The Pretend Wife by Bridget Asher Read Free Book Online

said.
    â€œDoes that mean you have two prom dates?”
    â€œIs that not okay with you?” he said.
    â€œSo, you met Helen,” I said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid she like her corsage?”
    â€œIt made her laugh really loudly.”
    â€œShe sometimes laughs loudly. But she’s pretty, isn’t she?”
    â€œShe’s not my type.” He picked up the corsage and its little faux-pearl-tipped pin. “You mind?”
    I shrugged. “Go ahead. Why isn’t she your type? Is it because she laughs too loudly and flops over like one of those collapsible toys?”
    I was wearing a black spaghetti-strapped dress that didn’t leave him many corsage-pinning options. “Nope. Just not my type.”
    â€œDo you go around buying corsages for people now? Is that your thing?”
    â€œI saw them in a florist window surrounded by the tissue paper inside their little caskets and, I don’t know,I’d never bought a corsage for anyone. It seemed old-fashioned, gallant, but nonthreatening.” He pinched the upper edge of my dress then pulled it a modest inch away from my chest so he could pin it without jabbing me. “Maybe this is why men started buying corsages for women. A chance to touch their dresses.”
    â€œMaybe so.”
    â€œMaybe this could become my thing. I thought I was saving corsages from, you know, a slow death in a florist’s window, doing a good deed like your sea otters. How many did you save?”
    â€œI think we may have saved one little paw, in the end. Maybe two.”
    Once secured, the corsage was a little bud-heavy. It tilted forward, as if bowing, or worse, as if it were trying to get off of me. We both looked down at it. “It’s a humble corsage,” he said.
    â€œIt needs to listen to some self-help books on tape,” I said.
    â€œBut I’m predicting a great surge in confidence from here on out.”
    â€œOn my bosom?”
    â€œWhere else?”
    And then Helen was upon us. She was stunning—a perfect nose, lavish eyes, curvy lips, sharp eye teeth, a stunning jaw. Her tight dress had gauzy wings and her corsage was situated in the center of a plunging neckline, as if the dress had been designed around it. She said, “Gwen! I love this boy! Where did you find him?” She grabbed Elliot’s arm—which struck me as a lovely arm, nicely tan—and put her head on his shoulder. “He’s charming. He’s sweet and handsome! He bought us matching roses. Who does that?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “He does, I guess.”
    â€œYou can eat roses,” Elliot said, and then he pointed to the flower vases on the food table. “Lilacs are also edible.”
    â€œAnd he’s so scientific!” Helen said. “What do you do?” she asked.
    â€œI teach,” he said.
    â€œHe’s a professor,” I said.
    â€œOh, where?” Helen asked.
    â€œJohns Hopkins,” he said, and I was more than a little stunned by this. I’d assumed a community college—in fact a bad community college.
    â€œDo you have to wear a tie to teach at Hopkins?” Helen asked. “I like a nice necktie.”
    â€œNope,” Elliot said. “No ties required. Only elbow patches on our jackets and tweed. But no neckties.”
    â€œToo bad,” she said with a sexy pout. I was reminded of the fact that although Helen’s relationships didn’t ever lead to marriage, the men she dated all seemed to love her—overwhelmingly, painfully so. She tugged on Elliot’s very nice arm. “Come on, I’m going to introduce you around. Where did your drink go? Let’s do shots. You’ve got some catching up to do.”
    Elliot gave me a helpless backward glance. Did I mention his lashes? Dark and curly, the kind wasted on men. I felt abandoned. I did a half-turn in one direction and then in the other, and finally decided to go to the