22. Brian
CHAPTER 22
Brian
Shit .
Worst timing ever.
Logan’s apologetic look is met with my eye roll. What’s a cock block called when it’s a proposal? A rock block. Well, maybe if I’d actually bothered to present her with a ring. It’s the least she deserves under the circumstances.
Jules answers before I can. “Oh, nothing. Brian Bishop was just proposing.”
Taylor’s eyes go wide, and she gasps, both hands flying over her mouth. “And what did you say?” she demands, her voice low and urgent. Like if she doesn’t know soon, her head will explode.
I trace gentle circles over my would-be fiancée’s knuckles. “She’s still considering it,” I say, keeping my tone from sounding too annoyed. I mean, I could ask any number of women for this exact arrangement, and they’d be falling over themselves to say yes.
But it had to be Jules .
Why?
The hell if I know. But every time I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts—a long list, by the way—my mind kept drifting back to the one woman who wasn’t in there.
And I wasn’t bullshitting earlier. When it comes to women, it’s been a blur of meaningless sex and bad decisions. Ten years’ worth, to be precise.
My eyes lock onto those questioning doe eyes. And for reasons I can’t explain, I need this. “Come on, Ms. Spenser. Mutual benefits.”
Taylor leans over to Logan and whispers, “Did he just say friends with benefits?”
Which sends my little Peach Pop into a tailspin. “Oh, my God, no. First of all, it would be enemies with benefits, and that’s not happening. Like, ever.”
Wow. Could she be any more offended at the thought of sleeping with me?
She tries to slip her hand from mine, a feeble effort at best. Then she swallows hard, her voice softening. “A business arrangement, right?” I can practically see the wheels turning behind those beautiful dark brown eyes, and I know I’m close.
“Yes, a business arrangement. One that the world believes is real and everyone in this room is sworn to secrecy on.”
I turn to Taylor, giving her a pointed look.
“What? I can keep a secret,” she insists, her voice a little defensive.
“Not really,” I say because I’m pretty sure Taylor’s been the town crier since grade school—spilling every secret from who kissed who behind the bleachers to who got caught cheating on the math test .
Which I did not appreciate, by the way.
Jules flicks a glance at Taylor, probably hoping for some backup—or hell, maybe just clarity on an answer. God, please don’t let it be the latter.
If she’s still the same old Taylor, she’ll take an hour just to decide on pizza toppings—never mind the life-altering shit.
If Taylor’s calling the shots, I’ll be stuck on my knee all fucking night.
“Do what’s best for you,” she finally says, her words full of care. Then, with a sudden shift, she turns to me, her eyes narrowing. “But if you hurt her, I’ll cram my thickest six-inch stilettos straight up your worthless ass.”
Given the fact that this girl has a thing for wearing spiked-heel ankle boots, I can’t help but clench a bit. “No one’s getting hurt, especially not me. I’m not about to take one for the team in the bunghole.”
Their laughter rolls through the room like a warm breeze, and Jules finally gives in, a smile tugging at her lips as the tension melts away. “All right, fine. Brian Gabriel Bishop, I accept you as my test drive, try-before-you-buy hubby, but only for three months, max.” She tilts her head, that familiar spark gleaming in her eyes. “So, when do we kick this off?”
“As soon as possible.”
“As in this weekend?” She’s trying to keep it together, but the way her pulse flutters along the curve of her neck, I’d say Jules is already teetering on the edge and forty-eight hours from sobering up and backing out.
I cut through all her doubts with a single word. “Tomorrow.”