Marry Me for Money (24 page)

And I wanted to.

I wanted so badly to close the gap between us, to finally allow our lips to meet.

I’d never felt such an attraction, a pull so strong that it took all my willpower to close my eyes to compose myself.

Everything is changing.

I felt it, the charged air around us, his look, his stance, his more than friendly touches.

I had to rein things in—now.

I had to get things back in order. If I wanted to save our friendship, to get any form of normalcy back between us, I had to right things.

Maybe in another lifetime when Kent isn’t with a different woman every night…

When he held some sort of job or showed some sort of responsibility, maybe, just maybe we could be together. But he could never be the man I wanted for myself, the one I pictured for myself because I would never force a man I’d grown to care for to change, not for anyone, particularly not for me.

“I’m here with Brian,” I whispered, speaking mostly to myself. “I’m going home with him.”

Those words broke the connection between us, and as soon as his touch left me, I felt empty.

He staggered, moving back, and his gaze seemed unfocused. I knew those words hurt him, but they needed to be said, not only for him but also for me. I had to remind myself that I’d come with Brian. I was here with him.

“I just want your keys, Kent. I don’t want you driving home drunk.”

My eyes flickered to the bar behind me and back to meet his face. There was a tightness around his eyes that made my heart hurt. I didn’t like his demeanor, and I didn’t want to yell anymore. I wanted to know he was safe, but most of all, I wanted to erase that desolate look on his face.

I reached out for his hand. “Please, can I have your keys?”

I gave his hand a squeeze, and he looked down to where we were joined.

“I don’t want you driving drunk. I don’t want you to get hurt,” I whispered, my heart hurting for a reason I couldn’t place.

He furrowed his eyebrows, still looking to where our hands met.

A moment passed between us, and he pulled out his keys from his pocket, dropped them on the ground, and turned toward the busy street.

“Beth,” he said, still facing the other direction as his shoulders slumped, “you deserve happiness.”

With that, he walked away.

The night went from bad to worse. By the time it was over, Brian was piss-ass drunk. He was a sloppy drunk, so much so that we were kicked out of the bar by two burly bouncers. He had drunk himself into oblivion, and he was throwing up out the window all the way back to Chicago. It took his roommate and me over an hour to get dead-weight Brian out of the car, into his apartment, and undressed. It also didn’t help that Brian’s roommate was nowhere near sober.

I took a cab back to my apartment because my feet ached and my back hurt, and I was unbelievably tired and pissed off. All I wanted was to fall asleep in my own bed and not next to Brian, who had been snoring loudly when I tucked him in.

When my head hit the pillow, I tossed and turned. I wanted to shut off my mind to all that had happened and all the confusion going on in my brain, but sleep wouldn’t come. It wouldn’t come because I was worried about Kent, wondering if he’d made it home safely.

I ended up calling him over and over, but he never answered.

I didn’t know when sleep had finally taken over, but I knew it had because I woke up the next morning with the phone right next to my ear while a woman’s voice said, “If you’d like to make a call, please try again.”

My pounding on the door accelerated louder and louder while the beat of my heart raced in my chest. I’d been calling Kent for two days, and he hadn’t picked up. The last time I’d seen him was when he left the bar drunk.

When he opened the door, I released the breath that I had been holding. His hair was disheveled and he looked like a mess but I didn’t care. I was just so relieved to see him in person, safe in front of me. As I walked in the room, I noticed all the shades were drawn, and his apartment reeked of a foul smell.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you. I was about to call your mom, but I didn’t want to worry her,” I said, pushing past him and barging into the condo.

“Not feeling well.” He slouched and made his way toward the couch.

I followed behind him and surveyed the room. Liquor bottles and beer cans were on the floor, and shot glasses and tumblers spanned every inch of the coffee table.

I dropped my bag on the hardwood floor and started to draw up the shades. I heard Kent huff as I drew up the first set. He pulled a pillow over his head to block the sunlight from hitting his face.

“Did you have a party and not invite me?” My head lifted toward his bedroom, and I was relieved that there wasn’t a woman in his bed.

I walked to his kitchen, got out a garbage bag, and started tossing out the cans and bottles, one by one. With each drop into the bag, I could feel my temperature rising. “Do you want to die from alcohol poisoning or something?” I asked, hearing the bottle drop with a ping as it hit the bottom of the bag touching the floor.

“Seriously, what’s the matter with you? I don’t want to be your mom, but what the hell is this? I mean, you can party, but party responsibly,” I scolded.

I stomped toward him and lifted the pillow from his head. “Are you hearing me right now? What’s the matter with you?”

He lifted his head to look at me. The bags under his eyes were noticeably dark. “What do you care?”

