Not That Kind of Guy

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  “You didn’t know that she was just trying to plan your life and curate who’s in it. Just like she’s been doing your whole life?” Bridget asked, though he knew it was a rhetorical question. “After last night, when you were so sure that being married to me was the right thing, it was that easy.”

  He didn’t have anything to answer that with. It had been that easy. So easy for him to doubt her. And if so little could make him doubt that she was exactly what she was—tough, kind, generous—and that she loved him, then maybe his big feelings weren’t enough to make a go of this.

  Before he could open his mouth to speak any words, she did it for him. “I should have signed those divorce papers at lunch.”

  He couldn’t disagree, no matter how much he wanted to. Looking at her, even now when she was looking right through him, made him achy all over. He wanted to touch her, and he knew he’d think about kissing her for the rest of his life. She felt like his match on a deep level, and it wrenched at him that he could be wrong about that.

  She must have been going through something similar. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have palpable chemistry. She stepped toward him and put her hand on his chest. Then she brushed her hand over his chest again and the pocket where he’d put the divorce papers before leaving.

  He took them out, knowing that she would think he was the biggest asshole on the planet when he did. But wasn’t he?

  Even if he’d approached this as delicately as he ideally would have, she wouldn’t forgive him for not believing in her.

  “You brought them with you.” Bridget bit her lip and made a noise that was somewhere in between a groan and a laugh. “Classy.”

  “It’s not what it looks like.” He felt sick again.

  “That’s my line.” She tipped her chin at him. “You have a pen?”

  “You don’t have to do this.” He wanted to take it all back and beg for her forgiveness even though he didn’t deserve it.

  “Yeah, I think I do.”

  Matt knew when he was fighting a losing battle. That was the one thing he could say for himself. He might not have had the good sense to disbelieve his mother’s wild theory about Bridget this morning or the better sense to keep any doubts to himself, but he knew that if he didn’t give Bridget a pen right now, she might cut herself open to sign the papers in blood.

  So he pulled out his grandfather’s pen and handed it to her. She smirked before pulling the papers out of the envelope. It probably took less than a minute for her to sign and initial all the designated places, but it felt like agonizing hours. It felt like she was cutting his heart out while he was awake.

  And when she was done, she was out of the coat closet in a flash. He could still smell the faint residue of her perfume in the air, and he tried to savor it for a moment before leaving. She was gone, and he wouldn’t get to smell it again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  BRIDGET HAD NO IDEA how she made it through the reception before losing her ever-loving shit. When she’d walked out of the coat closet a single woman, she didn’t feel any different. Except for the gaping hole in her chest that she was walking around with. It was surprising that she could function like that—dying inside—for hours on end.

  Everyone had taken her excuse, that Matt was still not feeling up to snuff, without question. Aside from a couple of concerned looks from her parents, everyone bought the fake smiles, the well-timed laughter, and her terrible dancing at face value.

  No one knew that she’d just taken a fatal shot to the heart.

  It was so different from how things had gone down with Chris. Due to the family/neighborhood grapevine, everyone had known about that inside of forty-eight hours. She didn’t have to tell anyone that her life had just blown up. They just knew and adjusted by not inviting them to the same things at the same times. They’d even had the courtesy to blame Chris for the whole thing.

  This . . . she didn’t know who to blame. The whole thing was a fuckup and a mistake. From the first moment she started thinking about Matt as anything but her intern, she’d set off down this path. Of course it wouldn’t end in anything but heartbreak.

  As soon as Jack and Hannah left for the airport and their honeymoon, she knew she was only going to have a little bit of time before she fell the fuck apart. The rest of the bridal party was deep in their cups, telling stories at tables scattered throughout the reception venue.

  She grabbed her bouquet and clutch and trailed away from the group, allowing her smile to fade as she walked away. She couldn’t wait to get to her bed.

  Almost home-free.

  But it was not to be. Chris, who she thought had left hours ago, intercepted her in the lobby.

  “Where’s your hubby?” he sneered.

  She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a douchebag, but she didn’t really have the energy. Besides, it wasn’t all about him. It was at least a little bit about Matt.

  “Not feeling well.” She pasted on one more fake smile. “I’d better get back to check on him.”

  She moved to circumvent her ex-boyfriend, but he grabbed her arm. “I need to talk to you.”

  She sighed. “Send a fucking text. Better yet, an e-mail so I can ignore it.”

  “C’mon, Bridge. You’re better than this.”

  “Better than what?”

