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“To tell them we are moving in together and to shove their prejudice up their asses?”
For the first time today, I saw the same boyish, eager glint in his eyes, that made people addicted to his presence.
“No, to pick up my son and go home and try to salvage what’s left of his reputation, if I can manage that.”
“Gotcha.” He got up, throwing a wad of cash onto the table between us and shoved his wallet back into his pocket.
“I need to use the bathroom.” I looked away, my words delivered with as much dignity as I could muster.
“I’ll wait for you in the car.”
My head was pounding the next morning.
So much so, for the first five minutes, that I thought I was imagining the knock on my door downstairs.
Groaning, I flipped over in my bed, burying my face in one of the pillows. Huge mistake, as Tennessee’s shampoo scent—daisies and some kind of dessert—lingered in my nostrils, making me ache all over.
Although maybe that pain was also due to the fact I polished off an entire bottle of whiskey.
Maybe.
After I had dropped Tennessee off at her parents’ house the previous night and zipped through her street straight to the Duggars’, I cooed at newborn Bella, gave her a quick checkup, and went back home, where I’d promptly tried to drink myself to death.
I regretted the day I’d told Trinity I could give her older sister a ride to the port for our cruise.
And definitely the days that followed, in which I’d thought it would be a good idea to kiss her, taste her, bury myself deep inside her sweet, tantalizing body, and weave plans on how to make her mine.
One thing was for certain—if Rob ended up winning her over, he was going to have an eternity of tantrums and insecurities to deal with, so good luck with that.
“Cruz? Oh, Cruzyyyy?” I heard a shrill voice under my bedroom window.
Gabriella.
Frankly, a visit from the Grim Reaper would have been more welcome, but I had a bone to pick with her. I unpeeled myself from my bed, cursing every aching muscle in my body as I wobbled down the stairs in a white, wrinkled shirt and a pair of unbuttoned jeans.
I tossed the door open offhandedly, knocking back the very little that was left of the whiskey from the previous night.
“Hello, Gabriella.”
She was back to looking like a modern maiden, big curls, perfect makeup, and a demure dress.
My destiny. Yay.
To marry a woman as boring and one-dimensional as this carbon copy of every main character in a cable television show I’d ever not-watched.
“Cruz,” she fussed, dragging her claws across my chest. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“That so?” I asked flatly. “Care to tell me what for?”
“Well, Nessy told Trinity that you and she broke it off. She’s trying to get on her family’s right side, I suppose, after what she did to me…”
I almost laughed. Tennessee had used our broken relationship as an excuse to claim martyrdom.
“And what exactly did she do to you?” I drawled.
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” She soldiered into my house, uninvited, straight to the kitchen, and flipped the coffee machine on. “She tried to kill me. Put peanuts in my sundae. Frankly, I knew she had a few loose screws ever since I first met her, but honestly, I didn’t—”
“She didn’t try to kill you, and we both know that.” I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and peeled it, shoving the entire thing into my mouth.
