Page 79 of Beyond the Stroke

She sighs. “Starving.”

twenty

. . .

SUMMER

After our courthouse wedding, we made the mistake of eating at The Salty Pirate, where Darcy spent the whole time making over-the-top gushy faces at me. Alice ended up covering for me and even though Rory tried to pay, Mick and Alice insisted our meal was on the house.

After lunch, Rory helped me get my van prepped to move to his house. He’d had Charlie drive his Jeep back to his place so he could drive with me in the van. This morning, I packed a suitcase for his house, which feels odd considering my van will be parked in his garage.

It occurs to me now that I have no idea where Rory lives.

It’s one thing I forgot to ask about in the whirlwind that was us getting married. Now that we’re on the way, I’m anxious to see where I’ll be living during this fake marriage. With anticipation, my right thumb and index fingers rotate the wedding band Rory put on my left hand earlier. My thumb glides over the facets that hold each tiny diamond. I love the simplicity of the band while the small glittering diamonds give it a touch ofglamour. I can’t deny it’s a beautiful ring, but I am still not sure how I feel about wearing it. I knew Rory and I were joking about the quarter machine rings, but that doesn’t mean he needed to spend thousands of dollars on a ring for a marriage that won’t outlive his swimming career.

I lift my gaze from the ring to watch as he makes a left on Driftwood Drive, then at the end of the alleyway, which is a dead end for beach access, he comes to a stop.

“This is it.” He motions out the passenger window to the back of a gray house. I can’t see the house yet, only the garage that’s attached to it, but it’s clear from the location that he’s got beach front access.

“You live on the beach?” I ask, hugging Edgar to my chest.

“Yeah. It’s an investment property I bought years ago with my first big sponsorship deal.”

I nod as he opens the garage door with his phone, then pulls my van into the spot next to his Jeep.

“We’re home.” He gives me a huge grin, and scratches Edgar behind the ear. “Should I carry you over the threshold?”

I shake my head, and give him a wry smirk. “That’s not necessary.”

He shrugs, aiming that sincere, playful grin of his me. “If you wanted me to, I would.”

It’s words like those that make me question if I’ve made a terrible mistake. If this arrangement with Rory is dangerous. He’s too sweet. Too unguarded and accommodating. Also, in the rush to get married, we didn’t talk about any of the things that couples should talk about.

“No.” I wave him off, reminding myself that we don’t need to do any of those traditions because none of this is real.

That kiss sure was,my brain chimes in to remind me for the millionth time since it happened.

I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about kissing Rory. Or stared at his lips once or twice when he wasn’t looking. But I’d never planned to act on it. Now I have to live with the knowledge that Rory is a phenomenal kisser and there’s nothing I want more than to kiss my fake husband again, but I can’t and Iwon’t.

You can’t change other people; you can only change the way you react to them. That’s what my therapist always told me.

Since I can’t stop Rory from being sweet, thoughtful, andgorgeous, I’ll have to change the way I react to him. No more melting body or flutters of my reproductive organs.

I need to set a precedent. Rory and I are all business. And it starts the moment I walk into his house.

Rory grabs my bag from the van and makes his way toward the door.

Chivalry alert!I slam the van door shut and setting Edgar down on the garage floor, rush to catch up with him.

“I can carry my own bag,” I say, hot on his heels.

“I got it.” He turns to smile at me and that one curve of his lips nearly knocks me on my ass.

Rory keeps moving forward, but determined to keep things on an even playing field, I reach for the handle of my bag and yank.

Except that wasn’t the handle, it was the zipper, and my pull on it has the entire side of the worn leather bag gaping open. My belongings, which I had hurriedly packed this morning, are now spilling out the side.

No neat and tidy packing cubes for this girl. Just loose items stuffed in a bag. A pair of socks, a notebook, my toiletry bag, and oh that’s right, my trusty pickle vibrator that I’ve nicknamed Big Dill.

---