Finally...My Forever (Just One of the Guys Book 4)

by Kristi Pelton

  “You mean you don’t want them to know you paid me to come?” her brows arched high on her head.

  With a crooked grin, I nodded once. Jeez I must look like I had the most miserable of lives.

  “I trusted you to drive me home without murdering me. So, trust me?”

  “I have no reason not to. Why?”

  Unlocking her door, she started to get out. “Come with me.”

  The thunder had grown angrier over the twenty-minute drive to her place. Flashes of lightning lit our path as we made our way to her apartment. Two flights up and a long, steady deep breath later and we were at the door.

  “Brace yourself,” she said, opening the door.

  “Phoebe!” a little girl screeched, barreling into Phoebe. Little arms wrapped around her thin thighs.

  “Did you bring ice cream?” a pre-teenish boy asked from a doorway across the room. An overabundance of toys was scattered all over the floor. The TV played some princess sort of animated show, loudly. Popcorn popped from the other room.

  A teenaged girl with a head full of red hair tied up in a bun walked into the room eye balling me. “You’re off early,” she said to Phoebe, without taking her eyes off of me.

  Phoebe snagged the little girl up into her arms, squeezing her. “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “This is my friend, Austin. You guys have about one minute to get this place picked up,” she threatened, doing a form of hopscotch over the toys as she hugged the boy but also shifted the wee one into his arms. The girl holding up the doorframe took the little girl from the boy and instructed him to pick up the toys. Phoebe and this girl had a slight stare off.

  I seemed to have walked into a Shameless episode. Surely Lip was going to stroll in any second. Maybe a drunk Frank was waiting in the kitchen. I wondered if any of these kids were Phoebe’s. Maybe my proposition wasn’t the best of my ideas.

  For someone that typically stood confidently in a room, standing before four kids staring at me, waiting for me to say something, I wanted to sink into the floor. I waved, one swipe of my hand through the air, and smiled. “Hey.”

  “Are you sissy’s boyfriend?”

  Sissy? “No,” I said, “Just a friend.”

  “Hey, friend,” Phoebe said, putting emphasis on the word friend as she motioned for me to come her way.

  I followed the same hopscotch pattern she took into the kitchen. A ridiculously clean kitchen. Dishes rested in a dish rack next to the sink. Colorful drawings were magnetically attached to the fridge. The entire front of the fridge. The countertops were clutter free. The floors spotless. Damn.

  “We don’t have alcohol in the house. I have Pediasure. Gatorade. Chocolate and white milk. And water.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to take you up on this incredible offer, but I have responsibilities. Here. I’d help you if the wedding was here, but I can’t leave. I have some friends that I could ask. Though honestly, you are like a ridiculously hot guy. There has to be a girl that…”

  “I don’t want one of your friends,” I interrupted. “I’d really like for you to go. You said that there has to be a girl. Well, that girl is the one getting married.”

  Her mouth formed the O before the “Oh” came out verbally. Tilting her head back and forth, it was as if things suddenly fell into place. “Austin. Trust me. I need the money. But.”

  “What if. What if I could find someone to take care of things here. Someone you approved of?”

  “How would you…”

  “I’ll run background checks,” I interrupted again. “I have ways. My father has ways. I’ll cover the investigation and the cost.”

  The mounds of perfectly spiraled, strawberry, blonde hair fell around her face as a blush crept into her pale cheeks. For the first time, her green eyes landed on me. Jesus. She was Emma incarnate. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.

  “Why are you doing this? I mean, why me?”

  I scooted the chair back and stood. “I told you. I need a date and you seemed like the perfect fit.” I grabbed a pen from the table and wrote my phone number on a napkin. “Here is my number. You have until 8 a.m. to accept the offer. I promise you; I’ll make sure your family is in good hands while you’re gone.”

  She nodded and took the napkin. I wished I had her number instead of leaving mine, but I hoped in the morning when I woke up there would be a text.

