My not so GAY HUSBAND
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- Parts 1
The first time I met him, he grabbed my leg and yelled, "I'm gay!" - like it was some kind of emergency announcement.
Two hours later, he was in my kitchen eating my leftover pasta.
By the end of the week, he'd moved in.
We're not a couple. We're not even friends.
We're just two strangers pretending to be a happily married couple because Delhi rent is the real villain here and our fate is tripped in big hole of lies.
He's a broke, overly dramatic aspiring writer who somehow makes five-star breakfasts while wearing my pink slippers. I'm the overworked editor-in-chief of a cutthroat magazine empire who can't believe I let this man convince me he was "safe."
He claims he's not into women.
Which is weird, because he:
Flirts like a Casanova.
Winks like he's in a shampoo commercial.
Knows my coffee order better than I do.
Our arrangement was supposed to be simple:
No romance. No drama. No awkward feelings.
...Except now my "not so gay" husband is looking at me like he forgot the first rule - and I'm starting to think I might be the one in trouble.
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