Page 42 of The Americana Playbook

“Yes. When you cheat on your wife, do it discreetly. Don’t be a Montgomery.” I think back to walking in on my father and his aide. “At least lock the door.”

I’ve never quite seen Fitz look wounded.

“What’s with the face?”

“I hate that the first time you referred to yourself asmywife, you paired it withcheating.”

“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t expect you to be celibate for almost a year, Fitz. You have needs.”

“And you don’t?” he challenges.

My cheeks grow warm because talking about sex with Fitz—or talking with Fitz about having sex with other people—isn’t a conversation I’m comfortable having. We’re friends, sure. And even if we never spent a day apart, I’m not sure I could handle telling him about how the pleasure I’ve received in my life beyond a few one-night stands was battery-operated.

Fitz folds his arms. “I say we play it safe. No side chicks.”

“I like men,” I deadpan. “So that’s fine with me.”

“Yeah, well.” He scoffs. “Like them a little less for the time being. I’m a traditional guy, Parker. A one-woman kind of man.”

Shifting on the mattress, I pull the opening of the robe a little more closed over my legs. “If I were a guy who looked like you, I’d be whoring myself out.”

“Now you’re making me blush.”

“I’m sure you already know you’re objectively handsome,” I tell him. “I’m sure others validate that for you constantly.”

I went with handsome because I don’t want it to go to Fitz’s head, but handsome doesn’t quite cut it. Fitz blooms attractiveness in the most classic type of way. Tall, dark, with a wide, bright smile and that lone dimple that might make me fall victim if he weren’t already my friend.

“For what it’s worth,” Fitz begins, “you’remorethan objectively beautiful. And if there’s a minority of others who disagree with me, then they must be blind.”

A flush creeps up the back of my neck.

“And, no. We’re not screwing other people on the side. It doesn’t exactly bode well for the wholesome image we’re trying to pull off and besides…”

I trace the shape of his body through his shirt still tucked into his slacks, finding myself focusing on the skin available to me—a pair of strong, taut forearms.

“Besides what?” I push out. Several strong beats of my pulse pound in my ears, but Fitz doesn’t answer.

Not until I look up and find him staring.

“I’d kill anyone who ever thought it was okay to touch my wife.”

A thrilling rush of goosebumps travels up my body beneath the robe.

“We’ve got enough to deal with. Don’t complicate things by writing prison time for me into this narrative, Parker.”

Fitz shifts, and the small movement brings my attention back to his arms. There’s something about the fine dark hair that dusts the tight skin covering strong muscles that screams for my attention. I focus on them so hard I swear I must be hallucinating because I can see myself flinging my mouth to the side and sinking my teeth into them while Fitz cages the side of my head.

I immediately shake the image away. I think the mention of celibacy pushed my brain in the direction of bad ideas, like thinking about how it might feel for Fitz to lie on top of me.

After all, this is Fitz.MyFitz. And while he’s no longer as scrawny, beneath the height he grew and the seemingly delicious weight and strength he put on, the man standing in front of me is just a stretch of the little boy I grew up with.

A wonderfully attractive stretch.

“You don’t have to keep trying to flatter me.” I hold up my left hand, flashing the ring. “I said yes already.”

“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t flatter you every moment I could?”

He’s playing with me. He’s playing along.

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