“This whole fake marriage thing with Jules is hard,” I complain pathetically.
Rocco shrugs. “Pretending to be in a relationship with a hot chick who’s a little bit crazy. What’s so hard about that? Sounds like a good time to me.”
I kick him under the table. “Call my fiancée ‘hot’ one more time,” I dare him. “As a matter of fact, call her ‘crazy’.” I push my sleeves back, ready to scrap.
He rolls his eyes. “Simmer down, Rocky Balboa. The question stands—why are you acting like this is some sort of burden? Having Jules as a fake fiancée sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.”
He doesn’t get it. Hell,Idon’t get it.
“Because I always want to kiss her.” I grunt. “And when she’s not around, I get this itchy feeling under my skin. And I feel cranky when she’s away from me for too long. I think something’s wrong with me.”
Rocco side-eyes me like I’m stupid. He starts laughing. “Sounds like you’re falling in love with her, doofus.”
I choke, almost swallowing the entire chicken bone. “In love? That’s ridiculous. I’m not falling in love.”
Rocco tilts his head and mumbles to Oliver, “You should see him when he’s around her. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.”
Could my brothers be right about my feelings for Jules? Could I be falling for her? Nah. Impossible…right?
Oliver just grins, looking thoroughly entertained. “You’re an idiot about women. You really should stick with sports management.”
“I think I should,” I mumble.
At least in my line of work, there are conventions that we follow, there are rules that we respect. I’m given a regulations handbook and I obey it to the letter. With this fake relationship, though? It seems that I’ve torn up my own rulebook, and now, I’m paying the price.
Oliver shakes his head at what must be a befuddled expression on my face. “Jeez. Haven’t you been married before? What’s the big deal?”
“Sure, I’ve been married before. But I’ve never really felt likethis,” I admit.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Rocco questions.
“What I had with Cynthia, that was more of a partnership. It was efficient, practical, it made sense. Hell, that relationship felt more like a business relationship than the one I’m about to enter into.With Jules, everything is chaotic, unpredictable.”
Passionate.
Exciting.
Heart-pounding.
Julissa Mei Lannister is a whole disaster. She’s constantly misplacing her keys. Half the time, she forgets to make the bed. She’s turned my ensuite bathroom upside down with her hairbrushes and her makeup and her strange beauty gadgets all over the counter. There are T-shirt sketches all over my house. Jules is a tornado in human form.
Yet somehow, even her clutter makes me happy. Every mark of her presence makes me feel more alive, less alone. And it’s all confusing the hell out of me.
Now that Jules has come and turned my world upside down, I don’t know who I am anymore.My entire identity is crumbling.
She and I had a well-laid plan. I would know; I typed up the iron-clad contract myself. I only forgot the most critical thing. I forgot that feelings don’t follow rules. Feelings don’t give a damn about the clauses of a fucking contract.
I drop my head into my hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen…”
Between stealing glances at Jules across the park, I sit here and miserably sip my ginger ale. I half-listen to my brothers talking about sports, while trying to categorize my emotions like I might organize player endorsement opportunities.
But I’m quickly learning that none of my work experience is helping in my personal mess. It doesn’t matter how organized and strategic I am.
My brain just needs to shut the fuck up. Because I can’t start getting emotional here. I have to be mechanical about this marriage thing. Detached. Impersonal. Catching feelings will only make everything more complicated for me. And I can’t do complications.
But when my stare travels back in the direction of my fiancée, I see the tall, muscle-bound fucker who’s now standing at her side. That’s when I know it’s too late to keep my emotions out of the picture. Because the jealous rage that swells inside my chest is instant and it’s intense.
I can’t see the man’s face from this angle. All I see is his refrigerator-sized shoulders and his backward baseball cap. He holds out a platter and Jules and her friends help themselves to whatever it is he’s offering them.
