by Misti Murphy
Great. This is promising already. I straighten my spine and step over the threshold. “Well, let’s get it over with.”
Joe grabs the bag from my arm and the casserole dish from Ronnie, and she tries to follow him to the kitchen, but I grab her arm and pull her back to me. She’s my rock. I can’t face them without her.
She scowls at me. “Really, Danny, was that necessary? Do you honestly think your brother and I are going to get it on in the kitchen?”
Nope. But I do think my dad will keep his hatred of me to a dull roar so long as she’s in the vicinity. “Come on,” I say without acknowledging her snarky question, and this time I take the lead and guide her into the living room.
It’s straight ahead, through an arched doorway. There’s a brick fireplace built into one wall. Perpendicular to that is a television that’s basically a movie screen. The better to watch sports on, I’m sure. I imagine they have a state-of-the-art surround sound system, too. If Dad can’t be in the arena, I bet this living room sounds like one during football season.
Two leather recliners face the television. My mother is sitting in one of them, a blanket draped across her lap, even though it’s a pleasant 75 degrees in the house at the moment. She looks a million times better than she did in that hospital bed, that’s for damn sure. She has on makeup, her hair is curled, and she’s wearing lounge pants and a T-shirt that says “Skaters Do It Better.”
Jesus, I hope she didn’t unwrap that on Christmas morning.
“Hi there,” Ronnie says, smiling and giving her a small wave. My father stands next to my mom’s chair, like a soldier, prepared to protect her from…what? Her own son? I shake my head and refuse to look him in the eye.
“I like that shirt,” Ronnie says.
Mom grins and pats her chest. “I bought it the last time we went out to California to visit Joe.”
Ronnie snickers.
“You bought that?” I ask.
“Who do you think bought it?” Dad asks.
“Joe,” I reply.
He rolls his eyes. “Your brother wouldn’t buy her something off-color like that.”
“Nope. I have to do it myself.” Mom laughs and Ronnie joins her. This is a side of my mother I’m not familiar with. Is this an aspect of her personality that’s blooming as a result of the stroke, or has she always been like this and I was too busy fighting with Dad to notice?
“I made lasagna,” Ronnie says. “And breadsticks. And, of course, a salad to balance it all.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Mom says. “Did you bring wine too?”
“Of course,” Ronnie replies, grinning.
Dad’s scowl deepens.
“The doctor said a little red wine is actually good for the heart,” Mom chastises him.
“A little isn’t the whole damn bottle,” Dad says in a way that makes me wonder if this is an old argument.
Ronnie glances toward the kitchen, where I can see Joe bustling about, presumably prepping the food we brought. “I should go help him,” she says.
“He’s a big boy,” I say. “He can figure out how to put a dish of lasagna on the table.”
Ronnie purses her lips and gives me a glare before saying, “So are you.” And then she hurries out of the room, leaving me alone with my parents.
Cue awkward silence.
“Uh…” I clear my throat. “You look good, Mom.”
“Thank you, dear. So do you. You look…happy. Is it because of Ronnie?”
Yes. I shrug. “She’s pretty cool.”
“Joe says she’s older than you,” Dad says. “Closer to his age.”
“And your implication is?” I ask coolly.
He shrugs. “Just telling you what he said.”
“What else did he say?”
“That the two of you are in business together.”
I brace myself for the onslaught of insults about my chosen profession, but either Joe didn’t give him details or Dad’s saving it up for a point when it will have more impact. Like the middle of dinner, for example. How many times in my life did I violently shove away from the table and storm out of the room?
Is it too late to come up with an excuse to leave? I glance at the kitchen doorway. Ronnie and Joe are standing side by side next to the stove. I can’t make out what he says, but I hear her responding laugh loud and clear. Without excusing myself, I storm that way, bodily thrusting myself between them. Ronnie is in the middle of tossing homemade dressing into the salad, and when I jostle her, a clump of romaine goes flying and slaps against the front of Joe’s T-shirt.
“Danny,” she snaps, dropping the tongs and elbowing me out of the way so she can brush away the lettuce and then blot at his shirt with a wet paper towel. He arches his back, pressing his chest into her touch. I can see his nipples through the thin cotton.
Jackass. With my luck, he and Dad are conspiring to lure Ronnie away from me and into Joe’s arms. Dad must approve of her if he’s trying to set her up with his favorite son.
“Trust me,” I say. “All it’s doing is improving his appearance.”
Joe snickers while Ronnie says, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” I say sullenly. It’s a blatant lie, and we all know it. But what the hell am I supposed to say? That I’m jealous of the relationship she’s developing with my brother, because I’m afraid she’ll realize he’s a better catch? That I’m dreading the inevitable argument with my dad, even as I wish we could actually get along? To add to my frustration level, I desperately want to tell my parents about our partnership—and I want them to approve, even though I know damn well they won’t.
“Christ, I need a drink,” I mutter.
“Here,” Joe says, shoving a beer into my hand. I’d rather it was something stronger but I suck at the bottle neck anyway.
“Better?” Ronnie asks. I shrug, pretending indifference. She purses her lips and brushes her hands together. “Well, let’s take everything to the table so we can eat dinner.”
Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s set it up for my dad to lambast me. In front of my freshly minted girlfriend.
This should be fun.
***
The ride home is silent. The condemning kind of quiet. The kind that screams, “You fucked up, buddy.”
And yet I let it go on, don’t try to talk, or, what I really should be doing, apologize for my behavior during dinner.
The quiet continues as we head up the elevator then down the hall to Ronnie’s apartment. When she opens the door, Pucker shrieks, “About fucking time!”
Neither of us laughs.
I place the bag of dinner leftovers on the counter, and Ronnie busies herself with unloading everything, putting the food in the fridge, the dishes she cleaned before we left my parents’ house in the cupboard. I make a half-ass attempt to help and she coolly says, “I got this.”
So I snag a beer and lean against the wall, letting her do her thing, waiting for her to finally speak to me.
I really should crack first and apologize, except I don’t know what I should be sorry for. Sure, my behavior was less than polite. Okay, yes, I was an asshole to my brother and father alike. And, of course, I pulled Ronnie into the sniping by announcing that I was an escort and she was my pimp, forcing her, while red-faced and sputtering, to explain that my description wasn’t entirely accurate.
I guess I do know what I should be sorry for.
Before she can do it herself, I make her a drink, Johnny Walker Blue Label over ice. When I offer it to her, she arches her brow before taking it and then walking into the living room. I follow like a meek puppy with my tail between my legs.
“Fuckers,” Pucker says from his perch in his cage near the window.
“I can’t take that,” Ronnie says. “Not tonight.” She strides over and drops the blanket over the bird’s home, and he falls silent.
She sits on the couch, and I lower myself next to her, close but not touching. For long minutes we drink in silence, and I fina
lly can’t take it anymore, so I drape my arm across the cushion and dance my fingers over her shoulder.
She shrugs me off before turning to face me. “We need to talk, Danny.”
Uh-oh. “You sure? I think I’d rather we act instead.”
“Act?”
“Yeah. Action. The horizontal kind.” I waggle my bushy eyebrows.
She rolls her eyes, but her expression sobers in seconds. “What the hell happened at your parents’ house tonight?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a snarky reply. What’s that called? Avoidance tactic? Instead, I go for honesty. “I was afraid. And acting out as a result.”
Her brows shoot into her hairline. “Afraid of what?”
My leg is shaking, and it makes me think of my dad, so I stand and start pacing from one end of the room to the other. Ronnie watches me while slowly sipping her drink.
“Everything.” I throw my hands into the air. My beer foams up but luckily doesn’t bubble over. “As much as I pretend otherwise, I really would like to have my dad’s approval. Just once in my life would be nice.”
“I know.” There’s so much sympathy in her voice, it’s enough to make a grown man cry. Almost. “But I think you’re going about it all wrong.”
“Huh?” What does she know about this topic? She’s never had to wonder if her parents approved of anything she’s ever done. They love everything about her. She can do no wrong. Although…
“Remind me to never invite Joe to a Frost family function.”
Her brow knits. “Why?” she asks.
“Because if your mom meets him, she’ll try to set you up with him.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Danny. She thinks you and I are…well, I don’t exactly know what she thinks, but it’s enough that she hasn’t tried to set me up since that day she caught us kissing in her kitchen.”
“Speaking of being afraid, is that the real reason why you don’t want to tell her you’re my girlfriend? Because secretly you know I’m not good enough? That you can do way better, and they all know it?”
“Where is this insecurity and self-loathing coming from?”
“It’s fact, Ronnie. Plain and simple. Should I start listing the ways you would be settling if you decide to stick with me long-term?”
“Considering we’ve gone into business together, I’d say I’ve already decided to stick with you long term.” Her voice has cooled so considerably I actually shiver.
“Business and relationships are vastly different, you know.”
“You’re right,” she says, standing. “When it comes to business, you have a great deal of confidence. When it comes to interpersonal relationships, you’re wallowing in self-pity and pathetic, pointless insecurities.” She walks to the kitchen and places her glass in the sink. With her hand on the counter, she partially turns toward me.
“I’m going to bed. Please see yourself out.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RONNIE
“Fuck waffles.” I gasp as I claw my way up the bed to lean against the headboard. My heart is racing, the pulse in my neck fluttering like it’s trying to take flight. I can still hear their cherub-like voices as they surrounded me like I’d become a cast member for the Village of the Damned. Four children with Danny’s blond hair had converged on me. Their Frost blue eyes, peering up at me from under bushy eyebrows as they chanted, “Mamma Frost, Mamma Frost, we want waffles, please. Waffles. Please. Waffles. Please.”
At least they had manners.
With a groan I ease back down under the sheet and rub my belly as a sudden craving for waffles smothered in maple syrup and ice cream sweeps over me. Such a bizarre dream. No, nightmare. It was definitely a nightmare!
A real-life nightmare for my mother when my siblings and I were growing up. I have no idea how she handled it. Or how she keeps up with us all now. I couldn’t. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve spent my entire adulthood avoiding anything that would lead to my life being defined by relationships or family. But Danny...these feelings I have for him, they’re making me crazy. One thing is for sure. I am no Mamma Frost. I am nothing like the incredible woman my mother is. All I’ve managed is to screw up royally, when all I wanted to do was help Danny reconnect with his family.
