Don't Kiss the Bride

I swallow hard under his raw sincerity. I don’t think anyone, ever, has been so deeply honest with me before. I still think there’s an underlying reason for him wanting to help me, but any thoughts I had that it might be for a sketchy reason are fading fast.

“And that’s all this is for you? Just a random good deed?”

He leans back in the chair again and pushes his sleeves up his arms. “Yeah. That’s all.” But his rough voice doesn’t hide what his eyes are saying—this act of kindness means something more to him.

“Well, I guess I’m lucky, then, aren’t I, Lucky?” I try to lighten the mood with a smile.

He flashes his cocky grin. “Maybe a little.”

Taking a deep breath, I put the mug on the table and push it back a few inches. “So, if we do this… how does this work? What’s next?”

A myriad of wedding scenes from movies flash through my mind.

“You sure you want to talk about it today? Do you want to wait until you’re feeling better?”

“I feel okay. I think we should talk about it now, so I can make a decision.”

He nods and his hair falls into his face, which he flicks backs with a quick, backward jerk of his head. “Okay. I guess first I’d have my lawyer draw up a contract saying that when we divorce, you aren’t entitled to any of my assets or alimony. Not tryin’ to be a dick, but I have to protect my business and my house.”

“I totally understand.”

“If you want something added to the contract, let me know.”

“Like what?

“I dunno. Like I can’t have half your stuff.”

I snort. “What, half of my beat-up car and my cat?”

“Yeah. I tell ya what… Just so it’s all fair, I’m going to have the contract say that neither one of us are entitled to each other’s assets, or anything we purchase while married. All of our finances will stay separate. I’ll pay whatever it is to add you to my insurance, but you’re responsible for any copays or anything not covered by insurance.”

“I’m good with that,” I reply, inwardly hoping I can afford to pay what isn’t covered. “What about rent?”

“I’m not gonna charge you rent, Skylar. I own the house.”

“Well, I can’t just live here for free. Even at home I pay some of the bills. I don’t want a free ride, Jude.”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Fair enough. How ’bout you do the shopping and pay for the groceries? I hate shopping so that’ll be a big help for me.” His gaze travels around the room. “And you can brush the dog.”

“Can I water the plants and clean the house?”

“You’re not a maid. I don’t want or expect that.”

“I want to do it.”

“You can do it if you want to, but that’s on you. I don’t want anything from you.”

“I know. It’ll just make me feel good to do something. Otherwise, I’m going to feel guilty as shit. I won’t go in your room or bathroom, though.”

“Deal,” he says. “Then I suppose we pick a date, get a marriage license, and we arrange for an officiant. There won’t be any guests or witnesses, just us.”

“Okay.”

I was never the little girl who dreamed of a princess wedding and a flowing white gown, so I’m not surprised at how calm my voice sounds; as if this is a totally normal conversation and not the craziest thing my brain has ever had to process.

And that’s saying a lot.

“Do you smoke? Drink?” he asks.

I’m taken aback by the random question. “I’m not old enough to drink.”

“Oh.” The corner of his mouth tugs down. “My bad. I forgot you’re only eighteen.”

“I wouldn’t drink even if I was old enough. And I’ve never smoked.”

“Obviously I’m a smoker, but I never smoke in the house. Once in a while I’ll toss a beer back. I come home and crash on the couch with the dog every night. Just so you know I’m not throwing parties here. It’s always quiet.”

With his long hair, endless ink, and rugged, sexy looks, I never would’ve thought he’d be the quiet, domestic type. I pictured him hanging at bars or strip clubs.

I’m relieved to find out I was wrong.

“I’m quiet, too,” I say. “So is Gus. We won’t bother you. I’m not dating anyone. Me and Megan usually hang at her house. All I want to do is get better, get out of that house, graduate, and get my life on track. I don’t party. I’m usually in bed by ten every night.”

He winks at me and my heart does a strange, baby-goatish gallop. “No wonder you’re not dating.”

“Thanks. Jerk.” I kick him playfully under the table.

“Just kidding,” he says. “I didn’t think you were into any of that stuff. You seem way too levelheaded.”