not really husbands.”

“This is so messed up.” Jeremy picks up my phone before I can stop him. “Oh my God, Tanner? You mean this husband?”

“Hey—” I reach for the phone, but he’s already reading.

He scrolls through our messages, disgust wiping across his beautiful cheekbones. “Des: Your husband demands tacos tonight. This is nonnegotiable. Tanner: Already thawing the beef, my love. Shall I pick up limes too?” Jeremy throws the phone back at me. “Nope. Doesn’t sound like a husband at all.”

I feel my face getting redder as this hole I’m unintentionally digging gets deeper. “That’s a joke between us.”

“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Jeremy throws a martini full of very expensive vodka in my face. “I’m not wasting my 8 percent body fat and deep throating abilities where it’s not appreciated.”

Jeremy grabs his shoes and clothes and launches himself to the door, a tornado of admittedly justified anger.

“Jeremy, stop. Please! I’m sorry. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

“You can find someone else to explain it to.” He yanks open the door and marches down the hall. He jams his hand against the elevator down button. “Asshole!”