Page 40 of Never Been Worse

“We can handle that tomorrow or next week, I’m sure,” Wes says, stepping toward me and putting a hand to my lower back. The simple touch sends a shiver through me, and I fight the urge to let my lips tip up with a triumphant smile.

I shouldn’t like this, his touch, and Isurelyshouldn’t be feeling possessive over Wes, especially not with what just happened a few moments ago, but here we are.

“I mean, I suppose. But a few are pressing and—” she says.

“Later. I’m jet-lagged, and I want to make sure Harper gets settled.” She goes to speak up once more, but he shakes his head. “Thanks for everything, Laurel. I think you can head out.”

Her eyes send daggers to me, and in my mind, it’s confirmation: Laurel wants Wes and sees me as some inhibitor to that mission.

It makes me furious.

“Really, I—” she starts, but I step closer to Wes, putting a hand to his shoulder, the warmth of him burning to my hand. His eyes move to mine, a bit shocked at the initiated touch, but a smile on his lips all the same.

“Do you mind showing me around our house?” I ask, eyes wide, and I don’t know what kind of phantom has taken over me, making me much more bold and brave than I’ve ever been, but I like her. “I’m so tired from our trip.” I give him a smile, then share it with Laurel. “You know how those long flights can be.”

“Absolutely,” Wes says, then moves, opening the door for his assistant. She glares at me before saying her goodbyes, Wes closing and locking the door behind her. By now, common sense has reentered my veins, and I’m standing a few feet away, feeling awkward and, if I’m being honest, just a bit childish.

“Harper Abbott, are you jealous?” he asks when he turns back to me, reaching for my hand and grabbing it, his rough, calloused fingers twining with mine.

“No, but I don’t like the way she was looking at you when I was right there.” His smile goes wide, and I roll my eyes, trying to tug my hand out from his, but his grip is tight. “It’s common courtesy. We’remarried, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” His hand moves to brush some of my hair back behind my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to your room,” he says before leading me up the stairs of the too-large house and toward my room for the next year.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep, and I know, despite every bone in my body wanting to deny it, it’s because Wes Holden isn’t in bed with me. I toss and turn in the giant, luxurious bed, frustrated and angry that I’ve let myfake husbandget so far under my skin, until finally, I get out of bed and head to the kitchen for a snack.

Everyone knows a sweet treat can fix almost any ailment.

Fearful of bothering my new roommate, I tiptoe around, trying to find the kitchen for a few minutes before landing in the spacious room, equipped with professional appliances and neat as a pin.

I’m peering into the fridge, wishing I had thought to ask Ava to grab me some snacks for my late-night dessert habit, when a throat clears, and I jump, panicked, before realizing it’s just Wes. He’s leaning in the doorway, handsome as ever, his hair tousled, muscled arms crossed on his chest, and a small smile on his lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I shake my head, moving my hand to my racing heart. “You didn’t,” I lie, and he glares at me. I give him a small, embarrassed smile and shrug. “Okay, maybe a little. But it wasn’t your fault. I was just looking through your offerings.”

He steps closer, looking over my shoulder from behind me before he shifts back, leaning against the kitchen island. “Pretty empty, huh?”

“I mean, you’re a rock star bachelor who hasn’t been home for a week, so?—”

“Not a bachelor,” he says instantly, and my head cocks back.

“What?”

“I’m not a bachelor anymore.” The smile on his lips is near criminal, too handsome for his own good, especially when he’s just a few inches from me. This entire arrangement—living with him, pretending we’re a couple,marrying him—may have just been the worst idea I’ve ever agreed to. He’s far too everything, and I am much too attracted to him to make it through the next year unscathed.

“What do you normally eat for a snack?”

“A cookie. I keep cookie dough on hand to make them whenever I want some at home. I’ll have to stock up,” I say with a shrug. “I’ll make it through one night.”

“Hmm,” he says with a nod, then moves to a cabinet. “I don’t have fresh cookies, but Idohave…” He reaches to the very top shelf, grabs a familiar blue, crinkly package, and smiles like he knows he just got an A on a test from me. “Oreos.”

I smile wide in return because he’s cute, and I’m hyped for the impending sugar rush.

“Do you have milk?” I ask the most important question when it comes to the black and white cookies.

“Do you have an allergy like Ava?” I shake my head and smile that he knows something so pedestrian about my best friend. Idon’tremind myself Jeremy never remembered Ava had an allergy, always suggesting the worst restaurant options when I ever convinced him to go out with us.

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