At this point I was staring at him with amused eyes, struggling like the devil not to laugh. “You remind me so much of my grandpa.”
“Oh, yeah. How so?”
“He was a cranky, curmudgeonly fusspot who loved complaining for the sake of complaining.”
“You find me to be... curmudgeonly?” He seemed to balk just saying the word out loud. “A fusspot?”
“Very much so. You’re like an old crusty crab trapped in a Greek god’s body.”
“All I heard was Greek god, so thank you very much. I work hard to maintain this physique. It’s a constant struggle to look this good.”
“I can’t.” I burst out laughing. “I just can’t with you.”
“Hey, you’re the same,” he stated plainly. “So speak for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re like an old cantankerous bat trapped in a Roman goddess’s body.”
“Thank you,” I said kindly and took a sip of my coffee. “I was born with this physique. No struggle at all to look this good.”
He simply smiled at me, saying nothing.
“What?” I asked. “What?”
“You.” His tone was accusing. “You’re just so cocky.”
“Oh, I’m the cocky one?” I took another sip. “You’re the one who exudes BDE.”
“Bruh, you think I give off big dick energy? Why you gotta bring my dick into this?”
“Seriously, bruh?” I almost choked on my coffee. “Did you just bruh at me?”
“Yeah, you give off that bruh vibe. I’ll be honest, though.” He stopped playing with his keys long enough to pick some invisible lint off the front of his sleeveless hoodie. “I totally misjudged you. I thought you’d be different.”
“Why?” I cocked an eyebrow. “Because I own a horse and I love horses?”
“Well...” he hedged. “Maybe.”
“I could tell, you know.”
“How?”
“You were giving me the look.”
“What look?”
“You’re doing it right now,” I stated matter-of-factly. “The no-judgment judgment look.”
A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “I’m coming from a place of complete judgment when I say this...”
“Humph.” I cut him off and gave him a bit of side-eye. “Be careful what you say.”
Seemingly unruffled by my threat, he said, “In my experience, horse girls are huge red flags. But you’re a lot different from the horse girls I’ve dated.”
“Were they country or city girls?”
“Does it make a difference?”
“It can. Country girls with horses are great. City girls with horses tend to be pretentious, spoiled brats. I’m generalizing, of course.”
“Interesting. Even horse girls judge other horse girls. So I take it you’re a country gal?”
“You betcha,” I said loud and proud. “I’ve been shoveling shit on my family’s farm since I could hold a shovel.”
“Wow.” He chuckled softly. “You’re the most Wisconsin woman I’ve ever met. You sound like you were born inside of a cheese head sitting atop a Green Bay Packer fan.”
“You mean Wuh-scan-sin?” I said, laying on the thick accent. “And please don’t ask me if I’ve ever been attacked by a black bear or make a comment about the harsh winters. It’s the twenty-first century. There are clothes for cold weather. Get over it.”
“So why’d you move out to sunny California?”
“I got offered a job out here.”
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“And where do you work, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“UCSF Medical Center. I’m a specialty nurse. An ECMO specialist.”
“A what?”
At the moment, I didn’t really feel like going into the details of what I did for a living, so I said, “I work in the intensive care unit.”
“That sounds... intense.”
Sighing heavily, I reached for my croissant and took a moment to chew and swallow before continuing. “It is. Some days, I question if I made the right move.”
“In regards to moving out here or to your career choice?”
“Both.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Not a fan of the city, huh?”
“Not really,” I answered truthfully. “One thing’s for certain, you can take the girl off the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the girl.”
“I see.” He observed me for a moment. “Your farm roots run deep.”
I toyed with the crumbs on my plate. “It’s been a challenge, really... moving out here with Gouda.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Gouda is your...?”
“Horse.”
“Right, right, of course. Dumb question. Of course you didn’t move out here with a wheel of cheese.”
“Would you judge me if I did?”
“No, not really.” Another pause. “Only if it was Swiss cheese. Nasty stuff. Like eating cardboard with holes in it.”
“Agreed.”
“So,” he ventured, “what’s been the biggest challenge so far?”
“Since moving out here?”
He nodded his reply.
I thought about this briefly then said, “Turnout and commute time.”
“I see...” His voice trailed off. “Now I’m gonna ask you another dumb question. What’s turnout?”
“At the facility where I board Gouda, turnout is being outside for two to four hours in a paddock that has enough space for him to trot around, but not to canter or gallop. The further I go from the city, the more turnout I’m likely to find, but then I have to deal with a longer commute to work. Most stables in the Bay Area have way too many horses for the acreage they have. There just isn’t enough turnout for any one horse to be outside for very long.” I stopped myself. “Am I boring you with this stuff?”
He didn’t bother stifling an obnoxiously loud yawn. “Excessively.”
“So, yeah,” I carried on venting. “It’s hella expensive to board Gouda in Portola Valley and you add on the cost of living here.” I drew in a tight breath. “I’m broke as fuck.”
Surprise marked his features. “I always thought horse girls are just basically cat ladies with more money.”