  Ten is the number of times I looked at my iWatch during the night to see if a text had come through that I missed. Nothing. Dammit. The watch showed 7:58 AM. I grabbed my phone to scroll through names to see if any other possibilities of girls came to mind. A text came through, and my eyes darted up to the little notification. A number I didn’t recognize. Immediately, I opened it.

  It’s 7:59. Offer still open?

  I released an excited breath. Then grinned and responded.

  Because of your failure to text until 1 minute before the deadline, the price has declined. ☺ Deal or no deal.

  After I hit send, I regretted the stupid smiling emoji. The vibration of the phone brought a real smile.

  Deal. And that’s ok I would have done the date for less money anyway.

  Good to know. I’d have paid more. What’s your last name Phoebe?

  Miller. I’m guessing as time goes on over the next two weeks, I’ll come to realize why you’re single and paying girls to go out with you. Do you live in your mother’s basement?

  I chuckled, taking a sip of my coffee and writing her full name on a legal pad. Getting along with this girl should be easy with her sense of humor.

  I do live in my mother’s basement. But she has insulated the walls and ceiling well, so she doesn’t have to hear me gaming on my PS4 down here.

  Oh! I see. So, it’s your back. It’s hairy, isn’t it.

  I laughed out loud in my office.

  Mom helps me pluck it.

  Are your toes webbed?

  You’ll appreciate webbed toes when you realize I look like Aquaman without my clothes.

  Seriously, I’m still trying to figure out what is wrong with you. Aaaand. About you without clothes. Ground rules?

  Yep. I shouldn’t have sent the no clothes comment. Presumptuous. Damn. Bad decision.

  Name them.

  I sent the text then glanced at the brief on my desk that wasn’t getting reviewed and then back at my phone. Waiting. Feeling way too giddy for this time of morning.

  For starters, let’s get the person staying with the kids figured out. That ok?

  I already had people working on that just in case she said yes.

  Yes. I should have three people for you to interview this evening. Are you working? Nope. That’s right. You went and impressed me last night with your karma remark.

  That was my second job. I’m on the bus right now heading to my day job. Some of us don’t drive Tesla’s and wear expensive clothes.

  My jaw cocked sideways at the little jab.

  The Tesla is a rental.

  Really?

  No.

  When the middle finger emoji popped up on the screen, laughter erupted in my chest.

  The knock on the door drew my eyes away from the phone. Will hustled through the door looking like his over-eager self, except his tie was crooked.

  “Dean wants to see us down the hall for a minute.”

  I nodded. “I’m in the middle of a very important conversation. Give me a sec.”

  “Ok, I’ll let him know.”

  I grabbed my phone.

  I have a meeting I need to go to. I’ll help you tonight with the interview process. Does 6:00 work? I’d like to see how the ladies are around the kids. OK?

  Yes. That works. You may be too nice for me. IJS

  My fingers tapped away on Google to figure out what IJS meant. ‘I’m just sayin’ popped up and I grinned, flipped back to the text and tried to think of something clever to say. I had nothing.

  You just haven’t seen my
super mean side yet.

  OK. Ted Bundy. I’ll see you at 6 at my fancy crib.

  I knew what crib was.

  I’ll bring some dinner for everyone. Pizza?

  The hood rats love CHEESE pizza. I’m sure you’re more of a shrimp linguini kind of guy. ☺ see you then.

  Shrimp linguini? Shaking my head, my fingers hovered over the keys as I tried to think of something else to type mainly because I liked talking to her, but I let it go. A meeting was waiting on me. First, I swiveled around to my computer and emailed a friend at the Texas Bureau of Investigation. I needed to know everything there was to know about Phoebe Miller.

  With four hot pizzas in tow, I parked and walked up the steps. The front door opened right away, and Phoebe’s sister met me with a not so welcoming look.

