She Stole My Husband

My coworker was so jealous of me that she found a way to switch our bodies.

She rushed toward my husband, who was posing on his motorcycle. “A tall, rich, gorgeous husband with an eight-pack? Here I come!”

Without a word, I opened the passenger door of a Mercedes S-Class.

At last. I was free of a husband whose perfect appearance owed everything to drugs and cosmetic work.

This time, I was the one getting the good life.

————————

Ten minutes before the end of our shift, my coworker Hayley Brooks pulled me into the restroom.

“I've got this amazing mirror. Come look.”

It was small enough to fit in my palm, with a frame that showed its age.

“Looks pretty ordinary to me.”

“You're looking at it wrong.” Hayley leaned her head against my shoulder and pointed to her reflection, telling me to look into her eyes.

The instant our gazes met in the glass, everything spun.

When my head cleared, Hayley and I had switched bodies.

Outside, she ran toward Logan's showy motorcycle with a delighted cry.

“Six foot two, an eight-pack, and those perfect V lines. My dream husband, here I come!”

Logan Hayes carefully fitted a helmet onto her head, then slipped one arm around her narrow waist and lifted her onto the bike.

His sculpted physique and effortless movements drew cheers from our coworkers.

“God, he's gorgeous. Look at his chest. I'm getting thirsty just watching.”

“I want to bite those abs, run my hands over his hips, and sit on those long legs. Claire Bennett has no idea how lucky she is. When do I get a turn playing Mrs. Hayes?”

“He's not just hot. He's so sweet to her, too. Claire must have done something incredible in a past life.”

Logan soaked up every word.

He pulled up the hem of his T-shirt, pretending to wipe away sweat, and gave them a full view of his sharply defined abs.

Amid the squeals, someone offered a different opinion.

“Hayley's boyfriend isn't bad, either. He's always giving her expensive gifts. Designer bags, jewelry, watches. A seriously eligible bachelor.”

Someone scoffed. “So he's rich. Who wants a guy that old, mean, and full of himself? I'd rather be Logan's ninth side chick than that man's wife.”

“Same. Hayley says he never lets up or says anything sweet. He just gets what he wants and goes to sleep. Such an asshole.”

Under their pitying looks, I walked calmly toward the black sedan parked in the shade.

The Ducati might turn heads, but I'd take the quiet comfort of a Mercedes any day.

I wanted the same things in a man that I wanted in a car: something dependable that didn't need to show off.

I eased the passenger door open.

Adrian Cole looked up from his tablet. His severe brows and dark, unsmiling eyes made it difficult to meet his gaze.

According to Hayley, he was a controlling, moody creep.

He barely spoke, never smiled, and was a freak in bed.

If he hadn't been so generous, she said, she'd have left long ago.

I'd never actually dealt with him. Now one look had me nervous. I felt as if he could see straight through me.

I lowered myself carefully into the seat and closed the door without a sound.

“Something's different about you today.”

His voice was pleasant, his delivery unhurried. Somehow that made the words more unsettling.