Chapter 3
“You know what you need?”Max, my best friend and business partner, asks with a smirk as he barges into my office uninvited.
I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Knock on the fucking door,” I shout at him. “It’s pretty simple, really. You should try it.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
Max raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. “I would if I knew what it was, but . . . not everyone is as smart and well-versed in the ancient rules of communication.”
Oh, so he wants to be an asshole. Well, two can play the same game. I cross my arms and lean against the back of my chair, fixing him with a pointed stare.
“It’s pretty simple. Start with your right hand. The one you use to swipe on your phone for hours or, if it’s easier to remember, it’s the one you use to jerk off because no woman will glance at your ugly face.” I demonstrate, curling my fingers into a fist. “Position it precisely 1.5 feet from the door’s surface, fingers slightly curled as though you’re about to grasp the holy grail—because, at this moment, your knock is just that important.”
Max’s jaw clenches, and he narrows his eyes at me, but I continue, undeterred.
“With the grace of a mildly enthused sloth, execute a series of noises—people call them knocks.” I mime the action, rapping my knuckles against an imaginary door. “Pause. Wait with bated breath. You’ve just communicated in the most ancient of languages: the knock. If done correctly, you shall be granted entry. Feel free to add this skill to your résumé.”
Max shakes his head, his expression a mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “Are you done, fucker?” he asks, his tone flat.
I wave dismissively toward the door, a smug grin playing on my lips. “Yes, you may leave now. Make sure to close the door behind you.”
“You’re in a fucking mood,” he mutters, shooting me a sideways glance. “Have you thought about getting laid or something?”
“Just get out of here, Max,” I say, my voice tight. “I’ve got work to do.”
“I’m here to do you a favor,” he states. “The least you could do is give me a couple of minutes.”
I let out a heavy sigh, my shoulders sagging in defeat. “What do you need?”
Max shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his expression turning serious. “My mom called,” he says vaguely, his eyes flickering away from mine for a moment.
I raise an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance creeping into my tone. “And I care because . . .?” Don’t get me wrong, I like Max’s parents more than I like mine. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, and there were times I wished we could swap places—at least for a day or two.
He clears his throat, his gaze locking with mine once more. “Your parents are coming into town in a couple of weeks,” he states, staring at me as if waiting for me to say something. When I remain silent, he continues, “They’re planning a surprise visit. Thought you should know, given your . . . unique approach to housekeeping and social interactions.”
I groan, my head falling back in exasperation. “A visit from my parents is akin to an unannounced audit by the IRS. Fuck.” The thought of my parents showing up unannounced sends a wave of dread through my body, and I can feel my muscles tensing.
Max smirks, clearly enjoying my discomfort. He folds his arms across his chest, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe it’s time to clean up the bachelor pad. And possibly invest in some actual furniture that doesn’t double as storage space?” He shrugs, his tone light and teasing. “Or you can just take a few weeks off.”
My place isn’t what he says, but the visit concerns me. I arch an eyebrow, my voice rising in disbelief. “Weeks?”
The idea of taking that much time off work is almost as daunting as the thought of my parents’ visit. Why the fuck are they coming? Retiring to New Mexico means they stay there and leave us the fuck alone, right?
I frown, my brows knitting together in confusion. “Why would they think a surprise visit is a good idea?” I wonder aloud, my mind racing with possibilities. “Wait. They would never do something without planning.”
Max’s expression turns sheepish, and he rubs the back of his neck. “They don’t,” he admits. “If you hadn’t been dodging their calls for . . . I’ve no idea how long. You’d know why they’re here.”
I feel a pang of guilt in my chest, and I avert my gaze, focusing on a spot on the wall behind Max. Maybe I shouldn’t be as vague with my “Which is . . .?” I ask, hoping he has an answer that makes some sense.
Max sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They’re coming to meet your future sister-in-law and her family,” he states, his tone matter-of-fact. “I know you don’t give two fucks about your brother’s wedding—neither do I—but they plan on staying with you. Unless they can’t find you. Then, they’ll stay at my parents for a month.”
“They could stay with Dom,” I offer.
“No, because they don’t think it’s appropriate.”
I frown at Max. “And why is that?”
He shrugs. “Who the fuck knows? They’re your parents, not mine.” He smirks. “Good luck with them.”
I feel a sudden tightness in my throat. “Hence why you said I should take a few weeks off?” I ask, my voice strained.
“Bingo,” Max says, snapping his fingers and pointing at me with a grin. “I knew you’d catch on at some point.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have much choice now, do I?” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
I’ve always been the black sheep of the family, the one who never quite fit in with their expectations and plans. And now, with my brother’s nuptials looming on the horizon, I know I’ll be expected to play the role of the supportive sibling, even if it’s the last thing I want to do. It’s a familiar feeling, this sense of being an outsider in my own family, and it’s one that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years.
I’m Ethan Montgomery. For many, I’m a businessman, resident geek, and a former SEAL.
My family though . . . well, they don’t really like me. And before you jump to conclusions, let me set the record straight—I’m neither the hero on a quest nor the villain with a twisted agenda. I’m just Ethan, as ordinary as they come. But even ordinary people have their struggles, and right now, mine come in the form of my family and their expectations.
Dealing with them for a day while my brother pretends that he’s happy to marry the woman who I can only describe as cruel, egotistical, judgmental—and . . . I’m pretty sure materialistic too—will be fine. Having to deal with that for weeks is definitely a no.
“When will they arrive?” I ask, my mind already racing as I try to calculate how long I have to come up with an excuse or if I can be on the road visiting clients for the duration of their stay.
“They should be here on Friday—at the latest.” Max pauses for effect, letting the words sink in. “According to Mom, they decided to drive and take the scenic route.”
My stomach drops, and I feel a sudden rush of panic. “Fuck, I don’t have enough time,” I mutter, my voice strained. I run a hand over my face, my mind spinning with possibilities.
Could I fake an illness? Schedule a last-minute business trip? Pretend I’ve suddenly developed an allergy to family gatherings?
“Let me take you to lunch,” Max says. “Maybe we’ll come up with something.”
Other than food poisoning, I don’t see what else could help me, but I go with him. Ever since we were young, we had a knack for coming up with good ideas to get in or out of trouble. This might be one of those times.