Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband (I said Yes #4)

3. Weland

Chapter three

Weland

A s far as turn-ons go, the phrase you like Beans shouldn’t be one of them, but who am I kidding? It certainly is. It takes a brave individual to admit to liking such a thing and an even braver one to talk about farts. It tells me this guy is comfortable with himself, his body, and the grossness that sometimes happens. He doesn’t expect perfection, even though his suit screams he has enough money to be perfect. He’s clean cut, which I normally find a little bit abhorrent, but maybe the Beans talks take the edge off the neatly trimmed dark hair, the too-square jawline, the handsome features, the soft dark eyes, and the tall broadness that is nothing short of drool-worthy. I’m a big grown-up girl, and I know guys like this can have the pick of the litter, and it’s not me.

Obviously. I’m platonically married, and despite talking a big game yesterday, I’m not going to cheat on that fake marriage. I’m not going to break the contract. I shouldn’t even be talking to this guy right now.

Or shouldn’t I? It doesn’t hurt to just talk. He’s nice even though I spilled my water all over him. Anyway, it doesn’t hurt to just give him a bit of conversation. Plus, I’m enjoying it.

I’ve looked forward to this night for so long. I thought I could go out and pretend everything was normal and that I was the same person I was four years ago before any of this happened and my life changed and all the secrets started, but I can’t pretend, even to myself. I don’t feel like I fit here. And honestly? My friends are just fine without me. Kate would still have a great time even if I left early. I call her my bestie because she is, or at least she was, but they’ve all moved on with their lives while I’ve been frozen in place, and as I said before, drifting apart is a real thing.

It feels extra real tonight.

And extra lonely.

Until he showed up. Mr. Stranger Not So Danger with the soft, deluxe hot chocolate eyes and the big smile that softens the sharp, chiseled angles of his face into something that is bone-meltingly attractive without being intimidatingly a turn-off. Too-hot men are actually not a turn-on. Trust me on that. It makes sense. Science can only go so far before reason kicks in, and no one likes an overconfident jerk. Hot guys who know they are hot aren’t very much fun for anyone. The same goes for hot girls who know they’re hot and want to weaponize it. Not cool. Not cool at all.

We’re just about nearing the area where they have servers who will bring us drinks. I’m letting him lead, which is something I don’t do. Also, clubs, bars, and flirting. Those are things I don’t do. I don’t act like someone under the age of eighty. Also, I haven’t done those things in a while. And now I’m talking to a guy who has no name because I didn’t ask for it, and he didn’t volunteer.

I’m so busy looking at this handsome, tall, built, dark-haired stranger that I pay less attention to everything else than I should.

Sploosh!

Oomph.

Holy farging bacon. Now I’m the one wearing a drink. I let out a gasp. I don’t even know where it came from, but it’s cold and milky and smells like sticky, sweet whisky, which immediately turns my stomach, especially when it’s dripping down my hair, my forehead, and all over my blouse. There’s probably some on my skirt too. Darn it. A milky, boozy mess is probably really hard to wash out, and I love these clothes.

Mr. Tall, Handsome, and Dangerous grabs the guy who just spilled his drink all over me. Not hard, but he closes his hand over the guy’s arm, which looks to be the only thing keeping the guy upright. The guy’s eyes are bouncing around in his skull, and it looks like he could use some water more than the whisky drink he just spilled all over me. But maybe it’s not whisky. Maybe it’s something else that’s hard. I don’t go for that stuff, so I don’t really know. But yeah, it’s definitely milk. I mean, I think. Please let it be milk. I’m scared to try and let my mind get to naming what else that creamy sludge could be.

“Hey, I know that was an accident, but you need to be more careful. Apologize to the lady, please.”

Gah. Even when he’s kind of pissed on my behalf, this guy has manners, and manners are hot.

More eyeball bouncing from Super Drunk Guy. “Smorry,” he slurs.

“It’s okay.” I swipe my hand over the goop dripping into my eyes. I’m sure it’s not a good look. “Can you get him some water? I’m going to go to the bathroom to try and clean this off.”