“Ha ha.” I gave a humorless laugh. “Very funny.”
“I think it’s crazy that you’re going broke trying to own a horse.”
“People go broke doing crazier things. You’re a guy,” I said accusingly.
“Great observation,” he said wryly.
“Do you own a fancy car?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Car guys are the equivalent to horse girls.”
“Why, yes.” He smirked. “Especially if they drive a Mustang.”
Ignoring that cringe-y pun, I glared at him. “Was that a smirk?”
“I didn’t smirk.”
“Anyway,” I went on, “my point is, what I do is no different from dudes who spend all their money on cars.”
“Actually, there is a difference. For one, my car doesn’t shit everywhere. And if I run into some hard times or have other priorities to attend to, I can stick my car in the garage for a year or two and it would cost me nothing during that time. You can’t do that with a horse. You can’t neglect a horse, even if you don’t have the money or the time. It’s a twenty-four-seven drain on your energy and resources.”
“I guess you’re right.” I gave a tired laugh. “Upkeep, feed, and care for Gouda does not come cheap. Then there are bills from the vet, the dentist, the farrier...” I trailed off. “I’m sorry, it’s been a bit overwhelming lately.”
“Then why do it? Why do you own a horse?”
“He makes me happy. Cars don’t. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
He grew quiet for a heartbeat. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?” he said, not unkindly.
“My horse gives me more psychological support than any of my friends. Gouda is well worth every penny I’ve ever s
pent on him, and he’s all that matters to me.”
“I still think you’re crazy,” Edric said with a teasing note in his voice. “Is that why you’re on a farmers dating site? City folks just don’t get it?”
“They don’t. When a guy on Tinder tells me he owns a hot sports car, that’s doesn’t excite me. But if he has a truck and if his truck has a hitch, well,” I said with a smile, “land, truck, and hitch is pretty much my equivalent of hitting the trifecta.”
“Interesting.”
“And these city guys with their high-rise condos and million-dollar mansions—I don’t find them appealing. But if you tell me you have a house with some land in an area that’s zoned for agriculture, now that’s sexy.”
“Then you’d probably find me ultra-sexy since I have both.”
“Huh?”
“I live in a multi-million dollar mansion that sits on ten acres. My nan used to keep horses on her property so I’m pretty sure it’s zoned for agriculture.”
“You live with your grandmother?”
“No, Camille lives in Australia. I’m one of two grandkids, and she left this ranch to me. My brother got a ranch out in Perth.”
Lucky bastards. “So you weren’t lying about the horse property?”
“Technically, it was my friends who set up my profile, so to answer your question, they weren’t lying about the horse property. But they lied about everything else.”
“All in the name of love?”
“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “They won’t stop until I meet the right woman. Seriously, I’m about to lose my goddamn mind. What’s next? Amish dating sites? Diapers mates dot com? Will this foolishness never end? I’ll do anything to make them stop.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
The look I gave him was long and considering. “Remember when you called me ‘bruh?’”
“Yeah, that was like five minutes ago.”
“So we’re like homies, right? Because I find you to be someone I can easily hang out with and have a good time. We can banter and it’s not forced. It just feels natural, ya know? We don’t have to go digging deep for conversation.”
“You can say that.” His mouth curled slightly. “We can hang. We can kick it, whatever you wanna call it.”
Treading lightly, I offered a thought. “And since we’re homies, you’d never date a girl like me, am I right?”
“Erm...” he hedged.
“No, don’t worry,” I said at once. “I won’t get offended because I’d never date a guy like you.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “We’re bruhs. You’re like the male version of me.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I gasped inwardly.
That’s why! That’s why there’s just something about him that speaks to me. And it’s no wonder why I instantly took to him. It’s like spending time with myself. And I like spending time with myself.
“I’d like to proposition you, Edric.” Fuck. I felt the color rise to my cheeks. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I have a proposition for you.”
“I like what I’m hearing.” He sat up straighter. “Tell me, Lucy, what do you propose?”
“An exchange of sorts.”
“I’m listening.”
“Your matchmaking friends, you want them to back off, am I correct?”
“You are.”
“So if we pretend that we’re dating, their roles will be called into question.”
He watched me, nary an expression crossing his face. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say what I said,” I deadpanned. “Because how can they be matchmakers when you’ve already found your match?”
“They can’t,” he stated flatly.
“Precisely.” I drained the rest of my coffee in one gulp. “I’ll be with you at all times to fill the deafening silence of your loneliness. And in exchange, you’ll allow me to board Gouda at your place. You have horse property, so why not let me use it?”
“Mmmph.” He fell silent, as if considering, but my decision had been made the second I saw this as a way to get my horse into a better home.
All of a sudden, his stomach roared like a grizzly bear.
“That wasn’t an earthquake,” he assured me. “Just my stomach growling.”
“Here.” I tore off a chunk of my croissant and offered it to him. “See, we’re just two friends breaking bread at the table, affirming trust, confidence, comfort—”
“All right, all right.” He took my offering and shoved it into his mouth. “We have a deal, but you have to promise me one thing.”