I was taken aback by his tone, but I let it pass. “I care that you don’t die,” I said, glaring at him. “I’ve been calling you. The least you could have done was call me back to tell me you’re alive.”

He sat up so slowly as if every bone in his body ached, and he placed his head in both hands. “How’s Brian?” he asked, his voice sharp.

I reeled back, startled by his question. “Okay,” I replied, unsure where this was headed.

“Did you give him his birthday present?” Kent snapped, lifting his head to meet my eyes, his jaw clenched.

I flinched at his words, the tone of his voice, and the look he was giving me.

I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to relive the other night or talk about how it had taken me forever and a half to get Brian home in one piece. “I’m not talking about Brian with you,” I said, pulling the garbage bag tighter to my side.

“And why not?” he asked as he stood up. “You tell me everything.” He inched toward me, reeking of alcohol. “Tell me, why doesn’t he know about mommy dearest?” His eyes grew dark.

His proximity quickened my pulse and warmed my insides.

“I just haven’t gotten the chance to tell him everything yet,” I said, moving away, as his look raked me in.

Kent stalked until he was a foot away from me, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Why do you tell me everything?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

When he took a step forward, I took a step back, afraid of what I’d do if he got too close.

“Why do you tell me and not the guy you’re dating?” Kent asked, towering over me.

“I told you, I haven’t gotten around to it,” I said, totally aware of his nearness. My pulse quickened at his proximity and I did all I could to steady my breathing.

“Why not? You’ve been dating long enough. Does he know about Nana?” he said, taking another step in my direction. “Why do you tell me when you’re in a relationship with him? I just want to know why.”

I backed up farther until I felt the coffee table hit the back of my knees. There was nowhere else to go, and my whole being was hyperaware of his body by mine.

“What’s the matter with you? I told you, I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to it yet.”

He aligned himself in front of me, his face inches from mine. He looked briefly to my lips and then back to my eyes. “Why do you confide in me? Why me?” he asked so softly, his warm breath on my face.

My heart stuttered in my chest. He was so close that I could taste him, and every ounce of my body wanted him nearer.

“Why?” he asked.

I closed my eyes. Before I could do something I would regret, I pushed him away from me with both hands, dropping the garbage bag I’d been holding. “Leave me alone. I told you, I don’t know why. I came to drop off your keys. I made Caroline drive me this morning to pick up your car.”

I turned to walk out the door. “I’m glad you’re alive. When you’re normal again, you can call me.” I shut the door behind me while my heart pounded loudly in my ears. I stormed into the elevator, and as soon as the door shut, I used the wall as support while I tried to calm my raging pulse.

What the hell is happening between us?

Twenty-four long-stemmed roses were delivered to my desk the next morning.

Caroline peeked over her cubicle, beaming at me. “Oh, Beth, you live the life,” she said.

Little did she know, the life she thought was so great was becoming really hard to maintain.

I opened the card, knowing it could be from only one person.

I’M SORRY. FORGIVE ME.

BE READY AFTER WORK. WE ARE HAVING DINNER WITH MY PARENTS.

WE’RE GETTING ENGAGED TODAY.

I blinked a couple of times, my eyes zoning in on one word.
Engaged.

I placed the card away in its envelope and smiled awkwardly at Caroline before I headed toward the conference room. I shut the door behind me and called Kent from the office phone.

He picked up on the first ring. “Did you get them?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” I said, fiddling with the ends of my hair. “Today? Why today? Aren’t we supposed to talk about these things? I mean, that’s not fair to spring things like this on me at the last minute. I have to prepare.” I was pacing back and forth while pulling at the ends of my ponytail.

“Are they beautiful?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Am I forgiven?”

“What?” I shook my head. “The roses? Yeah, they are beautiful. Kent, does it have to be today?”

“Am I forgiven?” he asked again, his tone laced with underlying worry.

“Yeah, okay, you’re forgiven,” I huffed. “Listen, I’m at work. Why today? Why didn’t you give me advance notice?” I could feel my temperature rising with anxiety as I dug my black heels into the industrial gray carpet of the conference room.

“I just thought it was time. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think it’s time.”

My thoughts moved to Brian. I was glad that he had a client call this evening. Ever since I’d told him about this arrangement, I’d been walking on eggshells, trying not to mention Kent’s name. I figured if we didn’t talk about Kent or my past, then everything would turn out okay. A month would pass, the arrangement would be done, and maybe I could get past the confusion with Kent.

“Okay, let’s just get this done,” I replied.

“Beth,” he said before letting me off the phone, “know that you can still tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said, glad that my old Kent was back.

I hung up the phone, walked to my desk, and admired the beautiful red roses positioned by my computer monitor. I turned toward Caroline. “Hey, do you want to take these home?”

“Why? They’re so beautiful.”