My Two Husbands: A Laugh Out Loud Romantic Comedy Read online

  MY TWO HUSBANDS

  About My Two Husbands

  What happens when you live with your husband AND your ex-husband? A whole lot of trouble . . .

  Natalie is happily remarried to her sweet, handsome husband, Kyle. Meanwhile, her strong and sexy ex, Jake, lives in their loft over the garage. Did I mention Jake and Kyle are best friends? It’s been a harmonious arrangement . . . until now.

  When Natalie mistakenly says her ex’s name at the worst possible moment, her husband questions whether or not she still has feelings for him. But how could she possibly still love Jake after what he did?

  In this laugh-out-loud romantic comedy told in a dual timeline, you’ll discover how Natalie’s past rivals her present. Will Natalie have to choose between her two husbands? Or will you?

  If you love humor, heat, and piña coladas, then you’ll absolutely adore Natalie, Kyle, and Jake’s story.

  Get My Two Husbands and enjoy the escape today!

  Copyright© 2018 Amanda Aksel

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication maybe reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing by the author or publisher (except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages and/or show brief video clips in a review).

  My Two Husbands is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, businesses, establishments, or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Alice Robeson

  Cover Art by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Hello Reader!

  I’m so excited for you to read My Two Husbands. I think you’ll find that this is not your typical book. When creating this project, I surveyed my readers on what they wanted to read and they voted hilarious love triangle. I was so happy because I’d wanted to write this story for a decade.

  Back when I started publishing, I also had the idea to write a book with my readers—in other words, they'd vote on what happens next. Turns out, my idea was not so original. Lots of other authors were doing this with their websites and newsletters. I almost shied away from it for this reason, but then I thought . . . why miss out on all the fun?

  So I published regular episodes on my newsletter, and my readers voted from a short list, moving the story along the way they wanted to read it. They even voted on the husbands’ names. The storyline with the most votes became the next episode. Together we created a super fun fanventure story!

  But guess what? The fun doesn’t end in my newsletter. In fact, I have a little surprise for you at the end of the book too. Enjoy!

  Happy Reading!!

  XXO-Amanda

  For all the readers who helped me create this story

  Katrina Miller

  Vickie Komarek

  Chandra Jackson

  P. Anusha

  Teresa Christianson

  Bonnie C.

  Kasey Briggs

  Ren Espina

  Thank you!!

  CONTENTS

  Episode One

  Episode Two

  Episode Three

  Episode Four

  Episode Five

  Episode Six

  Episode Seven

  Episode Eight

  Episode Nine

  Episode Ten

  Episode Eleven

  Episode Twelve

  Episode Thirteen

  Episode Fourteen

  EPISODE ONE

  I ’ll have a sausage. Make that two. My husband, Kyle thunks his heels against the hardwood as he jogs down the stairs into the kitchen. He slides across the floor in his argyle socks and plants a kiss on my cheek. “You make the best blueberry pancakes, you know that right?”

  I serve him a hot breakfast plate. “Thanks, honey.” My skills in the kitchen are mediocre at best. But Kyle loves to tell me that I’m the best at everything I do.

  “There’s plenty if you want to call Jake down,” I say.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking. Jake’s our son, right?

  Errn! Wrong.

  Kyle opens the back patio door. “Hey, Jake! Natalie made pancakes and sausage!”

  Jake’s . . . my ex-husband. He’s been living in the 400-square-foot studio over our garage for almost six months. Now before you go thinking we’ve got some kind of polygamy thing going on, which most people do when I tell them about my living arrangement, we don’t.

  But a girl can dream . . .

  I’m joking. This is not that kind of story.

  I’m sure by now you’re wondering why in the hell my husband, Kyle would even let my ex-husband move in. It’s simple, and yet complicated. Just like my situation. Kyle and Jake have been best friends since high school—at least that’s how they define it. Though, I think the more accurate definition would be frenemies.

  Oh, you want to know how this ended up being the story of my life?

  Don’t worry, I’ll get to it soon enough. But first, the most important meal of the day.

  “Morning.” Jake lets himself in through the back door, and the damp humidity of West Palm Beach follows him into my air-conditioned house. “Aw, Lily,” he says in a sweet fatherly voice to our five-year-old chocolate lab. “Why are you all the way over there?” I glance over. Lily stands just outside of the kitchen, quivering with her tail tucked. He pats her head. “Is it because Mommy’s cooking?”

  I roll my eyes, pouring another cup of my coconut coffee. “I turned on the fan!” Okay, I’ve been known to set off the smoke alarm in the kitchen. But in my defense, that detector is sensitive as hell. Poor Lily. She hates loud noises.

  Jake walks over to the stove. “See, Mommy’s improving.” She never stayed out of the kitchen when Jake cooked.

  “Besides, do you really want me to bring up the time you . . .” I catch myself reminiscing as Jake smirks. Sometimes it’s difficult to watch my mouth in front of Kyle. It’s not that I can’t talk about my marriage to Jake. I’ve just found that it causes less tension between the three of us if I don’t.

