Chapter 2
Martha Vargas tugged on her black sneakers that didn’t look like Reeboks, even though they had the R. Jordan kept his mouth shut while he went into his hall closet and found his Armani sneakers he’d bought in Italy over the summer.
Martha unlocked the front door as if to go and he called out, “Wait. I’m driving you.”
The rubber of her soles screeched in her sudden stop. She turned, jostling a strand of brown hair loose from her bun to fall around her face. Her pink lips pursed. “But my bicycle?”
If anyone was going to believe he’d married this girl from school, they needed to look and act like they were together. A couple. Right now, no one would ever believe it because they certainly didn’t have much in common that he knew of.
Jordan had to figure out how to bridge this gap
