The Wife Situation: EPILOGUE

We sit in a dark and dingy dive bar located at the bottom of a basement with shitty lighting and sticky floors. Oldies lightly float from the overhead speakers, and the baseball game plays on the ancient televisions hanging on the wall. No one has ever bothered me here because they don’t give a shit who I am. It’s been my refuge since the divorce began, my secret escape.

“I knew she’d be the one for him,” I say to Carlee as I sip my whiskey.

She’s sitting next to me, wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a shirt that shows the perfect amount of cleavage to leave anyone wondering. The woman dresses like she’s looking for revenge.

“You were right,” she mutters. “Now, what do I get for playing matchmaker?”

I roll my eyes. “Pfft. You helped play matchmaker. Let’s not forget, I nearly died for this.” It’s an overexaggeration.

However, there was a knife involved. Thankfully, we stayed safe, and all those boxing lessons Easton took years ago came in handy.

She tilts her head. Her arm brushes against mine, and I notice how our legs touch. We’re sitting close. Our stools are butted next to each other, and it’s like this every week. But I know Carlee is great at the game, a master of flirting. My match in every way. She’s pretty, like a rose—and as vicious as the thorns on the stem. Her confidence makes her as dangerous as dynamite. She’s my best-kept secret—has been for months.

“Don’t be dramatic,” she says, knowing what happened.

I do not doubt that Lexi told her in detail what happened in that boardroom.

I pull my gaze from her and focus on the TV.

“But I made sure Lexi was at the right place every single time for you. The hotel. The park. And what about that date, when you let her drive your brother’s coveted car? I helped with your scheme from the very beginning, Weston. Somehow, you lived to tell the tale.”

“I’m like a cat. I’ve got nine lives.” I laugh. “But let’s not forget, the hotel room was a goddamn disaster. That went too far.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be in the shower,” she says, reminding me that we’ve talked about this several times since it happened. “You guaranteed that Lexi would walk in on him reading a book in bed. Let’s not mention how you got them stranded on top of a mountain when it was forty degrees outside in bear country, of all places!”

I shake my head. “My brother is very protective. He’d have fought a bear with his fists for her. Ultimately, it all worked out exactly how it should’ve.”

She lightly bumps me with her shoulder.

Flirt.

But I can’t deny how it makes me feel, especially after playing dating roulette for the past six months.

“Come on. Give credit where credit is due,” she pleads, and it’s so goddamn cute.

“Regarding our matchmaking, we will always share the trophy.”

“And what about our agreement?” she asks, glancing at the game’s score.

I turn my attention back to her. “When you’re ready, I’ll give you an exclusive interview.”

“And?”

“And a photo shoot,” I add.

An adorable grin slides over her lips. “Thank you. I’ll ensure your story is told the way it should be told. Your truth.”

“Thanks,” I offer.

I’m doing this because I gave her my word and she was an integral part of the puzzle.

Not to mention, when it comes to my brother, I genuinely want the absolute fucking best for him. Sometimes, lovebirds must be pushed from the nest to see if they’ll fly together. We were lucky they did; otherwise, they would’ve destroyed each other. I was willing to risk it. Easton and Lexi were their worst enemy, and it took finding one another to realize that. Divine timing might have brought Carlee and me together for several reasons; the first was to help two people we care about. The second … well …

“We should start a business together,” I say when a beer commercial fills the screen.

“The two of us? And do what?” she asks.

“Matchmaking. Could be extremely lucrative, considering how good we are at it.”

She laughs, meeting my eyes. I see how the corners soften. “You’re not serious.”

“We’re one for one. Have a perfect record to date. It’s painfully easy to see when two people would be perfect for one another,” I say, glancing over at her, wondering if she’s catching any hints I’m throwing her way.

She narrows her eyes. “Weston, you married an actual snake. Hell, she might even be Satan.”

After she opened up, Carlee explained why she wasn’t a fan of my ex and how she knew Lena was a narcissistic bitch. Her words, not mine, but I agree. I’ve never publicly discussed why I asked for a divorce. Easton knows, but that’s it. The rest is speculation, rumors spread to discredit me and my image. Eventually, I’ll tell Carlee everything, as I promised, because I’ll never lie to this woman. Based on what she’s shared, she’s dealt with enough of that from men.

“You and I know some people are incredible at masking their true selves.”

“Or maybe you’re too busy looking for the good in people when they’re clearly showing you they’re a monster.” She shrugs. “There were signs. You lacked boundaries.”

