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“I’m scared, Abel.”
He meets my eyes. “I am too.”
It hits me. Abel needs support right now. Both of us do. And maybe proposing this ludicrous arrangement is his way of getting it.
Hangoverreference notwithstanding, I’ve always seen Abel as this lone wolf. Prowling at night, howling at the moon, happy to answer only to himself. But no one can survive on their own forever.
He’s a pack animal at heart. An animal, wild and reckless, a fact I can’t forget. But also part of our family. If this is what he needs to make it to whatever waits for us on the other side of Dad’s diagnosis, who am I to leave him hanging?
What ifheleavesmehanging, though? My eyes rove from his hand on the wheel up his arm. His forearm ripples with veins and sinew. Then there’s the broad shoulders, and the way his broken-in T-shirt stretches across his chest. The beard and the full lips and the slightly crooked slope of his nose.
Abel Miller is hot as hell.
At several points over the years, I thought I might be in love with him. But he always treated me like a kid sister. Kind and considerate, but there was no heat on his end. And after a while, it hurt too much to pine after him, knowing my feelings would never be reciprocated.
So I moved on. I had a serious boyfriend in college—I went to the University of Texas on scholarship—but he wanted to stay in Texas after we graduated, and I was ready to come home to North Carolina. I met my next boyfriend through mutual friends, and we dated for a year until thingsfizzled out. I dated a few other guys throughout my mid-to-late twenties, but they were just okay.
Just okaywas a stark contrast to how excellent Abel was. I went to college in Texas, but when I came home for the summer he’d take me on boat rides and to museums, the two of us nerding out over Picasso. He surprised me by showing up to my graduation in Austin, and he treated my friends and me to the best of everything during a wild weekend of honky-tonks and five-star hotel suites.
Now that I’m approaching thirty—I’ll hit that milestone next year—I find myself thinking about his excellence more and more. How could I not? People know him as this grumpy, surly guy with long hair and a way with a hammer, but he’s been nothing but sweet with me.
Sometimes I imagine I see fire in his eyes when he glances my way. My best friend from college, Mollie, mentioned that she caught him constantly looking in my direction during that weekend in Austin. But I chalked that up to Abel just being Abel. Group sex guy. Looking for his next meal, and looking away when he remembers I’m off-limits.
“You’ll call me?” he asks when we pull up to my house. “If you need anything?”
What I’d give to be able to call him for some really great sex. Best distraction there is. Guess I could text Brian, but I’m scared I’ll come across as needy.
I busy myself leaning down to grab my bag at my feet. “Other than an engagement ring? Sure.”
“When you say it like that . . .”
I straighten. Our eyes meet. “It sounds insane. But it might not be a bad idea, Abel.”
“It’s definitely a bad idea. But I feel like any option would suck, so.”
Ouch.
I wish his words didn’t sting, but they do.
“Everything about this sucks.” My eyes fill with tears. Sodo his. I lean over the center console and give him a one-arm hug. “But we have each other, thank God.”
Abel nods, tucking his face into my shoulder. His back expands on an inhale. Then he pulls away and runs a hand over his face. “Think on it. And let me know if you hear anything else from your dad.”
four
. . .
Abel
Reputation
I wakeup the next morning in a panic.
Joe needs surgery. It’s serious.
Also, I asked his daughter to marry me. Pretend marry me, yes. But I have a terrible feeling she’s going to say yes.
She absolutely should not say yes.
