Page 7 of Fake Wife
But the dude’s having fun with it, so I let him work his voodoo Internet magic all he wants while I sit back and scroll through the new Snapchat filters.
“See,” he says, and turns his phone in my direction. A pretty redhead is on the screen, lopsided paper New Year’s Eve hat on top of her head, and an equally cheap horn in her hand with a plastic glass of champagne. “This girl looks cute and fun.”
I set my phone down and peer at her closer. Cute, sweet, and no thank you.
“She’s twenty-two and owns five cats.”
“She’s an animal lover. It means she’s compassionate.”
“I’m allergic to them, dumbass.”
His black brows pull together. “Oh yeah, I forgot that part.”
Laughing, I push his hand away. “Drop it, Trey. I’ll figure this out. Maybe I could meet some girl at the gym. You know, hit on her while she’s on the stair climber and can’t get away from me.”
Where in the hell do normal people go, not to hook up, but for someone who could actually be something more? Beats the hell out of me. My social life is filled with galas and benefits and charity functions requiring tailored tuxedos and a minimum thousand-dollar donation.
“Yeah,” Trey nods, still clicking away on his phone. “That’ll work. Make sure you ask if she comes there often, too. That’ll win her over.”
“Oh, I’ll make her come often.”
He holds up a hand, not even bothering to look at me. “Stop right there. Love you, man, but your moves in the sack are none of my concern.”
“They should be.” I lean back and get the waitress’s attention. It’s well after noon now. And Friday. Time to get back to day drinking. “Perhaps if you took some hints from me you could finally snag your own woman.”
“I’ve got no complaints, asshole.”
I ball up my napkin and toss it at him. “Not many compliments I bet, though, either.”
“Hey.” He lifts his head and winks at me. “You seem awfully concerned about how I work my dick. You want a test drive and too afraid to ask?”
“Shut up, prick.”
“See, more dick fascination. I’m concerned for you, Corbin. Truly becoming concerned.”
I throw my head back and laugh, only stopping when the waitress finally arrives. We order another round of whiskey to drown my sorrows and problems in my favorite amber liquid.
By the time we part, it’s nearly three and I’m just on the right side of loosened up. Not too drunk to drive, just loose enough that the reality of Eleanor dying isn’t as painful as a sword in the gut like it was this morning.
I climb into my car, intent on heading out to Cannon Bluffs. There’s nowhere else I want to be this weekend. Somewhere far enough outside the city so I can be alone, and surround myself with the memories of my favorite person on the planet.
Shoving my gearshift into reverse, I back up, and then shift it into drive to get out of my parallel-parked spot. I’m just rolling to a red light when I glance at my rearview mirror.
I’m not fast enough to react and there’s nothing I can do anyway with a red light in front of me. Instinct forces me to slam on my brakes.
The car behind me slams into me and I’m thrust forward. My head smacks the steering wheel, right before I’m jerked back to my seat.
Chapter 3
Teagan
Oh crap oh crap oh crap!
The car pulls out in front of me before I can stop.
Slamming my foot onto the brake does little to help and everything moves in slow motion. My car slams into the car in front of me, forcing it forward. My elbows lock, hands squeeze the steering wheel, but I still fly toward the steering wheel, stopping myself right before I hit it.
Metal crunches and my car jolts to a stop.
