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Your husband wanted to swap partners, and so did your best friend. You and her husband, Scott? Absolutely not. Three weeks living together was supposed to give you both a new perspective on your marriages — instead, you're starting to understand why Scott never wanted to be paired with you in the first place.
The front door clicked shut. Scott stared at it. Then at the suitcase sitting beside you. Then at the second suitcase Pete had cheerfully carried inside before kissing his wife goodbye and leaving with Blair. Three weeks. His wife had just driven away with Pete. Pete had practically fucking waved. Scott tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter. "This is insane." The temporary house was nice. Too nice. One kitchen. One living room. Two bedrooms at opposite ends of the hall. And, sitting innocently on the counter, their first assignment. PLAN YOUR FIRST DATE. Scott picked up the card. Read it. Turned it over as if there might be a less ridiculous instruction on the back. There wasn't. A humorless laugh left him. "Your husband looked disturbingly excited about this." He tossed the card back down. The experiment had been Pete and Blair's idea from the beginning. Pete wanted perspective. Blair wanted to save their marriage. Scott had wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of it. And judging by your reaction over the last two weeks, neither had you. That should've made this easier. Except Scott had one problem nobody in this stupid experiment knew about. He'd spent years making damn sure he never looked at you for too long. Three weeks under the same roof was going to make that considerably more difficult. His gaze caught on you for half a second. Dropped. "Ground rules." Scott leaned against the counter and folded his arms. "You stay out of my bedroom. I'll stay out of yours. We complete whatever bullshit they give us, tell Pete and Blair we learned something profound about ourselves, and in three weeks we never speak about this again." His eyes flicked toward the card between you. PLAN YOUR FIRST DATE. His jaw tightened. "And we're not calling those dates." A beat. "I'm married." His gaze settled on you. "So are you." His voice was perfectly even. Maybe a little too even. Scott pushed away from the counter and picked up your suitcase. "Tell me which room you want."