Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

  “Okay, Dad, I gotta go.” I talked loudly into the speaker of the phone, hoping he could hear me over his laughter.

  “I mean—who the hell would follow this loon’s advice?” Another wave of laughter rippled through the phone and I shouted to be heard, my face heating. He could never find out I’d followed her list. It would be too mortifying.

  “Gotta go, love you.” I hung up and made a mental note to tell Lily-Marie about my father and ensure her secrecy. A big, mushy grin took hold of my face at the thought of introducing Lily-Marie to my father. They’d get along great, I just knew it.

  Gelling my hair back and washing my hands completed my getting ready. It was time to get back to Lily-Marie and talk to our kiddos. I ran out the door and barely made it inside before she was there in front of me, beautiful in one of her dresses that drove me crazy.

  “How did you get ready before me, huh?” I didn’t know how she did it. She looked freshly showered and ready for her day, but I thought women always took longer to get ready.

  She scoffed at me. “I’m a single mom. I know all the tricks.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Dry shampoo, minimal makeup, dresses that don’t require ironing, strong coffee. Simple really.”

  I shook my head slowly, pulling her into me and wrapping my arms around her. “You’re amazing.”

  The front door flew open and hit the opposite wall with a bang. We jumped apart and saw Milly standing there with a big grin on her face. Clark was slowly coming up the walkway behind her and I saw my ex’s car pulling up to the curb.

  “Mommy! Guess what? My tooph is wiggly!” Milly ran right up to us and pushed a front lower tooth with her tongue, and sure enough, the sucker was just barely moving.

  Lily-Marie got down on her knees and held Milly’s face, her jaw dropped and eyes sparkling.

  “Oh my gosh, my big girl! I’m so proud of you.” She gave her a hug and then Milly was dancing over to me, her tongue pushing on her tooth, so proud of her achievement.

  “Ewww, that’s so gross. I can’t look!” I feigned disgust and she let out a peal of giggles.

  “Come here and look at my tooph, mister!” She chased me and I ran in circles in the living room, finally letting her catch me and wiggle her tooth right in my face.

  “Hey, buddy. Stay down here, would ya?” Lily-Marie stopped Clark from going upstairs to his room.

  Stein hovered at the door, wondering if it was okay to just come into Lily-Marie’s house.

  “Come on in, Stein. Your father and I would like to chat with you three.” Lily-Marie pulled him into the house with an arm around his shoulders, closing the door and leaving the five of us to talk.

  Taking the lead, I waved us over to the couches and we all sat, Stein and Clark looking at each other with wide-eyed faces then flickering a glance at us. Milly just sat there and wiggled her tooth.

  “Okay, you all know Lily-Marie and I went on a date last night. I’m sure you’re wondering how it went”—Clark groaned and I managed to contain my chuckle—“while also not really wanting to know the details. So, I’m happy to say that we’re now officially dating.”

  I held Lily-Marie’s hand and the kids’ gazes darted around, not sure how to react or who to take their cues from.

  Stein finally stood up and gave me a hug. “Nicely done, Dad. I’m glad you’re done with your experiment and dating Lily-Marie.” Then he gave Lily-Marie a hug and Clark jumped up to do the same, opting to give me a fist pump instead of a hug.

  The boys started talking amongst themselves and then went out back to play. Milly sat on the couch opposite us and kept wiggling her tooth, no expression whatsoever.

  “Do you have any questions for Mommy?” Lily-Marie asked her.

  She hopped off the couch and wrinkled her forehead. “Do I get another daddy?”

  I gulped, the only reaction I allowed, even though I wanted to cry like a baby and wrap her in a hug.

  “Yes, love, you get two daddies for now,” Lily-Marie spoke softly.

  “Forever.” I nodded at Milly and she finally unfroze and rushed over to me. I gave her a big hug, memorizing the feel of her little arms around my neck. Lily-Marie might need some more time to get used to the idea of forever, but Milly and I were already there.

  The Reality of Love, Mom-Com Style - episode #10

  All good things must come to an end, dear reader. Fortunately, that doesn’t mean an end for our girl, Betty. Just an end to her quest to find Mr. Perfect. He’s been found, they’ve swept each other off their feet, and they are currently living happily ever after.

  It’s a tale as old as time: boy meets girl, girl tries ridiculously old-fashioned things to find a husband, and boy blocks her attempts and swoops in to steal her heart.

  We have also learned that the modern Prince Charming is, in fact, quite muscular, handsome, and dashing, but can also be found in the nerdy professor living next door.

  Some may say that the list of ways to find a husband worked like a charm. Others might say love was found in spite of the list of ways. Either way, if you drop your handkerchief and a man picks it up, you may want to get his number.

  Epilogue

  Two Years Later

  Gabby

  I didn’t want to say “I told them so,” but...I totally told them so. I called that. Should have placed money on the bet. The two lovebirds were the real deal. They were going to make it in a sea of failed relationships and broken promises.

  I was over at Lily-Marie’s house—or should I say Lily-Marie and Jameson’s house, as they’d moved in together last year when they got engaged—enjoying their co-ed baby shower. They didn’t want to do a girls-only baby shower and have to be apart for the afternoon. I know, how sickly sweet was that shit?

