Chapter 24
Morgan
It’s Monday, and Rory’s been “living” with me for a week—in reality, she’s been on a job in Vermont and then came back on Thursday for a half day of paperwork before she carried on to New Jersey all day Friday.
I’ve been tiptoeing when I come home from the bar at night, so I don’t wake her up when she’s sleeping in the guest room.
Any time this weekend that I wasn’t at the bar, I’ve been working for Kit.
Like today, when Kit and I have an unusual back-to-back day. We’ve been busy all week—including the job I signed the NDA for.
It’s the leaves. They give us a burst of activity when they’re at their peak—or close to it, like they are today—and remind us that the ski season is coming up and it’s time to get ready.
And that’s why I’m dancing and lip-synching to Haiden Henderson while seven rowdy thirty-something women from the city howl around me. It’s nearly five o’clock, and this is the last job of the day. The women are having a bachelorette party and are celebrating hard—but so far respectfully.
My phone buzzes on the counter, where it’s close enough for me to DJ through the Bluetooth speaker, and I check the ID. My mom.
I hit ignore with a slightly soapy finger.
It buzzes again and again and again, so it’s a good thing I’ve got it on silent, so that the calls don’t interrupt the music. I ignore it in favor of singing along to the very raunchy song.
Kit’s in the living room, I’m in the kitchen. Dish duty, while wearing a bow tie and black slacks.
Hawt.
My phone goes quiet, and I make it through about half the dishes before it starts up again. This time, it’s my brother.
I definitely hit ignore.
It does not buzz again until I’m almost done with the kitchen. There’s charcuterie fixings spread all over the counter and that makes me think we could do a chef-themed offering. Like, surely someone could put on a chef’s hat and an apron while assembling appetizers and cleaning the kitchen, right?
I sigh and plan to ignore it until I see Rory’s name flashing on the screen.
Shit.
I dry my hands and walk over to Kit, who’s sweeping the hardwood floors. I lean into him. “Hey, can I borrow your phone?”
He grabs it out of his back pocket, unlocks it, and gives me a quizzical look. I shrug and step out the back door, quickly finding Rory’s number saved in his contacts—we made a group chat for moving her into my place—and dial.
“Kit?” Rory asks. I can hear Princess barking in the background.
“It’s me,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
“Your brother’s here.”
“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair. “In the house?”
“No, I didn’t answer the door. I’m sure he can see my bike out front, so he knows I’m home.”
“Don’t let him in,” I say. This worries me. It’s unlike my brother to come see me, and with the missed calls on my phone . . .
Rory snorts. “Definitely not letting him in.”
“Do you need me to come home?”
Rory’s quiet for a minute, thinking. Finally, she says, “He’s bound to give up eventually.”
“Possibly. I have like fifteen minutes left of work here, and I rode with Kit. If my brother’s not gone in ten, call the police, okay?”
“Okay.”
“All right, I’ll be home ASAP. Thanks for calling me.”
“Of course.”
We hang up and I walk back into the house, throwing the door open dramatically and smoldering at the crowd of women.
They cheer, but it barely drowns out the sense of dread in my stomach.
Kit drops me off at home. Rory had texted about eight minutes after our call to say that Graham had wandered around the property, peering into windows on the house and the garage before leaving.
When I walk in, Princess greets me exuberantly, and Rory gives me a chin dip.
She recounts the whole story to me, and I tell her about the phone calls from my mom and brother.
So far, I haven’t responded, and the texts got increasingly aggressive, claiming I need to give the car back and that I’ve “stolen” it from my brother.
I stopped reading them.
“I guess they found out about the car,” I remark.
Rory shrugs. “What are they gonna do? You bought it fair and square.”
I snort. “Steal the car back. It was smart to make it undriveable.” Last I checked, Rory had done a bit of work on the car, but not much.
She’d brought a few tools from her apartment and the car was currently jacked up and the two front tires were removed, in addition to all the work she’d done when we’d first brought it home.
“It’ll take a lot more than breaking in and hot-wiring the car to get it out of there. ”
“Are you gonna call them back?”
I look off to the side, thinking. Mom was harsh enough the last time we talked, complaining that I even dared to collect the money from my brother. How could you? He’s your family.
Skin touches skin, and I look down. Rory’s reached out to pull my hand away from my ribs, where I’ve been unconsciously rubbing my tattoo.
The snake.
“No,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m not going to call them back.”
Rory nods, decisively. “Wanna order pizza and watch a movie?”
I don’t know if she’s trying to cheer me up or if she’s just diverting the conversation, but it works. “Hell yeah.”
Forty-five minutes later we’ve argued about and compromised on a movie, and I’ve picked up a pizza from Parthenope’s Pies.
We eat while we watch the action-packed flick, and when there’s only a few slices of pizza left, Rory pushes her plate away and reclines, her head on the arm of the couch, and invites Princess to come up.
My dog settles into her spot between Rory and the back of the couch, and Rory stretches out, her socked feet coming to rest on my thighs.
