I frown.
“Chett has the attention span of a fruit fly when it comes to women. She’ll paint you as the one my playboy ex-stepson was too stupid to hold onto.”
I flashback to the day Chett’s mother interrupted my breakfast when she sat down across from me, uninvited, and proceeded to belittle me and tell me how I wasn’t good enough for her baby boy. The smugness shining from her eyes was nauseating. This woman who thought she was better than me was nothing more than a hypocrite. I don’t come from a hockey family, but at least I’m not a cheater.
Bitch.
Maybe I never had the courage to pursue my dream to become an actress because of my fear of rejection, but I can put to good use all the drama classes, hours spent in the drama club in high school, and auditions that didn’t get me far. I’ve dated wealthy men, so it’s not like I’m going to be out of my element. I’d be doing Kaz a solid. Without this man’s generosity, where would I be now? I might not be good enough to be with a man like Kaz, but I can act like I am. If I’m going to fake it, might as well go all the way.
I stare into his blue eyes. “What’s your favorite food? Your biggest pet peeve? How do you like your coffee? Do you prefer your grilled cheese cut across or diagonally? There are so many questions bouncing around in my head.”
“Excuse me?” His brows dip low. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“As yourgirlfriend, I would know these things.”
His eyes shine bright. “You’ll do it?”
“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Kaz.” I rub my hands together. “Let’s give them somethinggoodto talk about.”
Devlyn Frostburg, you won’t know what hit you. I’ll go from being a nobody in your eyes to dating hockey royalty—your ex-husband.
Chapter 17
Smut-tastic
Harley
Since I felt guilty Kaz spent a whole day taking care of me instead of attending to his businesses, I made sure not to bother him. After breakfast, I went for a long walk in my new neighborhood. I combed the streets lined with beautiful multimillion dollar homes, showcasing manicured shrubbery and an impressive display of colorful flowers. The florist in me was as giddy as a kid skipping to the candy store. Even when life was good and I was living in the Bronx, it was never as good as this tree-lined, posh residential area of elegant brownstones and historical carriage houses.
I could get used to life along the East River.
When I returned to the carriage house, Kaz was in the middle of a conference call. I hate that he had to interrupt his call because I didn’t have a key.
Dinner was pretty much a repeat of yesterday. We ate on the deck under the stars and we were treated to a lip-smacking meal of charred shrimp, grilled veggies, and another round of that incredible bread from Number 22 Grill.
Since Kaz had more work to do, I insisted on cleaning up the kitchen and the deck where we ate. After tidying up the second floor which includes another living room area, I made my way to the third floor to take a shower.
I put on an oversize gray t-shirt and a pair of pink yoga pants, and slide into the most comfortable bed on the planet. I prop the pillows against the bedrest, lean against them, and shimmy my ass against the mattress until I’m comfortable.
After sleeping on the lumpy mattress of a second-hand futon that smelled like a marijuana dispensary with an on-site smoking lounge, this deluxe mattress is a dream. Same for the silky cotton sheets with a thread count higher than my bank balance.
Living with Kaz is temporary, but until this fairytale ends, I’ll count my blessings.
I reach for the book on the nightstand, bring it close to my nose, and run the edge back and forth like I’m sniffing a premium cigar. “There’s nothing better than the smell of a new book.” Thank you, Kaz, for feeding my addiction.
Time to escape reality.
I open it up to the bookmark.
This hockey romance is off the charts dirty.
A man who has the ability to pick an amazing romance book is a keeper.
He gets extra brownie points for that talent.
A disturbing thought slams through me.
Too bad he’d never give a girl with my background the time of the day.