“Damn,” I tell her. “How much do I owe you for my therapy session?”

Carlee bursts into laughter before it slightly fades. “I think that’s the first time I’ve laughed all week.”

“With all the clowns you deal with?” I shake my head. “That’s a shame.”

The bartender stops by, and I order a round of tequila. It’s our tradition, the last shot of the night before we say our goodbyes.

“We don’t base our expertise on our track records, just the people we hook up,” I explain.

“Hmm. What if we created a very specific survey and paired people together like it’s a virtual wine tasting?”

I nod. “Or we could host a speed-dating meetup where all the same flavors are in attendance. It’s different, chatting with someone online than in person. In person, you can feel when sparks fly.”

When I’m with her, we talk about life without judgment, and it feels like a genuine relationship. She’s not afraid to be honest, and she isn’t trying to impress me, and it feels like a friend zone.

We’re two lonely people who meet once a week to drink and talk about nothing. It sounds depressing.

Our weekly meetup started on a random Monday night two months before Easton and Lexi crashed into one another. The only time I’ve ever missed was when I was in South Africa. I realized, thanks to my brother pointing it out, I’d desperately looked forward to seeing her every week.

While I wait for the bartender to return, I scroll on my phone, glancing over pictures of my brother and Lexi. “They are good together.”

She leans over and glances at the screen. “They are. I can’t believe they have so much in common. They’re like the same person.”

“I didn’t think it was possible, but yeah. They’re a match made in a Brooklyn dive bar after a drunk night and an almost hookup,” I say with a chuckle.

“I wasn’t going to hook up with you,” she states. “I stupidly tried to kiss you, but then realized you were a fuckboy.”

“You’re more of a fuckboy than me,” I say.

We’ve discussed it. As soon as anyone says I love you, she’s out.

I learned this place, Sluggers, is one of Carlee’s hideouts after she breaks it off with someone. It’s a tradition she started in college, and every time she ends it with someone, she visits to drink tequila.

Over the year, I’d seen her there a lot, and she’d seen me too.

She spoke first and even bought me a drink, which I found fucking cute. Our meeting was happenstance.

One random night, we chatted about our best friends—Easton and Lexi—and realized they’d be the perfect couple. My brother was conveniently booked to stay at the hotel where they both worked. So, we devised an elaborate plan to have them be at the right places at the right time. I know my brother’s habits better than anyone and can predict his every move, so I used that information to my advantage. But that’s my and Carlee’s deep, dark secret, one we’ll keep until death. We are the true masterminds behind it all.

Her voice pulls me away from my thoughts. “So, now that we’ve officially played Cupid and our duties are over, what does that mean for us?”

I’ve been thinking about the now what all week. “What if we became real friends?”

“Me and you?” she asks, her golden-brown eyes sparkling. Her pouty red lips quirk up into the corner. “You’re trouble,” she says.

“At least you know what you’re getting yourself into,” I say, knowing she’s aware of my baggage. “But I’m serious.”

She smirks, not taking her gaze from mine. She hesitates before holding out her hand. “Okay then. Friends.”

I take it and kiss her knuckles.

She lifts a brow and pulls her hand away from me, knowing I’m the master of flirting as well. “I’ll have some rules with this arrangement. I don’t befriend anyone.”

“Luckily for you, I’m not just anyone.”

“Calloways.” She slowly shakes her head, but I see the smile threatening to take over.

I check my watch, knowing I need to leave if I’m going to make my dinner date. The two hours we spent together passed by too quickly.

The bartender sets down our tequila shots with salt and lime. We lift them, tap the edges together, then lick the rim, shoot it back, and bite the lime.

After I pay for our drinks, I meet her gaze, readjusting my tie. “Same time, same place?”

“Yep. I’ll see you next week. Thanks for the drinks,” she says.

“My pleasure,” I say, standing.

She turns to me. “I’m glad our meetups are continuing.”

“Me too,” I admit. “So, is this staying our secret?”

“Yeah, it would probably be best,” she says.

I push the mismatched stool under the bar, then move close to her ear and lower my voice. “I have a car waiting for you outside when you’re ready to go home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she says.

“I know.” I squeeze her shoulder before I leave.

I don’t like the thought of her drinking and traveling alone at night in the city. So, I make sure she’s safe anytime I’m around.

As I make my way up the stairs of the back exit, I wonder how long Carlee will stay, wishing she knew what she already does to me. Being friends is a start, an opportunity I won’t waste.

So, let’s fucking go.

The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!