“Are you sure? I can come with you. Or I’ll get one of your friends to go with—”

I wave him off. “I’m okay. If you could also order them some water, I would be eternally grateful.” I know asking a stranger for this is probably more than he owes me. Okay, it’s definitely more than he owes me, based on the fact that I owe him for spilling my water on him. Maybe this drink is spillage karma.

“Of course. If you’re sure.”

I swipe another glop of milky crap away from my eyebrows. It seems to be replenishing itself at an astonishing rate, which means it hasn’t saturated my hair yet and is just sitting on top and dribbling down. Or it has saturated everything to max capacity, and this is the extra. Either way, it’s so nasty that my stomach rolls again.

I race off to the bathrooms, which have to be at the back of the club because aren’t they always there? Some big, burly bouncer dude in a suit back there spots me. He rushes up and doesn’t even need me to ask. Instead, he points me in the direction of the bathrooms and sees me back there.

The women’s washrooms might be huge with a ton of stalls, but the fact that this place employs bouncers back here just to watch over them is what no doubt keeps them clean and safe. There is nothing dubious going on in here. In fact, I’m the only one in here at the moment. Before someone comes barging in and asks me for help peeing because they’re super duper drunk and can’t figure it out by themselves, I head over to the row of free-standing pedestal sinks. I stick my hand under the soap dispenser and pump the little metal pump a few times until pink pools of soap line my palm. I’m not going to do a hair wash job over the sink in here, but I am going to wash my face.

I bend, and yeah, I know this is weird, but what other option is there? Once the soap is rinsed off my face and neck, I run clear water into my palms and do the best I can with my scalp. I spent so much time curling my hair for tonight, but I am certainly not going to cry over that. My eyes definitely aren’t burning or watering. Nope. That’s the booze. And the soap.

Thankfully, this place has paper towels and not just hand dryers. I grab a handful, wet them, and dab at my blouse. The goop has already sunk in, and it’s probably toast. My skirt has a few spatters, but maybe they’ll come out in the wash. My boots were spared, which is a good thing because they’re vintage, and vintage red cowboy boots aren’t cheap. At least these ones weren’t.

My hair is a wreck, but it's a good thing I always have an emergency hair tie with me. I unzip my clutch, extract it, whip my hair over, and then twist it into a bun—a tight one at the scalp because it’s all soaked. Then, I make it messy enough on top that it kind of covers up the damage as the strands fall all over.

I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror.

My stomach sinks.

This was supposed to be a fun night, but now my favorite blouse is wrecked. The hot stranger has probably gone on to greener, less disastrous pastures, and even if that’s probably for the best, it still sucks. There was just something about him. I don’t know what it was. Maybe he’s an old soul. Or maybe we’ve had a past life together. It feels a little bit like recognizing something in someone that there’s no way you should recognize because you don’t know each other, though it feels like you do.

I just want to go home and go to bed. Even if the dog is probably on said bed, and it now smells like dog farts. He’s warm and cuddly. Every single time I do something nice for him, which is basically anything in his mind, he looks at me with his one big, happy brown eye and wags his tail like he’s so grateful, and it just melts me.

I head out of the bathroom because I can’t just stay in here feeling sorry for myself. I expect the stranger will be long gone by now, but when I approach the side of the club where my group is supposed to be, they aren’t there.

But he is.

He raises a brow when he sees me, but he smiles. It’s the best smile. Warm. Genuine. It’s as sweet as his maple syrup eyes.

I twist around and look in the direction of the dance floor. It’s on the far right, and it’s huge. My party could easily get swallowed up in it, even though there are a few of them.

“They’re gone.” There are, however, two trays of water on the table. “I came back, and they weren’t here. I’ve looked all over.”

My jaw drops open. “They left without me?”

“Did they?” He looks as confused as I feel.