I flop on my back and stare at the ceiling. How long has it been since I haven’t woken up to Danny? His kisses peppering my skin, and his hands roaming in a way that could make even the most hardened night owl a fan of early mornings.
It’s been only hours since we fought, if I can even call it that. He’d tried to explain himself, and all I could think was that I couldn’t fix it. I can’t make him see himself the way I see him. And my efforts to help made everything worse.
I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I’ve never cared about the men I dated like I do about Danny. Perhaps I should tell him that, explain how much he means to me.
My phone rings, and I pounce on it, bringing it to my ear without checking the caller ID. “Hey, I’m so glad you called.”
“Good morning, love,” my mother sings. “Why don’t you greet me like that more often?”
“Um.” I expected Danny’s voice, so hearing my mother throws me for a loop.
“I just wanted to make sure you and Danny were coming tonight,” she says.
“Tonight?” I close my eyes and try to recall what I agreed to.
“Family dinner at Paynter’s, remember? We’re going to celebrate Danny’s new job.” Her voice wavers. “He still has it, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, Mom.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. He has a client this morning. Some brunch thing. I can’t recall the particulars.
“I wouldn’t want to embarrass him if he decided to go in another direction.”
“He still has the job, Mom.”
“Good. Great. We’re meeting at Paynter’s at six. You don’t need to bring anything. I’ve organized everything.”
“I-I’m not sure.” I’m not certain after last night that an evening with my family is a good idea. I have to see Danny, talk to him first.
“Six o’clock. I’ll see you then.” She hangs up on me before I can get another word in.
***
Danny’s deep in conversation with Erin. His elbows propped on the railing, he nurses a beer in one hand. He cracks a grin and takes a swig as though he’s completely at ease.
I wish I could do that. We haven’t had a chance to talk since last night. Danny had back-to-back clients, which is great for business. I’m proud of Rent-A-Danny and what we’ve managed to achieve in such a short time frame. It might not be Rent-A-Ronnie, and I’m thankful it isn’t, quite honestly, but this business we’ve built actually feels like an accomplishment in the way that working for Pascal Design never did. It’s nerve-wracking, actually. I’m realizing the goal I’ve had for so long, and ideas I never expected to entertain, like falling for Danny, are growing on me.
His gaze catches mine as I step out onto the deck, apologetic and a little sad. I move toward him, but this isn’t the place to rehash last night, and besides, I’m still not sure what I’m going to say.
His gaze tracks me as I veer toward the table where James, Garrett, and my parents are chatting over wine and beer. I swipe my clammy palms down the sides of my shorts and slide into the seat next to Garrett.
On the lawn below, my niece is sitting cross-legged, the cat in her lap, while the duck and goat chase each other around and around. It’s as amusing as always, but my heart kicks up a notch at the recollection of this morning’s nightmare.
“I missed you today,” Danny says into my ear as he puts his drink on the table and slips into the seat beside mine. Erin sits on Garrett’s other side. “It felt weird to wake up alone.”
It did, didn’t it?
“You’re working now?” Garrett asks around me. “Does this mean you’re going to start paying rent?”
Danny shrugs. “You golf. Are you going to start giving me lessons?”
Garrett huffs, all bark and no b
ite.
“Besides, I’m barely there,” Danny adds.
“Because you’re freeloading off my sister,” Garrett retorts.
“I’m not freeloading off Ronnie.” Danny waggles his eyebrows, his gorgeous mouth curving. I want to clamp my hand over his mouth before whatever’s on his mind comes out of it. “She’s very satisfied with our payment arrangement.”
“Danny,” I say through gritted teeth. Why can’t he behave like he does when we’re alone? Not the dirty, sexy stuff, but the guy who doesn’t have to hide behind jokes. “That’s not... It’s not what it sounds like.”
“Isn’t it?” He grimaces.
“No.”
“Then what are we doing, Ronnie?”
We’re dating. You’re my boyfriend. I think I might be in love with you. Telling my family that would be a first for me. It’ll change the dynamics. My mother will spend even more time meddling in my life. Am I ready for that? Especially when Danny was clear that he doesn’t think this will last. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” I stand. Danny doesn’t.
“Are things not going well between you two?” my mother asks. “Is it because Danny’s not straight?”
“What?” Danny asks.
“He’s straight, Mom. I already explained that to you.” I shake my head. How can she still be holding onto that? “He was working that day. Remember? You asked me about the benefits.”
“Right. I did. Are your employers treating you well?” Mom asks him.
“Mostly,” he answers.
“And you two are getting along?” Mom asks.
“Ronnie?” Danny stares at me.
“Uh. Yes. We’re getting along fine.”
“Fine, huh?” he mutters.
“Well, you know. It’s all so new and casual. I mean—”
“Casual?” Mom asks. “Is that like, what are all the cool kids calling it? Friends with benefits?”
“Oh my God, Mom.” Paynter rolls his gaze to the ceiling.
James clears his throat. “Tell us about this job, Danny. What does it entail?”