Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,47

good on you.”

Nora glared at me and switched the ring to her right hand. “No thanks. We broke up anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, tilting her head to admire the ring. “He was pretty, and his dick wasn’t bad, but I just wasn’t that into him.”

“But Everly,” Hazel said, “why did he buy you an engagement ring? Was the ruse not convincing enough?”

“No, it was. But I kind of blurted out to Svetlana that Shepherd proposed.”

“Why?”

I sighed again. “She came over while Shepherd was taking Richard to an appointment. I invited her in to wait and we ended up talking. She said she wanted to warn me about Shepherd. That I didn’t know what I was getting into by dating him.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she only had your best interests at heart.”

“Hardly. That woman hates me. Anyway, she said Shepherd doesn’t do commitment.” I made air quotes. “And that he just uses people. She said he’s cold and ruthless, and he’ll cast me aside when he’s done with me. It made me so mad. Shepherd isn’t like that. It’s true he doesn’t usually date women for long, but look at the women he dates. They’re like her. He’s the one constantly being used, not them.”

“So you tried to counter her argument by claiming to be engaged,” Hazel said.

“Obviously I had to prove her wrong.”

“Well, this must certainly have shut her up,” Nora said, pulling the ring from her finger. She handed it back to me and I put it on.

“I didn’t want to get one this large, but Shepherd pointed out that it’s what she would want. She saw me with it the other night and I have to admit, the look on her face was hilarious.”

Nora sipped her drink, then set it back on the table. “I’d have paid good money to see that.”

“Agreed,” Hazel said.

As I sat with Nora and Hazel, chatting while we had a few drinks, I noticed something odd. No men approached our table. It wasn’t like we got hit on every time we went out. But to be fair, it was rare to go a night in a place like this without someone showing an interest in at least one of us.

Tonight, it was as if the giant diamond on my finger acted as a man-repellent. Granted, the theme was anti-love—a celebration of being single. But I could tell that wasn’t it. More than once I noticed a man eying our table, only to turn away as soon as his gaze found my left hand. No one approached Nora or Hazel, either, as if my ring created an invisible barrier that extended all the way around our little table.

I didn’t mind, of course. I was here to spend time with my girlfriends, not meet someone. The relationship was fake, but I still wasn’t going to cheat on Shepherd. When this was over, I could think about venturing back into the murky waters of the dating pool.

That thought made my shoulders slump and a sad feeling curl its way through my tummy. Svetlana was sure to lose interest in her game sooner rather than later, if Richard didn’t decide to end it first. How long did we have? A few more weeks? A month? Glancing at the ring on my finger, I thought about going back to my apartment. Sleeping in my own bed again—alone. Only seeing Shepherd at work. Everything going back to normal.

Why did that make me so sad?

Pushing those thoughts from my mind—although they still simmered in the background—I focused on enjoying the night with my girls.

The bed was empty when I woke up. Like I did every morning, I glanced around to see if Shepherd was here. Sleeping next to him had become much more comfortable—I wasn’t going to think about how much I enjoyed the sound of his soft breathing—but I still felt awkward in the morning. I didn’t want to roll out of bed with one of my boobs hanging out of my tank top or look up to find him naked after a shower.

Okay, that second one wouldn’t have been so bad. But the boob thing was a real issue. Tank tops had a way of playing peek-a-boob on me while I slept.

He wasn’t in the bedroom, and the bathroom door was ajar, the light off. It was safe to get up.

I used the bathroom, then changed into a t-shirt and my weekend shorts—they were too worn and faded to wear in public, but they