Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,64

arguing with her, but was she right? Was that why I had this weird ache in my chest at the thought of leaving her for a week?

“Besides, you’re old enough to get over your fear of marriage,” she said.

“I’m not afraid of marriage.”

“You are, and I’m partially to blame for that. But only partially. It’s mostly your father’s fault. You never had a good example.”

“None of that is your fault.”

“It isn’t my fault that he was the way he was. But I regret that I stayed with him so long. That didn’t do either of us any good.”

“We both turned out all right,” I said with a grin.

“I’m doing just fine, but the jury’s still out on you.” She winked at me. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“When do I get to meet my daughter-in-law?”

I shook my head. Arguing that Sophie wasn’t really her daughter-in-law—or wouldn’t be for long—would be pointless.

And would it be so bad to introduce them? Sophie was sweet but still tough, the kind of woman my mom would love.

Wait. She was the kind of woman my mom would love.

Shit.

“I don’t know, Mom. We’ll see.”

She gave me a look that said she wasn’t pleased but she’d let it go for the time being.

I’d never introduced a woman to my mother. Ever. Why would I? She was right: I didn’t date anyone long enough to get that far. But Sophie was different, and not just because I’d married her.

I followed Mom back to the cart and got in. Maybe this business trip was exactly what I needed. A week away to get my head on straight. Sure I liked Sophie, and goddamn I loved fucking her. But was this an introduce her to my mother situation? That seemed a bit excessive. After all, we weren’t going to stay married.

Except—

Nope. I wasn’t even going to think it. Sophie and I had a deal. We could enjoy each other in the meantime, but we both knew what this was. And marriage wasn’t for me.

23

Sophie

I pressed the garage door opener and waited while it lifted, then drove into Cox’s garage. He’d parked one of his cars outside so I could use the space while he was gone. His garage was big, open, and neatly organized. He wouldn’t have struck me as a man who owned a lot of tools, but he had a large workbench with tools on a peg board and a red toolbox that was taller than me. It reminded me of our garage when I was growing up, although that had been smaller.

I’d been staying in his house for the last week and it was surprising how comfortable I was here. With him on a business trip in Houston, it could have been so awkward. Once I’d spent two weeks housesitting for one of my dad’s neighbors and I’d walked on eggshells the entire time, terrified I’d break or spill something and do irreparable damage. But somehow Cox’s big house felt a lot like home.

And I hadn’t broken or spilled anything. Yay, me!

He’d been busy on his trip, but we’d been texting in between meetings and in the evenings. Every night, he texted to say goodnight. He was acting very boyfriend-like, which I kind of loved. But it also left me wondering. Had I started dating my accidental husband? Where was this going? My resolve to protect my heart had crumbled and now, here I was, staying in his house, getting all fluttery in the tummy over his sweet texts.

My feet were tired from my heels, so I stepped out of them as soon as I got inside. It had been a long week. Not in a bad way, just an it’s Friday and I’m ready to take off my bra way. No one was here, so after I set down my purse, I undid the clasp and slid my bra right out of my shirt.

Ah. That was better.

I’d stopped to check the mail at my apartment after work, so I set my bra on the kitchen counter and thumbed through the envelopes. Bill. Bill. Another bill. Rolling my eyes, I sighed. Typical. I never had anything good in the mail. Always more bills. It seemed like they multiplied in my mailbox, those pesky notices getting it on like bunnies and making tons of little bill babies.

Actually, that wasn’t why I had so many bills. But it was a cuter reason than the truth.

Someone came out of the walk-in pantry and I shrieked, tossing the stack