Page 13 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"Classic story. Boy meets girl, boy waits years to tell girl how he feels, girl marries boy's best friend instead."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." I stab a pancake. "Though to be fair, marriage wasn’t exactly on my wishlist anyway. Not after watching my mom walk out on my dad when I was sixteen."

"That must have been hard."

"Could've been worse." I shrug, trying not to let the memory settle too deep. "At least she waited until after his company went public to leave him for her yoga instructor."

Ariana’s eyes widen. "She didn't."

"Oh, she did. Very enlightened, apparently. Very spiritual. She sent us all meditation crystals for Christmas that year."

"God." She shakes her head. "And I thought my family was complicated."

"Yeah? Try me."

She hesitates, but the air between us shifts, thickens.

Last night was chaos, a drunken blur of impulsive decisions, but this—this is something else. A slow, magnetic pull. The world shrinks, and suddenly, it’s just us.

"Well..." She takes a deep breath, and I watch the way her lips part, the way her throat moves as she swallows. "Mom died when I was young. Dad worked three jobs to keep us afloat, then his kidneys started failing. My older sister Kat basically raised us while working through law school. The younger one, Lily, is... a free spirit."

"Define 'free spirit.'"

"She once tried to start a business selling vintage clothes she found in dumpsters."

I almost sputter on my coffee. "You're kidding."

"I wish. She called it 'Trash to Treasure.' I had to talk her out of the trademark application."

"Please tell me there are photos."

"Absolutely not." But she’s grinning, and goddamn, that smile is lethal. "Though I might have some videos of her 'authentic urban foraging' process."

"I would pay good money to see those."

"Sorry, but as your wife, I have to protect your interests. Can't have blackmail material floating around during your IPO."

The word 'wife' lingers between us, heavy and charged. My pulse kicks up. Her breath catches.

We both freeze.

"Right," I say carefully. "About that..."

Her phone buzzes, breaking the moment. She glances at it, then goes pale.

"Ariana?"

"I..." She stares at the screen. "I have to go."

"What? Why?"

"Because apparently my ex is very good at social media revenge." She turns the phone so I can see the post – someinspirational bullshit about 'dodging bullets' and 'finding your authentic self' accompanied by a photo of him with a suspiciously familiar brunette.

"Is that..."

"My college roommate? Yes. Yes it is." She stands abruptly, clutching her robe closed. "And it's going viral."

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