  “Hey,” I greeted with an unsure smile and held the pizza boxes up, which were actually burning my damn hand. I didn’t figure she was going to take them.

  “See them?” she pointed behind me, so I turned around to look. Six bikers, on what looked to be Harley motorcycles, either sat or leaned against bikes in the parking lot. “Friends of mine. Friends of my sister. A fair warning not to hurt her.”

  Little did this girl know I had an army of my own. “I have no intention of hurting her. That’s not what this is.”

  “I know what it is, and you better be good for the money.”

  “She’ll get the money.” I had a feeling Phoebe had been wronged or slighted before. Her sister had more freckles than Phoebe.

  “Sloan, what are you doing?” Phoebe asked, opening the door fully. She spotted me and the bikers. “Oh my God. You called Nick?”

  Phoebe slid past her sister and took the boxes from my arms. “I’m sorry. She’s…difficult.”

  “Phoebe. You ok?” a guy shouted.

  Both Phoebe and I turned around to see a guy with faded jeans, black boots and a black leather jacket take a couple of deliberate steps our way. The temperature was 90 degrees. My aviators blocked his ability to realize I stared right at him.

  “Nick. Go away. Actually, kiss my ass. You have no business here. So, go.”

  “Damn. Way to handle business,” I laughed beneath my breath.

  “Come on.”

  Once inside, I met the other three kids formally this time. Heather, Claire and Jake, all named after Phoebe’s grandmother’s favorite characters from 80s movies. I chuckled as Phoebe told me, but she didn’t seem to find the humor.

  “Heather was after the movie Heathers. Claire was after The Breakfast Club.” Phoebe rolled her eyes.

  “Both classics,” I said. “And Jake and Sloan?”

  “Sloan was Ferris Buellers Day off. Jake was Sixteen Candles. Hopefully he will be as dreamy as that guy. The entire concept is ridiculous though.” She looked away from me, trying to hide her face.

  “If my father would have had his way, I’d be named Vito Corleone.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “What? The Godfather!” My arms shot out to the side. “Freebie, that’s really disappointing.” I teased, lowering my chin and shaking my head.

  She shrugged, laughing. “I’ve never heard of it. Is it old? How old are you?”

  “Not that old.”

  The sparkle in her green eyes held my gaze longer than it should have.

  “And Phoebe? Where’s that from?”

  “Well, Mr. Corleone, figure it out.” She flipped those adorable red curls and left the kitchen.

  I mentally noted to Google 80’s movies and the name Phoebe. I also vowed to watch Sixteen Candles so I could see how dreamy this Jake character was and what she found dreamy.

  The interviews with the long-term babysitters seemed to go well, all three women being more qualified than necessary. Phoebe had the final say and she was going to text me in the morning after talking with her siblings about who they liked. I knew this would be hard for her.

  As I cleaned up the pizza boxes in the small living room, I spotted her standing in the kitchen wiping her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was crying, but I also wasn’t sure if I should approach her or what to say if I did. After consolidating all the pieces of pizza into two boxes and glad they had plenty for leftovers, I quietly strolled into the kitchen.

  “You ok?” I asked softly.

  With her thumbs she swiped beneath her eyes and nodded her head, the mess of reddish blonde hair bouncing.

  “Phoebe?”

  Her nod slowly turned into a shake as her shoulders fell. “Seriously. They are totally happy tears. I promise.”

  “About?”

  “I think today, tonight, it registered that this was for real. That you were serious about this $10,000 thing.”

  “I’m completely serious.”

  “I get it now. See these?” she asked, holding up a stack of papers.

  “I do.”

  “These are bills totaling $12,473. Thanks to you...to this…date thing…these are going to be almost paid off. I cannot thank you enough.”

  It was no business of mine why she was in debt, and I regretted the question before it came out. “Bills from?”

  “Jake’s tonsillectomy. Claire’s tubes in her ears. Sloan’s braces. There’s been a lot.” The exhaustion in her voice was evident.

