Wayne said, “Logan’s an idiot for letting her go.”
“You’re an idiot for lusting after her. You do realize she’s an heiress and more high maintenance than my car—that’s broken down again.”
Horsing around, Wayne feigned a dreamy sigh. “A man can fantasize about Monica. Not that heap of metal you call a car.”
“Be nice.” Paisley landed a light smack to the back of his head, then flung her arms around his neck while he took the stairs two at a time. “How’s Logan doing with their breakup? Monica’s a tad bitter.”
“No kidding?” Wayne laughed. “I never would’ve guessed. So, what’s wrong with your car this time?”
“Needs a new transmission.”
“Ouch.” He set her on her feet in front of her apartment door. They’d been neighbors for a few years. They barbecued a couple weekends each month and whenever he was deployed, she watched the cactus his mother had given him. She made cookies for him and Logan at Christmas and a special meal for them on Veteran’s Day. She would make some lucky guy an incredible...
Wife.
Logan’s locker room joke might not be such a bad idea. Obviously, Wayne would never be in the market to marry again for real. But he was totally on board with a rental spouse.
The trick would be convincing Paisley that taking his money for posing as his temporary wife would be a mutually beneficial arrangement as opposed to charity.
Over too many beers at the complex pool party last Fourth of July, she’d admitted Monica had bought her a car for her birthday, but she’d made her friend take it back. She hadn’t gone into too much detail, but Wayne gathered the gist was that she’d been raised by a single mom who’d had no qualms about taking all the handouts she could get.
She opened her door and now eyed him funny. “Everything all right? You look almost as green as I usually do.”
“Actually, I have something I’d like to run by you. Want to grab a bite to eat? Maybe Italian?”
She blanched.
“Your little one still making you sick?”
She nodded on her way into the living room. “He didn’t get the memo that morning sickness isn’t supposed to last day and night for months.”
“Is there anything you do crave?” Wayne shut the door and followed her into her apartment.
“Gummy bears and beef jerky—oh, and split pea soup. But with my car out of commission, I haven’t been to the store.”
Now Wayne was the one making a face. “You do know that’s a nasty food combo?”
She patted her baby bump. “Try explaining that to this guy. These days, he calls all the shots.”
“Hang tight. I’ll grab everything.”
“Wayne, no. I’m not even hungry. Monica brought me home for a nap.” She stretched out on the sofa with a soft sigh.
“Great. You have a snooze, and by the time I get back, you’ll be ready for a talk.”
“Why?” She rolled onto her side, jamming a hot pink pillow between her knees. What was it with her and loud colors?
“Does it matter?” He didn’t blame her for being suspicious.
“I suppose not.” She’d closed her eyes and, at least for a moment, looked at peace. Then she opened one eye, staring dead at him. “But it is curious. Why would a career military man and confirmed bachelor suddenly want to suck up to little ol’ me?” Both eyes now open, she cocked her head, shooting him the cutest devilish grin. How had he never noticed her pistachio-colored gaze?
“You know,” he said with a forced chuckle. “That is a good question. One I will be happy to answer once I have you all buttered up with gummy bears, beef jerky and split pea soup.”
* * *
BEFORE PAISLEY RECEIVED an adequate answer from Wayne, he was gone. Just as well. Her baby was practicing soccer kicks against her ribs and the pain made a task as simple as talking too big of an effort to enjoy—even with a too-handsome-for-his-own-good SEAL like Wayne.
She’d crushed on him for three years.
Ever since watching him move into the apartment next-door, hauling boxes and furniture bare-chested past her living room window all day long. Sadly, she’d soon enough learned the score for not only him, but his SEAL friends. They were a cocky lot—admittedly for good reason—but the constant string of bikini models and flight attendants made it clear that a plain Jane such as herself was strictly friend material.
Probably a good thing.
If Paisley had managed to catch hard-bodied Wayne, she wouldn’t know what to do with him. Guys like him no doubt possessed skills she’d never dreamed of in certain explicit areas...
Hands to superheated cheeks, she grinned.
Yes, it was a good thing Wayne had already left.
She was also thankful for the fact that she’d firmly sworn off all males over the age of three months. Dr. Dirtbag had burned her badly enough to leave scars.
Paisley had met him at the corner Starbucks.
David was cute in a glasses-wearing, nerdy way. As an ER doctor, he’d always been dressed in scrubs and brimming with thrilling stories of the latest lives he’d saved. It had never occurred to her that he could have been lying—stupid given her family history. But she supposed if you wanted to believe something badly enough, you did. She’d never thought to question why she only saw him early weekday mornings. He was a doctor. Of course, his schedule would be tricky. Any amount of time he’d carved for them had been precious. Their routine had been lovely. She’d prepare him breakfast, they’d make love, shower, then go about their days.
Never once had she thought to question why in over three months of dating, she’d never seen him at night. Or why his car was crappier than hers. Or why his scrubs were faded and frayed from too many washings.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Her pregnancy had been an accident.
When she told him he was going to be a father, she’d expected happy tears and an engagement ring. She’d daydreamed of finally living out her lifelong vision of belonging to a real family.
What had she gotten?
Ugly accusations.
You got pregnant on purpose, didn’t you? Just like your mom did with all her men, you set out to trap me.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. Nothing could have cut deeper than to be compared to her mother from whom she’d worked all these years to distance herself.
Ever since her release from prison, her mother had been calling. The calls now came frequently enough that Paisley dreaded looking at her phone.
She regretted having told David her deepest secrets. It wasn’t a mistake she’d ever make again.
Even worse? He wasn’t even a doctor, but a phlebotomist.
Paisley was too ashamed to tell Monica—or anyone else. Monica would probably post some directive to her fifty-thousand Twitter followers to toilet paper Dr. Dirtbag’s house.
A knock on the door jolted her from her sleepy state.
“Come in!” she shouted, praying Wayne would enter and not a random robber.
“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” Wayne said. Crinkling paper told her he’d set grocery bags on her kitchen counter.
“You shouldn’t