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“Over my dead body,” I called to him as he walked away.
* * *
I found myself at Kip’s house two days later.
Two fucking days.
That’s how long my resolve lasted. That’s how long I spent exhausting every other possible option. There were no other options. Except go home.
Which wasn’t an option.
I was left with two choices. Both of them things I’d promised myself I’d never do.
I picked the lesser evil.
Or so I thought.
Kip grinned when he answered the door.Grinned. Like he’d been fucking expecting me.
That made the whole thing worse.
I almost turned on my heel and left right then.
Almost.
“Hey, baby,” he drawled, beer bottle dangling from his left hand.
“Ugh,” I groaned, pushing past him, snatching the beer as I went. “Don’t call me baby.”
His laugh followed me down the hall.
His house was small. Had a nice exterior, but inside it looked exactly what it was—a bachelor pad. It smelled of bacon and beer. The kitchen had a bunch of dirty dishes in the sink. The living room to the left boasted two leather couches, a stained wood coffee table, and a TV that was laughably large compared to the entertainment unit it was precariously perched on.
“Not a good way to start the marriage,” Kip teased as he walked through the kitchen, opening the fridge to retrieve himself another beer.
“This isnota marriage,” I spat, hating that I was here, second-guessing myself even now. I took a long pull of the beer and put my palm to my forehead. “Oh my god, what am I doing?” I cried, circling the room. “I mean, if I am going to get married for a Green Card, it needs to be someone else.Anyoneelse.”
Kip leaned against the kitchen island, smirking at me. “I don’t see anyone else lining up to be your husband, sweetheart.”
I scowled at him. “There are plenty of men who would marry me likethat.” I snapped my fingers together.
Kip raised a brow, as if he were inviting me to list them.
I racked my brain. In no way had I been a nun since I moved to Jupiter. I enjoyed sex. There was a good number of single men in this town and surrounding areas for me to engage in sex with. Plus, in the summer, the population almost tripled with tourists and people who owned vacation homes. I was never short of suitors.
Suitors who were more than willing to fuck me. Marry me? No. I couldn’t even recall the last man I let stay over.
“Frank,” I blurted. “Frank would marry me in, like, a moment.”
Kip looked at me with a placid expression. “Frank is eighty years old.”
I pursed my lips. “He looks like a young seventy,” I countered.
He really did. Frank was my landlord. And he was former Army, a gruff widower who read mystery books and ate muffins in the window of the café every morning at nine. And he was a shameless flirt, plus a born protector.
“By all means, go marry Frank, then,” Kip invited with twinkling eyes.
Fuck.