  “Dogs shouldn’t be in the kitchen anyway,” Kyle says with a hint of irritation in his voice as he takes a seat at the breakfast table. See? That’s his way of lashing out. I know for a fact he doesn’t care what room Lily goes into. I also know he hates that Jake and I still co-parent Lily as if she were a human.

  Jake grabs the tongs and places a few links on his plate. The smell of buttermilk hotcakes seems to fade into Jake’s signature scent. I can’t even remember the last time he wore cologne, but for a second it brings me back to the day we moved into our house on Canopy Street.

  My husband already has a mouthful of my second-rate pancakes when Jake and I join him at the breakfast table. “Isn’t she the greatest?”

  Jake barely looks up from his plate when he says flatly, “Yes. She is.”

  “What’s the matter with you, Jakey-boy?” Kyle says with a slight southern accent—one that only comes out when he’s in a playful, teasing mood.

  “I’ve got a meeting for a new job in a couple hours.”

  I whip my head in his direction. “You do? That’s good news. Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

  He shrugs. “Eh, I don’t wanna get my hopes up. It’s a pretty big job.” Jake’s been rebuilding his contractor business that went under about the same time our marriage did.

  “Oh, man.” Kyle slaps the table. “I was going to ask you to play golf with me today. I’ve got an eleven o’clock tee time.”

  “Another t
ime.” Jake pops the last bite of his sausage link into his mouth.

  “Where’s the job?” I ask.

  “It’s in Delray Beach—the old Cavalier building.”

  “Then why are you worried? You’ve done bigger jobs than that with your eyes closed.” I add before sipping my coffee.

  “Yeah, once upon a time. But we’ll see. If all goes well, I’ll be able to get my own place soon.”

  “That’s great, man,” Kyle says, and I repeat some version of his words halfheartedly.

  Yes, I want him out of the house, but I dunno, having him around is not so bad. Truth be told, acclimating to this living situation has been easier than expected. My passion for Jake has dissipated, but our friendship remains intact. I’ll never be able to explain how in the hell Kyle and Jake’s friendship hasn’t floundered.

  I glance down at my half eaten pancake, knowing it won’t taste as good if I heat it up later. But I’m not really in the mood for breakfast anymore. “Well, I have to head to the office. I’ve got a showing with the Delures in an hour.” I drop my fork and scoot my chair back on the cool ceramic floor.

  “The French couple?” Jake asks.

  I nod with a sigh. Surely they’re the reason I don’t want to finish my breakfast.

  “What French couple?” Kyle asks.

  “Remember that couple I told you about? The husband resembles Danny DeVito while the wife is a Christie Brinkley type?”

  Jake wrinkles his brow. “Haven’t you shown them like thirty properties so far?”

  “Thirty-one and a half.”

  With a stuffed mouth, Kyle asks, “What’s the half?”

  “We left one of the houses, sorry, mansions, as soon as they saw the foyer.”

  “Was it too small?”

  “No, it was too big.” I snatch a granny smith apple from the basket on the table, wishing I could throw it at Mr. Delure’s head. “They’re the pickiest buyer’s I’ve ever worked with. They haven’t made a single offer.”

  “I say fuck ‘em. Buy or buh-bye,” Jake flutters his fingers in a patronizing farewell.

  “Believe me, I would love to fire them, but they’ve got ten mil to spend. Cash.”

  “That’s a good commission. Don’t give up yet. They’ll make an offer soon.” Kyle’s optimistic sales attitude is in full swing. And I have to admit, all those zeros would be pretty great. Plus, with this commission, I’ll finally be able to open up my own real estate company—Natalie Quinn’s Luxury Real Estate. It’s a dream I might have realized years ago if I hadn’t poured all our money into Jake’s business. But now, his contractor company is no longer my liability.

  I pat Jake on the shoulder. “Good luck today.”

  Before I walk off, Kyle grabs my hand and pulls me down on his lap. “Have a good showing.”

  I smile, looking into his sweet, blue eyes before tussling his dark blonde hair. “You too, honey.” I kiss his cheek. That’s the other thing. I’ve never gotten used to showing my husband too much affection while Jake is with us.

  An hour and a half later, I’m at house number thirty-two with the Delures, and we’ve made it past the foyer. This million-dollar abode came on the market at midnight, and so far, no one has made an offer. Yet. I’ve decided to adopt my husband’s optimistic attitude and cross my fingers until I cut off the circulation. Plus I’m wearing my best white suit and Louboutins with a fresh ink cartridge in my pen.

  “This house is an absolute dream,” I say gazing up at the vaulted ceilings.

  “And it’s priced under value,” the listing agent, Brad, chimes in. “This little piece of heaven will not stay on the market for long.”

  Mr. Delure grimaces. “I’m confused. If this house is so fantastic, then why are they not asking for more? Something must be wrong with this place. Probably has a mold problem.”

  That’s his reason for everything—probably has a mold problem. If he hates mold so much, then he shouldn’t be living in a subtropical climate. I glance at Brad who doesn’t have a care in the world. Worst-case scenario, he’ll have this place under contract by the end of the week.

