Page 31 of The Fake Husband Play
I had a plan for tonight’s episode. I was goingto tell you this old story about Mason Coggins—you remember, the goalie with the murder-face who turned out to have a Hallmark heart. The one who sold his house to pay for a kid’s cancer treatment, but never planned on taking credit for it until the kid’s sister told the press?
Turns out sometimes the meanest-looking players pull the sweetest moves.
Who knew?
But honestly…my mind’s not on Mason. Or his story.
It’s on something closer to home. Something reckless and weird and maybe wonderful.
Because sometimes, the riskiest plays—the ones you’d never draw up on the chalkboard—turn out to be exactly what the game needs.
(Pause. Soft laugh.)
Anyway. Fair warning, episodes are going to be spotty for a bit.
My life’s about to get wild in a way I didn’t see coming.
But for once, I think that might be a good thing.
Until next time…Love On Ice—he shoots, I moan. For girls who know sometimes you’ve gotta leave the crease to chase down your happy ending.
Chapter
Nine
ELLY
Halfway upthe courthouse steps Monday afternoon, it hits me that I’m about to marry Grammercy Graves.
Like…for real.
Not in the theoretical way I’ve been thinking about it since Friday night when he made his totally decent, but entirely crazy, proposal. Not in the practical, problem-solving way we approached it last night, when we spent an hour on the phone working out logistics like insurance forms and paperwork for the courthouse, and when Mimi and I should plan on moving in.
Nope, this is the full-body, heart-in-my-throat, how-the-hell-is-this-really-my-life realization that in thirty to forty minutes, depending on how backed up the justice of the peace is after their lunch break, I’m going to becomeMrs.Grammercy Graves.
My knees go wobbly, and I have to grab the marble railing to steady myself. The heat of the sun-warmed stone beneath my palm reminds me whyI’m doing this.
For Mimi.
For her safety, her health, and the chance to finally lift our little family of two above the poverty line and keep us there, once and for all.
And also, because you’re a fangirling sex pervert who had a FILTHY dream about her crush/future husband/man she barely knows last night. Which is fine, I guess.
As long as he never figures out your Luvvy Puck, the horniest hockey fan on the internet.
“Not fair,” I whisper to myself. “There are way hornier ones out there.”
There are. No doubt. That’s the truth.
But it’s also the truth that I had a sex dream featuring Grammercy’s big hand over my mouth, muffling the sound of my orgasm so we wouldn’t wake the kids, while he gave me a railing better than anything I’veeverexperienced in real life.
And yes, in the dream, we had four kids. And a dog. And a cat. And two sweet brother gerbils named Gordie and Howe, after our favorite old-school hockey player.
It wasn’t just a sex dream.
It was afamily porn dream.
No matter how many times I’ve told myself that I understand this is just a new friend offering a helping hand to a kid in need, some part of me wants more. It wants Grammercy’s love and time and attention and a real-life happily ever after.