  Processing the amount of shit this girl had on her plate baffled me. “Where are your parents? If you don’t want to answer, it’s ok. I’m just curious.”

  Phoebe sat at the table covered with two sippie cups, wet wipes and a written-out calendar of events. “My mom is an addict. Heroin. Strung out. Homeless. You name it. The court placed the others with me. I had to make it work instead of foster care. I wasn’t gonna let that happen.” Her shoulder jetted up and down.

  My mind was in awe. I didn’t have the words she deserved. “That’s admirable. Very unselfish.”

  “You do that for your family.” She shrugged.

  “They don’t have some sort of insurance? Medical cards?”

  “No. I make too much money to qualify for medical card guidelines.”

  She never would have known from my calm exterior, but a part of me growled. Our fucked-up system was a disgrace. If these kids would have gone to foster care the state would have picked up the tab. They go to a biological relative that busts her ass for them and they get nothing. Then there’s another faction of people that live off the state for generations and generations.

  “I’m sorry. So, the money for my cause is going to pay those off?”

  Phoebe exhaled slowly and nodded happily. “Yes. And, I thank you so, so much.”

  It wasn’t my place to pass judgement on what she did with the money. I didn’t like that it was going to pay medical bills, but I was pleased that it made her happy.

  “I think I’d like to choose Hannah. She’s really nice, and the kids liked her a lot.”

  Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I texted the woman she’d chosen. She was my first choice too. “Done. We need to start training, so she will start tomorrow night, ok?”

  “Training, eh?” she smiled. “It’s like the Olympics,” she giggled.

  “Yes, training. Dating seems a bit inappropriate of a word for what this is.”

  Phoebe glanced down at her cute little toes. The broken and peeled pink polish needed touched up. “I get it. Tomorrow night it is. Shall I meet you somewhere?”

  “We have two weeks exactly before the big day.”

  “I’m a quick learner. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

  The living room was clean when I walked toward the front door. Phoebe seemed to run a tight ship. “I’m not worried about that, Phoebe. Not even a little bit. You’ll probably even walk away with a gold medal,” I teased, winking at the girl I was fighting a growing attraction to.

  Once I opened the front door, I casually scanned the parking lot for my Harley friends. The lit parking lot proved they were nowhere to be seen. “I’ll pick you up here.”

  When I reached the car, my phone buzzed. I turned the key to
kick on the air. Saying the July Texas heat was brutal was an understatement. Between the stifling humidity and temperature, it literally robbed you of breath. Simply from the walk to my car, my damp shirt stuck to my back. Once the air kicked on, I glanced at my phone.

  The email from the investigator and a text from Phoebe. I read the text first.

  Thank you for the pizza. Thank you for the interviews. The help. All of it. Sometimes, I can’t find the words to tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity. A text seems lame but.

  I glanced up at the window and saw her peeking between the curtains. I texted back.

  You’re welcome for the pizza. The interviews and the help. Your words were perfect. A text was not lame. Get some sleep.

  The curtains closed, and I smiled.

  During the forty-minute drive home, I replayed watching her plate pizza for the kids. Each of them stood patiently while she slid a piece on their plate, handed them a napkin and then patted their head. Then the little ones smiled up at her with eyes beaming. There was no doubt Phoebe was their world. She’d become a mother by circumstance. Not one of them her biological child, but siblings she’d taken in like a mother hen. The brief explanation regarding her mother left me with more questions, but we had time to get into that later. Two weeks to be exact. One thing was for sure. Her life may have resembled Fiona Gallagher a little bit, but my Fiona had her shit together way more and had the most beautiful head of red hair.

  “Call Tomas,” I instructed Siri, and the phone started ringing as I navigated through traffic.

  “Austin. What’s up?”

  “Hey, I got your email but I’m driving. Any chance you can give me a rundown as I drive?”

  “Of course. Phoebe Miller did have a record.”