“Depends.” I arched a brow. “What’s this thing I’m to promise?”
“You can’t fall in love with me.”
I laughed in his face. “If anything, you will fall in love with me.”
“Doubt it.”
“Wanna bet?”
“If I were a betting man, which I am, I’d say it would be a fool’s bet.” He kept his tone matter-of-fact. “I’m telling you, most women I date end up falling in love with me. They can’t help themselves. I’m too irresistible. You’d be playing cards against a stacked deck.”
I made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “If you’re so sure of yourself, why not put your money where your mouth is? Let’s make a wager. We’ll keep money out of it since I’m broke.”
“Okay,” he said. “If I win, you have to name your firstborn child after me.”
I tried not to barf. “I have to name him Edric?”
“Yes. Blessings unto you and your lineage if you name him after me.”
“What if I have a girl?”
“You name her Edrica.”
Edrica? I stared at him with abject horror. God, I hope I don’t look back upon this day with abject regret. My lips moved in a silent prayer for my unborn child.
May he or she never be cursed with such a hideous name.
I made a promise to myself to light a votive candle at our Lady’s shrine, entrusting my fervent prayer to the Blessed Virgin Mary’s loving intercession.
“Fine,” I said at last. “But only my child’s middle name.”
“A reasonable compromise, so I won’t object that.” A pause. “What about your child’s first name? Whom would you name him or her after?”
I shrugged. “Someone from The Office, I guess. Pam, Jim, Dwight, Kevin, Michael, Meredith.”
“Toby, Phyllis, Angela, Stanley, Creed.”
“All solid contenders,” I said thoughtfully. “And if I win, you have to take me to a Celine Dion concert. In Vegas—front-row seats. And you have to give me a thousand bucks.”
“Hold up,” he said shortly. “Wait a hot minute. Why do I have to give you money?”
“I’m a broke ass bitch. You’re not.”
“Fair enough.” A pause. “And why Celine Dion?”
“Why Celine? Whyyyyy?” I said fiercely. “I’m deeply, deeply offended. Why not Celine? She’s the queen of Quebec, the queen of lung-busting power ballads, and the queen of my heart. Near, far, wherever you are... my heart will go on for you, Celine,” I waxed lyrically.
“Oh-kayy,” he said drolly.
“Before you speak any further, I’m warning you that I will abide no snark directed at Celine. Slander her in my presence at your peril. Remember, she’s Canada’s generous gift to all mankind.”
“Wrong,” he said without inflection. “Justin Bieber. He’s Canada’s generous gift to all mankind.”
“Gah! You’re wrong.” I huffed. “How dare you? Now you’ve awakened the sleeping moose.”
“You’re not even Canadian.”
“True,” I said sheepishly. “So... do we have a deal or not?”
As his hesitation stretched, I said, “Look, best-case scenario—your meddlesome friends will stay out of your love life since you’ll have me to fill the deafening silence of your loneliness.”
“You already said that.”
“I know. I love saying it�
�‘deafening silence of your loneliness.’ And just so you know, you’re gonna love dating me. You’ll see,” I said with conviction. “I am charm in a bottle. And I’m so much fun to be around. An absolute riot!”
He didn’t blink, didn’t bat an eyelid. “Worst-case scenario?”
“I end up falling in love with you, which means your uber-pretentious name will live on in my firstborn child.” Of course I failed to mention that I’d likely win the bet and he’d be a thousand bucks poorer and I’d get to see the best female vocalist of all time perform at Caesars Palace.
Yep, he was going to get the bum end of this deal. Not me. I was sure of it!
“You know what?” he said at last. “That sounds like a win-win to me.”
“Yes!” I flashed him a winning smile. “So we have a deal?”
“We have a deal.” He laughed, but there was respect in his gaze. “Well played, Lucy.” He gave a slow clap. “Well played. Your hustle game is strong.”
“Thank you.” I lifted my chin and met his gaze full-on. “I was raised by the hustle and enlightened by the struggle.”
“Tell me more.”
“Not much to tell, really. No rich parents, no handouts. Straight hustle. Always had to scrimp and save to get by. But enough about me,” I said, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “So we’re really doing this, are we?”
“Yep,” he said, popping the P sound. “But we’re doing it my way. I don’t half-ass anything.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if we’re supposed to be dating, you need to let me take you out on a date. And we have to be very convincing because my friends, Miguel and Adelaide, they can smell a rat from a mile away.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I’m very good at playing along.”
“Are you now?”
“Trust me on this one. They won’t smell this rat. I’m a beaver, remember? Because DAM!” I dissolved into a spasm of giggles. “I don’t know why, but your lame ass pick-up line is so bad it’s funny.”
“You’re bananas.” He stared at me with amused eyes.
I made a face to let him know I thought he was bananas.
“All right,” he said. “We’re gonna make a pact. As of today, we are officially the Rat Pack. Let’s pound it out.” Fist closed, he reached forward and gave me a pound.
The Good Mistake (Hemsworth Brothers #3) Page 4