This is pretty great. Coming home from work, having a quiet night with the woman of my dreams—even if she is only my fake fiancée—and the best dog ever.
I rest my hands on Rory’s feet and then start to rub. She hums in appreciation and I get more into it, digging my thumbs into the arches of her feet and gently pulling at her toes, a soft tease.
After a few minutes, I look up at Rory, and she’s got her eyes closed instead of watching the TV. Her hair, which is down, has some chunks draped over the arm of the couch. Others cover Princess’s head and fly up with each exhale from my dog’s nose.
I pinch the tip of her left sock and then tug. It’s a crew style, so it comes off quickly and I’m left staring in surprise and pleasure.
“What are you—” Rory interrupts herself, jacking up and trying to withdraw her foot from me. Princess barks and hops off the couch behind Rory’s back, tail wagging and body starting to wiggle.
“No, no, no,” I say, tightening my hold on her foot. “What is this? Are these . . . flowers?”
Rory squirms, and I turn my body, blocking her hands from pushing me away. Princess chuffs more, bouncing on her paws, thinking it’s playtime.
“They are flowers. Your big toes have flowers on them.”
“Morgan!”
I laugh. “They’re even pink. How have you been hiding these from me?”
“Let go!” She gasps, but she’s starting to laugh too. Her hands are still pushing at me though, so I lean into it, fighting against her until she gives up, her arms going from stiff to loose, and the lack of force against me causes my body to fall onto her.
I let go of her foot and catch myself on the couch, holding myself up over her. Rory’s smiling, her eyes twinkling with laughter, and I love the way she looks when she’s playing with me. I glance at her lips, thinking about how I would really like to kiss her now, if she’d let me.
But she doesn’t. The laughter gets snuffed out, her lips compress together, her smile disappearing, and I inwardly sigh and push myself away.
Suddenly the space is too small. I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t sit back down as if nothing’s happened, as if we’re just roommates or pretending.
I’m not pretending.
I’ve never been.
I stand and Princess looks up at me, giving me an excuse.
“I’m going to take Princess for a walk,” I say, walking to the door and grabbing her leash.
Rory’s quiet, still lying on the couch, while I clip it to Princess’s collar. Then she abruptly stands. “Why do you do that?” she demands.
I straighten and look at her. “Do what?”
Rory stalks toward me, fists clenched at her side. She stops just short of us, between me and the door, and Princess lets out a whine.
I wait a few moments, Rory’s eyes on the floor, darting around to gather her thoughts.
Just when I’m about to give up, she says, “Sometimes, I swear you want to kiss me. Like maybe this isn’t .
. .” She hesitates, and I hear the echo of my thoughts and wonder if she thinks the same thing. “But you never do.”
“Rory.” I drop the leash on the floor with a soft thud. “Every time I even think about kissing you, you clam up. You look away, you close up, slam the shutters, raise up the drawbridge.”
Rory’s eyes meet mine. “I do?”
“Yeah, you do.” I say it softly, hopeful that by dragging this out into the open, maybe we’ll finally get somewhere.
Rory’s lips bulge as she runs her tongue over her teeth. Princess snuffles and walks around us, her nails clacking on the floor.
“I have big teeth,” Rory blurts.
“What?”
She repeats herself, slowly, and I can hear the edge of defensiveness that hides her insecurities. “I. Have. Big. Teeth.”
This leaves me stunned. Like, yeah, she does have kind of big teeth, but her beauty is in the whole package—her narrow face, her dark hair, her stubborn chin, they all blend together to make her beautiful.
“Who told you that?”
Rory rolls her eyes and then ticks off her fingers.
“Kids in school called me horse-face, once my dentist asked if I wanted to do anything about them, and my ex-girlfriend told me I would be prettier if I smiled less. And like . . .” She holds her hands out to the side.
“People are always looking at my teeth. They are big. I know it. You don’t have to try to sugarcoat it. ”
I stare at her until she looks away, and then I raise my hands to her face. “Lemme see.”
“What? No.” She takes a step back, hitting the door behind her.
“Come on, Rory. Let me take a look.”
“Argh. Fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at the ceiling. I cup her face with my hands and use my thumbs to lift her top lip up. I look around, muttering as I go. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. Okay. Well. Hmm.”
When I feel like I’ve made my point, I drop my hands. I’m standing just a few inches away from her, and now that I know she wants to kiss me—now that she’s shared this insecurity with me—nothing is going to stop me.
I wait until she’s looking right at me again to say, “Still fucking gorgeous to me.”
Rory huffs. “That was like the unsexiest thing that ever happened to me.”
“Oh really? Do you want proof of how sexy I think that was?”
Her eyes are round, showing whites all the way around. She nods.
I grab her hand and bring it to my fly, where my dick is hard beneath the denim of my jeans. Rory’s eyes widen and her hand curves, almost involuntarily around the bulge. “It wasn’t unsexy to me,” I growl.
Rory’s gaze meets mine, and I step in closer. Her grip tightens now, her lips falling softly open. I bring my face right down to hers and whisper, “Rory Fucking Fox. You better goddamn kiss me.”