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His brows jump.
“You’d be perfect for each other. She loves shiny things, and smiling. I think she laughs a lot, too. She’s basically a model. And the best part?”
“She won’t daydream about stabbing me in my sleep?” he asks.
I point. “A pro to take into consideration, for sure, but no. She doesn’t hate you. I’m pretty sure she’d love you for every reason that makes me find you unbearable.” A little manic, I grin. “What do you say? I hook you up with a few cheat cards since I’ve known her for over a decade, I coordinate the wedding, and if you ever make her the smallest bit unhappy for even a moment, I promise to only wax off your eyebrows, not castrate you.” I second-guess what I’m saying and furrow my brow. “Okay, well, actually, I’ll only castrate you a little bit. That’s the promise. Make her sad, never be a dad.”
He rolls his lips into his mouth to subdue the laughter shaking his whole body. Battling to contain himself, he swipes his hand down his face and clears his throat. “Sorry. I’m not interested in Penny.”
“Take that back right now.”
“Why?”
“How can you not be interested in Penny? She’s like a beautiful, voluptuous doll with that figure and those curls. She’s innocent. She’s darling. Many a male specimen falls to their knees upon seeing her. I’m offended you didn’t bow when she got here. Have you no manners?” My eyes narrow. “Basically, there’s not a single thing wrong with her, so what’s wrong with you?”
Without clearance to do so, he lifts a finger and tucks my hair behind my ear. “You’re absolutely right, pumpkin. There isn’t a single thing wrong with your precious friend. I just can’t picture her threatening to remove vital parts of my anatomy with very minimal prompting, and I expect at least that much from my women. Non-negotiable, really.”
“Masochism,” I mutter, shove my hair off my ear, and return my attention to my computer. “That’s what’s wrong with you. You’re a masochist. This entire situation is so much clearer now. You didn’t notice me until I filled out a form where you had me answer intimate questions that alluded to my true temperament and disgust. Now that I’ve told you I hate you, you’re obsessed. Time for me to google how to be nice to your boyfriend. That’ll end things real quick.”
He laughs, over my shoulder, maintaining that too closeness. “Is it a breach of contract to try and set me up with your friend? I don’t believe normal girlfriends would attempt such a thing.”
He is probably correct. “I apologize for my behavior. How dreadfully un-real-girlfriend of me. I am out of practice. But, look—” I type how to be nice to your boyfriend into the search bar in a new tab. “—I’m actively attempting to remedy the situation.” The page loads, and disgust riots in my gut.
“Ooh.” His breath touches my neck. “Interesting.” He puts his chin on my shoulder. “Go on. Step one. Remind me how much you adore me. Every day.”
My breaths thin. My gaze glosses over with red. My fingers inch toward the silverware drawer again, but I stop myself just short of pulling it open and gouging out an eye. I know better than to do that. I am a mature adult. And I have a system in place for such a time as this. “Pickles.”
Exhaling a laugh, he kisses my cheek and stands. “Let me know when you’re ready to go shopping, pumpkin. Also, I adore you. Not your understandably wonderful friend. You.”
I stuff air into my lungs, scrub his nasty kiss off my face, and mutter, “You are not removing yourself from my presence fast enough. Detrimental bodily harm may occur in five, four, th—”
Lifting his hands in surrender, he escorts himself out of the kitchen, and I return to my emails.
Chapter 8
Give me a hint.
– Finnegan
“Studies show,” my beautiful, stone-faced bride-to-be begins, “that single women are happier than single men. They also live longer than married women.” Turning the bra she’s looking at around, she glares at the tag, holds it up to her…um…yeah…and huffs before putting it back on the shelf. “I get that.”
Being here feels incredibly illegal. An attendant just moments ago groped one of the other customers, who was only wearing lace. I did not know that happened in these sorts of frilly, pink and black, fine establishments…
Marcella, however, did because when we were greeted, the first words out of her mouth were: if you touch me, he’s suing.
“Why is this over fifty dollars?” she mutters at a very pretty black bra with a lacy butterfly design for the back and a tiny bow in the front. Not that I am noticing anything other than a butterfly theme. No mention of butterflies made it into any of my form questions, but it’s clear Marcella gravitates toward them.
Given her true personality, that she likes something so delicate is…cute.
“Cost is irrelevant,” I remind her.
If looks could kill. It’s like she’s trying to incinerate me with her eyes. “I know you’re not a pervert, Mr. Has Been Examining the Ceiling this Whole Time. So tell me why you decided we were going to start here.”
“Because. You ate too many cupcakes for breakfast and didn’t want to go out for lunch.”
It takes everything in me not to laugh when her fists clench so hard and fast her knuckles crack. “You know what I mean. Why the underwear shopping first?”
I shouldn’t play around like this if I actually want her to tolerate me by November, but the way she responds to everything I say is gold. “I figured this would be the most taxing part of shopping, so it would be best to tackle it while you have all your stamina.”
