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Kristin Hoy, opened it—Adam could see the bright shock of blond hair—and that surprised him. Kristin taught at the same high school as Corinne. The two women had grown pretty close. Adam had figured that she’d be down in Atlantic City, but then he remembered that this conference was for history and languages. Kristin taught math.
    Kristin smiled and waved. He waved back. Thomas vanished into the house as Kristin started down the path toward the car. Politically incorrect as it sounded, Kristin Hoy was a MILF. Adam had overheard a bunch of Thomas’s friends saying that, though he could have figured it out on his own. Right now, she was sashaying toward him in painted-on jeans and a tight white top. She was some sort of competitive bodybuilder. Adam wasn’t sure whatkind. Her name had a bunch of letters after it, and she had earned the distinction of being a “pro,” whatever that exactly entailed. Adam had never been a fan of the muscular weight lifting women of old, and in some of her competitive pictures, Kristin did indeed look a little corded and cut. The hair was a little too blond, the smile a little too white, the tan a little too orange, but the look worked pretty damn well in person.
    “Hey, Adam.”
    He wasn’t sure whether he should get out of the car. He settled for staying in his seat. “Hey, Kristin.”
    “Corinne still away?”
    “Yep.”
    “But she’s back tomorrow, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Okay, I’ll touch base with her. We have to train. I’ve got the states in two weeks.”
    On her Facebook page, she claimed to be a “fitness model” and “WBFF Pro.” Corinne envied her body. They had started working out together recently. Like most things that were good or bad for you, you reach a stage where what started as a happy habit turns into something of an obsession.
    Thomas was back with the shorts.
    “’Bye, Thomas.”
    “’Bye, Mrs. Hoy.”
    “Have a good night, boys. Don’t have too much fun with Mom away.”
    She sashayed back toward the house.
    Thomas said, “She’s kind of annoying.”
    “That’s not nice.”
    “You oughta see their kitchen.”
    “Why? What’s wrong with their kitchen?”
    “She has bikini pictures of herself on the fridge,” Thomas said. “It’s gross.”
    Hard to argue. As Thomas pulled out, a small smile tugged at his lips.
    “What?” Adam said.
    “Kyle calls her a butterface,” Thomas said.
    “Who?”
    “Mrs. Hoy.”
    Adam wondered if that was a new term for MILF or something. “What’s a butterface?”
    “It’s what you call someone who’s not pretty—but she has a good body.”
    “I’m not following,” Adam said.
    “Butterface.” Then Thomas spoke slowly. “But. Her. Face.”
    Adam tried not to smile as he shook his head in disapproval. He was about to admonish his son—wondering exactly how to do so and keep a straight face—when his cell phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID.
    It was Corinne.
    He hit the ignore button. He should pay attention to his son’s driving. Corinne would understand. He was about to put his phone in his pocket when he felt it vibrate. Fast for a voice mail, he thought, but no, it was an e-mail from his bank. He opened it. There were links to see the detailed purchases, but Adam barely noticed them.
    “Dad? You okay?”
    “Keep your eyes on the road, Thomas.”
    He would go through it in detail when he got home, but right now, the top line of the e-mail said more than he wanted to know.
    Novelty Funsy is a billing name for the following online retailer:
    Fake-A-Pregnancy.com

Chapter 4
    W hen he was back home and in his office nook, Adam hit the link in the e-mail and watched the website come up.
    Fake-A-Pregnancy.com.
    Adam tried not to react. He knew that the Internet catered to every peccadillo and taste, even ones that defied the imagination, but the fact that there was an entire website based on faking a pregnancy was yet another one of the moments when a rational human being just