Page 38 of Sour Notes

Swayze hasn’t said a single word since we got home. We both parked, he unlocked the front door, motioned for me to walk in ahead of him, then disappeared into his room.

Not gonna lie, now the tables have turned, I feel a little shitty. I know I shouldn’t have sprung the boyfriend thing on him with no warning, but then again, he did fuck me letting me assume he was a stranger.

He’s not entirely without fault, let’s not forget that little truth nugget.

Real talk, though—the way he went all alpha wolf tonight was pretty fucking hot. He was protective and possessive over me, which is something I’ve never had before, and I didn’t hate it.

Buuut we’re not gonna talk about that right now. He played the part well, that’s all I’m saying.

So now what?

This wasn’t really my most thought-out plan. I didn’t wake up today and slap myself on the head saying, duh, you know what… Swayze would make an excellent fake boyfriend.

Nope.

I panicked when I got to my parents. Walking into the dining room, I was caught totally unawares and initially thought those randoms were a couple.

Well, until the guy started undressing me with his eyes. The dude literally made my skin crawl, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it—so unless they were into swinging and looking for a third... well, you catch my drift.

There was no way I could’ve dealt with that through the entire meal. Less than five minutes in, my skin itched from hard ick. By the end of family dinner, I’d have channeled my inner Butcher and Blackbird and stabbed his eyeballs out with a steak knife.

Thanks, Haven, for that particular book rec.

I just can’t believe my mom didn’t listen to me again. Although, why am I even surprised?

It’s the story of my life.

At this point I’ve got every right to be offended by her picks for me. Where's she finding these guys?

Bargain basement?

Even if I was desperate for a man—which I categorically am not—I wouldn’t go near that dude. He’s got more red flags than a Taylor Swift breakup album.

But Swayze…

I’ve dragged him into my mess, which I’m sure Deputy Heartthrob is none too thrilled about.

Yep. I did mention his unofficial nickname around Sweet Haven, right?

Now he’s pissed—probably because this’ll mess with his little badge bunny routine. I mean, let’s face it, we both know his so-called sex ban was a total lie—I’ve still got thigh bruises to prove it.

Well, where do I go now?

Best case scenario, I get him to agree to fake date me long enough to get the wedding over with, which would honestly solve everything.

Well, all my problems anyway. I’m not sure it does shit for him.

Tugging open the kitchen drawer, I grab the stack of Post-its and scrawl onto one.

On a scale of 1 to 10 how pissed at me are you? M

I crouch down and slide it under his door, but before I even stand up—I’m thirty now, creaky joints—the door swings open, and Swayze leans against the doorframe barefoot in nothing but soft, worn-looking vintage wash jeans.

Sweet baby Jesus, his pants are so low, I can see the happy trail disappearing between his abs to frame his… package.

Let’s be real here—if they drop a millimeter more, I’ll see dick cleavage. Yep, that’s a thing.

And did I mention his tattoos? He has a huge lion across half of his chest and a wolf down one arm, with ink swirling around and decorating the bulging muscles, of which there are many.