My Fake Husband
Natasha L. Black
Copyright © 2021 by Natasha L. Black
All rights reserved.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Introduction
She can take my last name.
As long as I can have our baby.
Childhood crushes are fickle.
Yet this one is sweet and sticky like honey.
Trixie is in need of help, and I’m a certified hero.
Married to me, she can get the loan to buy the building her shop is in.
Our close quarters are combustible.
Flirting turns sexy.
I’ve got a bad crush on my wife.
Danger lights the fuse that smolders between us.
Fake married friends with benefits?
You could say it’s complicated.
So what happens when you really fall in love?
All I know is that I’m keeping her for good.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Hot Cop (Sample)
A Note from the Author
Books by Natasha L. Black
Connect with Natasha L. Black
1 Trixie
“He’s a bum. I’ve told you a hundred times. You have to get out from under this guy,” Kiera said.
“Believe me, I’d like to. I just can’t afford it right now. He never listens to me,” I lamented.
“Are you eating? What are you eating? I can hear you.”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to swallow too-big pieces of BBQ chips.
“It’s crunchy. It’s chips isn’t it? God, I miss chips.”
“Sis, give up the Keto. I’m telling you, pork rinds are bad news. They are not better for you than these sweet ass barbecue chips I have here. Totally wholesome. Made from potatoes, not pig fat.”
“Don’t disrespect pig fat. Bacon is excellent,” she protested.
“Yes, it is, but it’s not everything,” I told her.
“I miss potatoes so much. Sometimes I lay awake and think about how much I’d like to have, like, a real burger with a bun and some fries. Not just a big slab of meat with more meat on the side.”
“You’re allowed to have vegetables,” I said.
“I know, but vegetables suck. All the good ones are potatoes.”
“That’s it. For your birthday I’m getting you a five-pound bag of Idahos.”
“You bitch. I’d probably eat one raw,” she said. I laughed.
“What am I going to do about this pipe? I’ve looked it up on YouTube and tried to fix it myself. Six different ways. Nothing works. It’s been leaking for months and that rat bastard Jimmy won’t call me back.”
“He knows you want him to live up to his lease agreement and have the plumbing fixed before you drown in your own flower shop. So of course he’s not answering you.”
“You have a point,” I sighed.
“Tell me again why you can’t just buy the building?”
“Um, I don’t have a trust fund. It will cost thousands of dollars to fix the plumbing, plus the cost of the building and the taxes on it. I’m doing fine with the shop, and I make my house payments on time, but I just got my industrial cooler paid off last year. I don’t have enough collateral for the bank to take a chance on me. I’m a small business owner in a small town. And I’m a woman. Unmarried,” I smirked to myself.
“So if you were an unmarried man with a business they’d be like, look how dedicated he is to his work, he’s going to be successful, let’s give him the loan? Once he’s established, he’ll start a family. But with you it’s like, she’s wasting those ovaries working all the time, and she’s not getting any younger. I know.”
“Yeah. And my ovaries are over here, creaking with age, mumbling about how I’m too busy to even go out with anyone.”
“You could always deliver flowers to the fire station by mistake,” Kiera teased.
“That’s a stupid mistake. The fire department is all men. Who sends flowers to a guy? I mean, not in a sexist way, but we are in rural North Carolina. It’s not like traditional masculinity isn’t loud and proud.”
“You’re missing the point—stay with me here. You can be like, ‘oh, I must’ve written the address down wrong, silly me! Why, Damon, I’d forgotten you worked here. How have you been?’”
“You’re doing a stupid high-pitched voice. I do not sound like that,” I said.
“You so do. Besides, he’s still single, right?”
‘Yeah. I can’t figure out why. I mean, look at him. Tall, great body, gorgeous smile—he’s a fireman, and he coaches little league. His resume says boyfriend material, but that grin says let’s do it in the truck right now.”
“So that’s your kink? Doing it in his truck? Honey, he was a hound dog in high school, but I think he probably has better tricks than pickup truck sex by now. Why won’t you just ask him out?”
“Kiera, I realize you’re married and don’t remember having to date. In fact, you never had to date as an adult with a job and responsibilities and the horror of having to look him in the eye every time you see him in town the rest of your life if he says no and that he thinks of me as a friend or more likely that he doesn’t think of me at all,” I blurted out.
“Well, that’s a lot. Listen to me, Tig,” I smiled when she used my childhood nickname. “I know he’s good-looking, and he’s a good guy. But he’s no better than you.”
“I never wanted to be another one in a long list of—conquests?” I asked. “Is that what they’re called?”
“Fuck buddies,” my little sister supplied. “Hook-ups. Whatever. If you ask him out, don’t say conquest, it’s so uptight.”
“I’m not offering to be Damon Vance’s,” I dropped my voice to a whisper even though I was alone, “fuck buddy.”
“Come on! Have some fun. Also, whoever
