Page 16 of The Fake Husband Play
“So, cougars are doing God’s work? That’s what you’re saying.”
He laughs. “Totally. Carla will always have a special place in my heart.” He straightens, taking a sip of his champagne as he scans the crowd. “But that’s not what I’m here for tonight. You, either. Women come and go, brother, but an endorsement deal with the right brand could set us up for life.”
He’s right. This isn’t just a party—it’s business masquerading as celebration. “Where you headed first?” I ask over the rim of my glass. “I thought I’d look for the guy from Lava Energy and go from there.”
“Smart,” Parker agrees. “You’re known for speed. Lava would be a good fit. I’m going for that shoe brand from New Zealand, the one with the funny commercials. I can do funny way better than that NFL Chad they’ve got doing spots for them now.”
“Hell yes, you can,” I agree, holding my hand out for a quick dab. “Happy hunting and catch you later.”
“Later,” Parker says with a wink. “Let’s go land something for our future wives to take half of in the divorce.”
I roll my eyes at the joke—Parker’s parents’ ugly, ongoing split has left a mark on the man—and drain the last of my champagne. But just as I’ve spotted the guy from Lava over by the bar, something else catches my eye.
It’s a woman in the same scandalous cocktail outfit as the redhead, but with legs a supermodel would kill for, and…
Holy fucking shit.
My stomach bottoms out so hard I feel it at the back of my throat.
Because it’s her.
Red Dress. The woman from Magazine Street.
It makes no logical sense—what are the odds, in a city this size?—but my gut already knows. It’s already sure. Same curves, same posture that mixes grace and a guarded way of moving through the world that sets off every protective, possessive instinct I’ve got.
And then she looks up.
Our eyes catch.
And hold.
And the party disappears. It’s a fucking cliché, but it’s true: the world blurs and fades until all I can see is her. Those wide, startled eyes. That pretty mouth parting like she has something to tell me, and fuck, I can’t wait to hear whatever it is.
Longing floods through my chest, and for a heartbeat, I swear she feels it, too.
But then…she bolts.
I’m not talking about a polite “I need to get back to work” disengagement. My girl straight up flees the scene of the crime, doing a dart and weave until she’s completely out of sight.
I’m half a step from chasing after her when Nix shoulders in beside me, jabbing an elbow into my ribs.
“Hey, man, the guy from Lava was looking for you earlier. You should get over there and woo him before Winchester cockblocks you. He’s practically giving the guy a blow job as we speak.”
I tear my eyes off the place where Red Dress was standing a second ago, struggling to force myself back to reality.
“What?”
“Cockblocked. From the Lava deal. What’s thrown you off your game, bro?” He follows my gaze, grinning as he nods to the other side of the courtyard. “Was it the brunette? The one with the legs for miles and the bouncy rack way too big for that shirt? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but I…”
He trails off, lifting his hands in the air in surrender as I glare a hole between his eyes. “Sorry, man,” he adds, “Not trying to be offensive. Seriously. Just making an observation. I’m sure Rack Girl is super cool and nice and stuff. And smart. Probably smart. Did she look smart? I don’t know. Do you know her or something?”
I fight the irrational urge to tell him to keep her name out of his mouth. That would be over the top…especially considering neither of us knows her name. “No,” I snap. “And I didn’t think you noticed women under forty.”
Nix just grins, obviously feeling no shame. “I don’t. Usually. But I make an exception for especially gorgeous breasts. I prefer them on an older woman, yes, but sometimes a man has to be flexible.”
“Stay away from her,” I rumble, my inner caveman rising to the surface.
He nods, still smiling, “Message received. Loud and clear. Relax, friend. I already have two hotties fighting for the chance to take me home. I’m not after your girl.”
