Playboy. Jokester. Uncle Jakey. Bro.

Living in this small town my whole life means everyone knows my name. The one title I never expected to take on?


Husband.

My father’s will is clear: the only way I’ll ever see my inheritance is if I get married. I never cared about the money. I cringe at the thought of letting him manipulate me from the grave.

But now I’m short on time, out of options, and desperate for cash.

Cue the wedding bells.

The only reason I’m moving forward with this crazy idea is because I’ve figured out a way to unlock my inheritance while also raising the middle finger to my father’s legacy.

See, there’s something Joe Whitely’s narrow-minded bigotry never counted on: times have changed. Laws have changed. Getting married doesn’t mean I have to find a wife like he so desperately wanted.

In fact, I’m determined to do the opposite.

I just have to find myself a man, convince him to marry me, and pop my relationship cherry.

Because that’s the catch: I’ve been with plenty of men. And women. But I’ve never been in a committed relationship.

Husband.

I guess I better get used to hearing it, saying it, and figuring out what the hell it means if this plan is going to work.