  “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the house,” Brad starts. “The owners are in the middle of a nasty divorce. They’d like to sell the property sooner than later.”

  Been there.

  I swallow my frustration and plaster a smile on my face. “Besides, if something comes up on the inspection, we can back out of the deal. There’s nothing to lose.” Except my sanity.

  “Nothing to lose except for time,” Mr. Delure says. He doesn’t seem to have any problems wasting my time.

  I turn to Mrs. Delure. “What do you think, Renee?”

  “I think since the owners are in such a desperate situation, we can talk them down another two-fifty.” No way the owners will accept that. But if it means they want to make an offer, I’ll take it.

  Brad chuckles in a condescending-salesman kinda way. I hate that. “I never said they were desperate. And the price is firm. I’ve got five other prospects coming this afternoon.” If that’s true, the Delure’s definitely won’t get the house if they don’t put in an offer now.

  Renee shrugs. “I think we’ll keep looking.”

  I clench my fist and my jaw so tightly that my teeth might break. The words “buy or buh-bye!” bubble up inside of me. I raise my brow at Brad, as if pleading with him to work with me. “This would be a cash deal.”

  “That’s nice.” His poker face is as firm as said listing price. “Put in an offer, and I’ll show it to my clients.”

  I take out my tablet. “I’ve got a contract right here. What do you say we make a deal?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Delure exchange uninterested looks.

  Yep. They’re definitely here to screw with me.

  ***

  I say nothing to my assistant, Marissa, when I storm back into my office. My desk phone rings the moment I drop my purse on my desk. I ignore it, but it rings again.

  “Yes, Marissa,” I answer.

  “Your husband’s here.” Marissa is a loyal assistant, been with me for three years. But there are some things she never seems to learn—the difference between heavy cream and non-dairy creamer, that the letter U comes before the letter V when filing, and the fact that Jake is now my ex-husband, not my husband.

  I hate it, but I have to ask, “Which one?”

  T he good news? I sold my first half-a-million dollar house. The bad news? My friends aren’t free to celebrate. I have to admit. It’s pretty great to be twenty-two and have a job that allows me the freedom to sit at a bar at four o’clock in the afternoon on a Thursday and drink to my heart’s content. This wannabe Margaritaville isn’t my first choice. But it has an oceanfront view, and it’s within walking distance of the title office.

  The bartender, who reminds me of what I imagine Brian Flanagan would look like twenty-five years later, makes his way over to my side of the bar. “Can I get you something?”

  “A glass of pinot grigio, please.” Yes, a chilled white wine is exactly what will go with this moment of victory. The bartender nods and turns to grab a glass.

  “Are you here all by yourself?” A low voice calls behind me.

  Yeah, thanks for reminding me, dude. I turn around, ready to tell him off when I see that he’s actually kinda . . . cute—sandy surfer hair, polished, tailored suit, and the fresh scent of Polo Blue. I’m intrigued.

  I smirk. “Please tell me you have a better pick up line than that.”

  “Hey, give me some credit. I’m just trying to be casual.” He takes the stool next to me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask with a slight giggle.

  He extends his hand. “Kyle. And you are?”

  “Natalie.” I take it and look into his sky-blue eyes. I bet he’s a nice guy with only a hint of trouble. My white wine arrives. “I suppose you want to stay for a drink.”

  “If you don’t mind me intruding on your party of one.”

  Listen, I go on plenty of dates. When I’m n
ot working at least. And I have no interest in getting serious with anyone. But when he calls me a party of one, all I see is myself sitting at this same bar with Mr. Cocktail, drinking to my last million-dollar home sale, and no one to celebrate with.

  So why not embrace the company? “Not at all.”

  Kyle turns to the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  “Comin’ up.” The bartender pats the bar top.

  “So you think if you order my same drink that I’ll like you better?” I ask. White wine is not a typical guy drink, at least not for a guy in his early twenties.

  He lets out a little laugh. “Why would you say that?”

  “I’m in sales. Mimicking body language, words, and other details are classic tricks to connecting with people.”

  “I might be trying to connect, but I’m not trying to trick you. Actually, it sounds like you’re the trickster.”

  Flipping the script, huh? Another trick. “Trick is a little strong. Maybe tactic is a better description.”

  “I’m the one with the bad pick up line. You really think I have a better tactic to get a beautiful woman to talk to me?”

  I blush. What woman doesn’t when she’s called beautiful? “Maybe that’s your trick.”

  Kyle and I are caught in a deeply flirtatious gaze. Who knows, if things go well, maybe he’ll be the one who changes my mind about marriage.

  “Hey!” A deep voice calls over my shoulder. I look up at a dark-haired man in a bright white T-shirt standing between Kyle and me. “You know her?” he asks, pointing to me with his thumb.

  Kyle raises his brow. “We just met actually.”

  “Oh.” The intruder looks at me again. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet you.” Our hands meet in a friendly enough shake. His palm is a lot rougher than Kyle’s.