  Anyway, I agreed to host the baby shower and had spent weeks planning games, party favors, decorations, and meal planning. Nothing was too much for my girl, Lil. Now that it was basically over with just a few stragglers porch lighting, I could sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor in the form of a stacked plate of barbecue ribs and cake. Might have seemed like an odd combination, but it was delightfully sinful.

  And I needed some sin. God, yes, I needed something sweet after the world’s nastiest breakup and subsequent dry spell. Just as Lily-Marie was reaching the pinnacle of happiness by having her hot boyfriend propose to her at the happiest place on earth, I was experiencing the deepest valley of depression. Obviously, I swore off all men after catching my fiancé of five years cheating on me with his boss. It had been a long year.

  I was getting restless. Maybe a little baby-crazy watching Lily-Marie pop out a third human being while I was stretch-mark-less at the ripe old age of thirty-four. Or maybe it was the beautiful princess cut diamond on her finger that blinded me on the regular.

  Some might say I was jealous, but I so wasn’t. I was envious.

  Big difference.

  Jealousy would make me petty and mean-spirited. And I wasn’t. I just wanted everything she had for myself.

  I bit into the juicy rib meat, ripping it off the bone and nearly moaning from the sauce’s flavor bursting in my mouth. A head or two swiveled in my direction, but I didn’t care. Etiquette meant I should apologize for making a public display of eating my food, but it was as close to an orgasm as I’d be getting any time soon, so those judge-y fuckers should cut me some slack.

  Jameson was leaning against the back wall of the house leisurely talking to some friends, his arms around Lily-Marie, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her belly. He leaned forward and nuzzled into her neck, whispering something to make her blush and start giggling.

  They were adorable. He’d proposed and they’d gotten married two weeks later right here in this backyard, Milly the flower girl and the two boys the groomsmen. I’d been the maid of honor, looking like a skeleton in my satin dress. I’d discovered that heartache killed one’s appetite.

  No one had been looking at me anyway, not with Lily-Marie in her white wedding dress that rival
ed any princess, real or in the movies. Six months after they started dating, she’d found the dress, begging me to keep it at my house so Jameson wouldn’t know about it and feel pressured into proposing. She’d glowed on her wedding day like she had the world at her feet, which she did. Jameson doted on her like it was his life’s purpose. Even the kids had been angels that day, wanting their parents to have true love together. The whole thing was a goddamn fairy tale.

  I finished my last rib, licking my fingers clean before using one of the wet wipes I’d liberally strewn over the picnic table for the guests. More dirty looks, but I wasn’t going to let one drop of that barbecue sauce go to waste. I wasn’t a quitter.

  Grabbing my fork, I eyed the huge square of cake I’d cut for myself. Did I mention I’d lost a lot of weight after the breakup? Well, I had some making up to do. Some may think I was having a close brush with gluttony, but really, I was just looking out for my health.

  See, I had a plan.

  My newspaper job put me in contact with many interesting people in the entertainment industry. At the suggestion of an acquaintance from years ago, I’d been approached last week to be part of a new show called Real Househusbands. It was a reality show where they followed around couples where the woman was the breadwinner and the househusbands led interesting lives doing whatever unemployed rich people did all day.

  I know you’re sitting there thinking there’s one little problem: I didn’t have a husband.

  Yes, I know, but when opportunity knocks, you don’t give all the reasons why you can’t do it. You say yes and then scramble to figure that shit out.

  I had three weeks until they started their interviews of the couples. Three weeks to find a husband. Three weeks to show the world my life wasn’t a total wreck. Three weeks to present a new, sparkling reality and shove my happiness down my ex’s throat.

  Revenge would be so sweet.

  If Lily-Marie could find a husband with a sexist 1950s list of ways to trap a man, I was sure I could pay a guy to act as my husband for a few months of filming. Weirder things had happened. Once I’d made my ex jealous, I’d finally be able to move on, find a real husband, and ride off into the sunset together. Easy-peasy.

  Right?

  Need Gabby’s story? Keep reading for Desperately Seeking Househusband!

  Desperately Seeking Househusband

  Copyright © 2019 by Marika Ray

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: September 19, 2019

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Desperately Seeking Househusband

  house·hus·band

  /ˈhousˌhəzbənd/

  noun

  a man who lives with a partner and carries out household duties traditionally done by a housewife rather than working outside the home.

  1

  Gabby

  The damn coffee grinder roared in the background, grating on my nerves and fanning the flames of the epic headache brewing inside my skull. Why did every available man in a fifty-mile radius have to be such a douchecanoe?

  My ad was crystal clear: handsome, mid-thirties, single, willing to sign a confidentiality agreement, and have decent acting skills. Although, considering I’ve lived on the outskirts of the City of Angels my whole life, I should have known that last requirement would send in the crazies. There were more than enough jobless wannabe actors in LA to keep a steady line of eager beavers out the coffee shop door from now to eternity.

