Page 13 of The Al Dente Diet

Don’t tell my wife I asked that.

I don’t know if Cat is trying to torture me, or if she legitimately needs to get laid, but she is one-hundred percent, without a doubt, fucking herself in the shower. Her moans, not exaggerated, have me adjusting myself. She’s not putting on a show, she’s close.

She has to know I canhear her, right?

I return my attention to Stephan, I don’t know when the next time I’ll have to text him will be.

You know how you told me to settle down? Her cousin said I have to pretend to be her husband since some other guy… you know.

The FBI knows what fucked up shit is on on my phone already. Is someone dead?

I don’t know.

Wife her up.

A man might be dead and you’re telling me to marry my fake wife?

I’m about to ask him what to do when Cat walks back in, towel wrapped around under her arms, and hair still overly wet as if she didn’t dry it at all. She flings open a dresser drawer and pulls out…

Is that a vibrator?

She smirks and leaves the room. I glance down at my phone to a new text from Stephan.

She’ll make you the best meatballs you’ve ever eaten, and then she’ll suck on your meatballs.

I don’t see any issue with this. Dead guy probably didn’t have a family anyway.

You need to stop watching crime shows.

This is serious.

What do I do?

Wife. Her. Up.

I exit out of the messages; he’s too encouraging of this. A normal person would tell me to hop on the next plane and get the fuck out of here—Stephan isn’t normal. Then again, neither am I.

A beautiful woman, nearly a decade younger than me, is some sort of mafia princess… and I’m supposed to pretend to be her husband? What kind of alternate reality am I living in?

My spiral comes to a halt as Cat’s moans become louder, the echo of the vibrator intensifying.

I’m in hell. Literal hell. It’s me who died in that restaurant bathroom and Lucifer decided this is my punishment.

Suddenly, the moans cease, the water shuts off, and silence fills the room. I listen intently; the quiet too much for me. There’s a rustling and a door closing. Then deafening silence again. Moments later, Cat appears in the doorway, a smug expression painting her face.

“Shower’s free, in case you need it,” she purrs, eyes falling to my hard cock. Turning away from me, she busies herself in the dresser again, this time dropping her towel, showing off her dewy, perfect hour-glass figure.

Fuck you, Lucifer. Fuck. You.

Cat slips on a lacy pair of panties. I’m torn between looking away to give her privacy and admiring herbeautiful naked body. She glances over her shoulder and I quickly look away. “Your things have been brought here.”

My eyes snap back to her. “How?” She returns to rummaging through her drawers.

Andrea.

“They are downstairs, being brought up. We’ll need to go shopping though.” She tugs on a shirt, legs still bare. “No husband of mine will be seen in public in khakis and a flannel. This isn’t the 90’s, Richard, time to update your wardrobe.”

“I don’t wear flannel,” I scoff.