I watch his throat bob. We stare at each other until suddenly he jumps up like his ass is on fire. “I should get ready for bed.”
I blink, feeling like some spell has just broken. “Yeah. Yeah, me too,” I say, looking up, but he’s already gone, disappearing down the hall.
Oh god, I think I’m falling for my fake husband.
Chapter Twenty-Three
HOLLIS
After much debate, it’s been decided that Myles will be our first victim. Ally? Whatever.
I suggested we go with Mercury, but I was shot down. Since they are Presley’s siblings and I haven’t exactly been around for the last decade, I decided to trust her judgment over mine.
Plus, she says Myles is a closet romantic at heart, so there’s that.
With Myles’s crazy schedule, it takes a week to arrange, but Pres goes with the story that I’m in town visiting and would love to catch up.
We decide dropping the marriage bomb is better in person when we’ve had a chance to properly display our love and affection for each other.
That’s the plan, at least.
Ever since I ran out of the living room last week like I was being chased by a wild boar, I haven’t touched Presley. At all. Not even a friendly pat on the shoulder. I just…can’t.
Because if I learned anything from that night on the couch, it’s that I can’t be trusted around her. Touching her leads towanting her, and then I’m contemplating all kinds of bad choices that have nothing to do with friendship.
Which is probably how we ended up in this mess in the first place.
Of course, none of this helps my current situation because tonight, to play the part of doting husband, I will definitely have to touch her.
And it’s going to be torture.
At this point, maybe I deserve it.
“I can’t believe my brother chose a nightclub of all places,” Presley exclaims as our rideshare pulls up to the curb. I thank the driver, and we hop out. I’m actually familiar with this club. It’s one of the places I recently toured after meeting with the owner. Not every club owner was as receptive to my meeting request, knowing we would soon be competition. However, Sonia Laurant was one of the exceptions, and she was more than happy to offer her advice and expertise on the LA club scene.
She also offered to take me out to dinner. Whether or not she saw my wedding ring, I’m not sure, but I politely declined.
“He’s twenty-five, single, and trying to make it in Hollywood,” I say with a shrug. “He probably lives here.”
She laughs, then her eyes widen. “Oh my god. Did we go to a nightclub in Vegas?”
I was wondering if she would remember that. I have the credit card receipts to prove we did, but the memories of it are gradually starting to come back as well. “We did.”
She grimaces, her cheeks flushing red. “Was that my idea?”
“Maybe a little bit of both,” I lie. It was one hundred percent hers.
“I think you’re lying.” She laughs.
“I’ll never tell.” I grab her hand, pulling her toward the front of the line, trying hard to ignore the way the black satin of herdress clings to her curves. “Come on. Time to enjoy the perks of being married to a VIP.”
“Do you get to skip all the lines? Is that like your superpower as a club manager?”
“Fuck no.” I laugh. “I’m not that important. I just happen to know the owner of this one, and she said she’d put our name on the list.”
“She?”
I steal a sideways glance, grinning. “Calm yourself. She knows I’m a married man.”
