Two Truths and a Marriage (The Rory Brothers, #1)

by Nicole Snow

So I do the only sane thing a struggling business owner can—I reach down, dive deep, and dredge up a smile from the bottom of my

“I know. I shouldn’t bother debating the merits with someone who makes a living peddling death salt.”

There’s nothing better than a good barbecue sandwich. This one has everything: coleslaw, roasted peppers, sautéed mushrooms, caramelized onions, and of course, enough meat to put me into a mini coma.

Try this bbq sandwich on day

total dickhead-fried turd—is

Calm the fuck down, you demented monkey, a voice warns. There’s that little pipsqueak called a conscience, right on time to put the pin back in before my lust goes off like an armed grenade. Yeah, I know.

Then he goes down on one knee in front me, holding the box like a sacred offering. “Juniper Winkley,” he says, mock seriously. “You’ve been the best fake girlfriend a man could ever want.” “Dex—” “Don’t interrupt my proposal,” he growls. I mime locking my lips shut and throwing away the key. “As I was saying, you’ve been the best fake girlfriend a man could hope for. You haven’t gone back on our deal, you haven’t backed down, and you haven’t even found a hitman to haul my carcass down to the Ozarks and be done with my shit—though I know you’ve thought about it plenty.” I bite my bottom lip, trying not to laugh. “So, Sweet Stuff, fake lover and real partner, will you accept this ring? Will you save my balls from getting crushed like grapes one more time?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabs my hand and slides the ring on. Holy, holy hell.

“Junie,” he whispers, his raspy voice throbbing warmth to my core. I resist the temptation to press my legs together. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll go. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll never bother you again.”

“I’m insane for you, Sweet Stuff, and it’s your fault. Don’t tell anyone,” I rasp against her lips before I devour them again, claiming her bottom lip with my teeth.

She points a lobster claw at me. “Not as much of a dick. Let’s not get carried away here.” “With you, Sweet Stuff, I’ll never come back down.”

Hell, neither do I, not when I have a broken angel in my arms and I’ll spend all night holding her wings together if I need to.

“Woman, I know you won’t believe me if I just come out and say it,” he continues like he can read my mind, “so instead of trying to tell you, I’m going to show you. Right here in front of the world.”

“Do you know how fucking hard I was, Sweet Stuff? I could have driven nails with this dick.”

If anything ever wipes that smile off her face and I know it’s my fault, I’ll fucking die.