  And there was. A line, that is. I’d been getting the hairy eyeball from the barista for the last two hours, but the men just kept coming. My bottomless coffee had been refilled a few too many times, causing shaky hands, a rapid heart rate, and increasingly poor decision-making skills. I could feel my blood pressure rising, like the steam coming out of that big machine over there where the neighborhood crack dealer brewed up another concoction meant to addict you and enslave you. Which was how I found myself interviewing possible men there at a coffee shop, instead of somewhere more suitable, like an office suite, or behind the dumpster out back. Considering the caliber of men I’d interviewed, I could have just set up a table by the trash receptacle and gotten the same outcome.

  Probably should have tossed this whole idea into the trash while I was there.

  “So you see, my porn experience makes me perfect for the position. Any position, baby.” The sleazy guy sitting across from me winked and rubbed his knee against mine under the table. I reminded myself to douse all bodily surfaces in hand sanitizer before I climbed into my car and left this whole day in the past where it would be stricken from the record and hopefully forgotten about.

  “Okay, well, thanks for that delightful insight. I’ll give you a call if you make it to the next round.” I smiled with my lips firmly pressed together in a pucker, the best I could scrounge up in terms of polite discourse. If I let my lips open again, I couldn’t be held responsible for what would come out. The filter would be gone.

  The guy gave me a wink, his Fabio-esque blond hair sliding off his forehead with the movement and hitting him in the eye, making him wink a second time, which was two times too many for my liking. The smile morphed into a grimace my face muscles didn’t have the ability to hold back. The B-list porn star got the hint and took off, maybe because he’d lost circulation from the excessively tight jeans he wore like a second skin. Not a bad ass in those jeans, but a great ass a fake boyfriend didn’t make. I thought that was how the phrase went.

  I took a sip of my now-cold coffee and mentally pep talked myself to continue this debacle. I wasn’t a quitter. Though I’d never been faced with an obstacle quite like the one on my hands today. The really shitty thing was I’d gotten myself into this mess, which meant I was determined to get myself out of it.

  When the television producer originally called, it seemed like the perfect thing to do. I mean, I hadn’t eaten in months, so I was operating from a place of starvation and we all know what women are capable of when carb-deprived. Regardless of my physical status, agreeing to be on the new reality show sounded like the perfect way to exact revenge on my no-good-boss-banging-cheating-asshole ex-boyfriend of five long years. On the surface, it was simple: get on Desperate Househusbands and show my ex I was totally and completely over him, living my best life with my hottie boy toy with the mucky-mucks of Los Angeles.

  Once you scratched the surface—which was a really weird phrase because nobody scratches the surface of things past the age of five or maybe only as an accident, yet here we go as adults using that phrase to mean diving in deeper to something when really, you’d be pissed if someone scratched your surface of pretty much anything—you’d start to see the breakdown of this grand idea of mine.

  First, I had no boyfriend and certainly no fiancé like the producer thought I had. And considering the show was Desperate Househusbands, you kind of needed a partner to be eligible. Crazy rule, but who was I to make them change it?

  Second, now that the filming schedule was set, I had three weeks to find a man to pretend to be my fake boyfriend, get to know him, move him into my house, and hope like hell we could pull off a couple so freakishly happy and in love that my ex would regret every “late night working” and beg me to come back just so I could kick him in the nuts and walk away with my head held high.

  A lot of ifs in that scenario, I was aware. Which was why I put an ad online before I could second-guess myself and got busy interviewing potential fake boyfriends. There was no time to lose. I had eighteen days before we were in front of the camera and eventually on national television. No pressure. And no time for waffling. Even though a waffle sounded excellent right about then.

  “Next!” I called out, rubbing the space between my eyebrows. Perhaps I was at the po
int in the day where you need to switch from coffee to alcohol. Maybe that would help me get through this.

  I looked up and saw a potential winner approaching. Nice-looking guy, early thirties maybe, had all his hair and teeth. Things were looking up.

  “Well, hello. What’s your name?” My smile felt more natural, a little less forced.

  The man pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, an eager smile greeting me. “I’m Adam. I was hoping we could get this project started today.”

  “Oh.” Well, that was pretty forward, but hey, a guy who knew what he wanted and asked for it could be kind of hot. “Let’s go over a few questions and see if we’re a good fit.”

  He nodded, the smile growing, so I went for it. “What makes you feel like you’d be the best candidate for the job?”

  If I wasn’t mistaken, his cheeks heated a bit, which made me super curious. “To be honest with you…I can be honest, right?” He leaned forward across the small table, his voice dropping. Color me intrigued. I nodded, wanting him to continue more than I wanted that alcoholic drink. “It’s so rare to find an artist that wants to paint what most people view as an imperfection. I mean, there aren’t many of us walking around with three perfectly formed nipples, you know.”

  My face froze, the breath trapped in my lungs with nowhere to go, which was fine because I think my heart stopped too, so no need for more oxygen just then. Have you ever had an out of body experience? Where you feel like you’ve floated away and are now simply looking down at your life and shaking your head? I have. This was it. The moment I could observe from afar where everything had gone wrong.