“I don’t know. They…they were going to go to another club. The bus. Right. The freaking bus! How could I have forgotten? I didn’t think they were going to do another one for at least an hour, but they must have decided to go. They were all pretty drunk, hence the water, but I can’t believe they forgot about me.”

“I’m sure they didn’t forget.” He sounds very unconvinced, and now his features are showing some sympathy or other that guts me and makes my cheeks flame up red. I don’t want to be someone that needs that. “I think it was just an accident. Inebriation tends to scramble the brain.”

“Yeah.” I toe the faux wood floor with the tip of my boot as tears sting the backs of my eyes. I don’t want to let them fall. I don’t want to look up and meet his I’m so sorry your life is a disaster gaze.

But wait. Why is he still here?

Out of sympathy?

“So now you don’t have a ride home,” he says.

I snap my head up so fast that I see bright spots. Nope, that’s just the strobing lights in the place. The bass is starting to scramble my brain. Maybe that’s what happened to Kate and everyone else. Combined with the booze, it’s probably easy to see why they just left without me. It’s not like I don’t matter. It’s not like she forgot about her own best friend on purpose. I’m sure it’s not.

“I—I’ll just take a cab.”

“Isn’t that unsafe?”

I make a noise in my throat, but the music drowns it out. “Hardly. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He blinks at me. I blink back. Then, there’s the world’s longest and most awkward pause. “I could give you a ride if you want,” he tells me.

A laugh comes from the tips of my toes and nearly explodes out. I trap it by biting down on my tongue just a little too hard, which makes me wince, and he probably thinks I’m wincing at his suggestion because he frowns. “I think that’s more dangerous than a cab ride because I don’t know you either. And who drives to the bar?”

“Someone who didn’t plan on drinking.”

“Ahh, but you came by yourself, and you said you wouldn’t try and seduce me. You promised. But if you came here alone, not to drink, then you obviously didn’t come to leave alone.”

“Oh no. I definitely did. But now I find that I want to do something else.” He says that like he’s puzzled by it. There’s something about him. Something more than that old soul vibe. He truly does seem harmless, and I know that’s probably what one or two poor girls thought before something not harmless happened to them.

My better judgment finally wins out over whatever burning and lighting up is going on in my very dusty, unused lady bits. “I think I’ll take the cab.”

“Then please let me ride with you. I don’t have to come in,” he rushes to clarify before I can object. “I just want to make sure you get home safe. I’ll get the driver to bring me back here for my car.”

“But then you’ll know where I live.”

“I can close my eyes. Or you can blindfold me.”

“I have to tell the driver,” I point out.

“Right. Well…I can promise I’m not a creepy stalker. Plus, you have a dog.”

“He’s not that kind of dog.”

“He could…dog fart me to death.”

I nod. “He could do that.” Did he really just say dog fart me to death? I can feel myself starting to smile even though this night has not been exactly what I expected so far. Really, what’s the harm in letting a nice guy who also just happens to be super freaking handsome as a bonus ride along with me in the cab? It would be safer. And yeah, okay, I don’t think he’ll stalk me. Sometimes, people are just really nice. He didn’t have to wait for me to make sure I was okay. He didn’t have to offer to see me home. Unless he actually is a stalker.

In reality, I knew I wouldn’t be taking anyone home tonight. That wasn’t my plan at all. But maybe the universe has other ideas.

Mr. Tall, Dark, Ride-In-Your-Cab-With-You, I’m-Not-A-Stalker-I-Promise stands up and holds his hand out. “Sterling,” he says, his voice just a shade deeper, like it’s an admission he doesn’t usually make, which doesn’t make any sense because it’s his name. It’s not some dark secret.

I don’t shake his hand. Instead, I nod, grab a glass of water from the table, and slide it into his waiting palm without touching his fingers. For some reason, I think touching his skin would be dangerous. “Weland,” I say, and not as carefully or as reluctantly as I should either.

It’s just my name. I’ve only given him my name and agreed to share a cab for safety’s sake, but for some reason, I feel like I’m in all sorts of deep trouble that I never truly expected to find myself in.