  “Looking through me. Acting like you don’t even know me.”

  Bridget’s temper snapped. “But isn’t that the issue? I never really did know you. And you never even wanted to know me. You wanted me to fit into your life the way you wanted, and then you were out the second I didn’t follow exactly your plan.” She made a motion to the banquet hall. “But I was wrong about that, wasn’t I?”

  “I’m not the only bad guy here,” Chris said, and he was right. He wasn’t the only bad guy here. She was the one who persisted in throwing away good love after bad with him. And she hadn’t learned anything.

  “Yeah, my bad that I didn’t once question my decision when it came to loving you.” Not until it was too late.

  Chris paused. He let her go because it was clear that she wasn’t going to leave without finishing this conversation. Maybe it was best to rip off all the Band-Aids and light a big enough fire to raze her past and all of her bad decisions.

  “I’m sorry, Bridget.” He sounded contrite for once, but she wasn’t quite ready to just let things go.

  “How many times do I have to accept your apologies before you stop hurting me?” It was the first time she’d ever asked that question. She’d always accepted his apologies because he was so sweet when he gave them. Hell, he was just as sweet now. But she was immune to his sweetness now. She’d lost a taste for it, and only had a taste for sweetness from one man—another one she’d lost.

  “This is the last time.”

  She didn’t have time to avoid it, but she should have seen it coming. He smashed his lips against hers, and she was stunned for a long moment. It didn’t last long, though. Almost like a reflex, she put her hand against his chest and pushed him away. “What the hell was that?” She wiped off her mouth for good measure.

  “C’mon, Bridget.” He held up his hands as though he’d bumped into her accidentally, not ambushed her with a surprise kiss. “I saw the way you two were today. And we had so much fun last night.”

  “We had a couple of drinks. And how we were is none of your business.” She hated that even her oblivious ex sensed the tension between her and Matt. That meant that she wasn’t going to have very much of a grace period with her family. “And, even if we were fighting, it wouldn’t be an invitation for you to try whatever that was.”

  “Don’t you miss me?” Chris asked plaintively. “I miss you all the time. We had that conversation last night.”

  “Just because we had a conversation that didn’t end in a shouting match or a death threat doesn’t mean that I want to try to
get back together with you.” Bridget started edging her way toward the elevator. “There are plenty of women online who can help you out with a hand job if you’re lonely.”

  “I don’t want any of them.”

  “Well, you can’t have me.” God, why did guys always have to do this. Make everything about what they wanted and their dick? Even Matt couldn’t understand why she hadn’t run to him right away about his mother’s offer. Sure, it looked bad, but he’d only allowed himself to see it in a way that was all about his ego.

  “You’re just going to throw away all that history?” Chris sounded so confused, and she wasn’t even thinking about him anymore. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” It wasn’t as though their history didn’t have value. It had taught her exactly what she didn’t want and exactly what she needed in a relationship.

  The elevator arrived and she turned her back on Chris.

  “He really makes you happy?” he asked when she looked back.

  “He does,” she said with a nod. He did. And now she would just have to get over him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  BRIDGET SHOULD HAVE GONE to her own condo after the wedding, but she really didn’t want to sleep in a bed she’d shared with Chris and Matt. She wanted both of those men out of her mind as soon as possible. Scrubbing Matt out of her heart would take a while, but she was determined to do it.

  After the wedding, she’d spend a few days in her childhood bedroom, milking her dad for all the scrambled eggs and buttered toast he would make.

  Her parents had a hotel room for the night, so the house was empty when she snuck up the stairs and found her faded Northwestern T-shirt to sleep in. It was weird how normal it was thinking about her parents staying together after all these years. Seeing them canoodling at the wedding hadn’t turned her stomach once.

  It hadn’t even bothered her thinking about it later. She was too emotionally exhausted to sustain even that temper tantrum. She’d passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  But even though she was past caring that her parents were really back together, she wasn’t prepared to have a heart-to-heart with Mommy Dearest the day after her own ill-thought-out marriage fell apart.

  And that was actually going to happen, because her mom was perched on the end of her bed. It made her feel like a wayward teen, even though this scene had never played out during her adolescence.

  Bridget rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “After noon.” Her mother’s brow rose. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s more my home than yours.” That sounded more sullen than she’d wanted it to. It was true, but kind of snitty.

  “Why aren’t you with your husband?” Bridget didn’t like how her mom’s eyes got all wistful when she mentioned Matt. It couldn’t possibly be that Molly actually cared about her marriage. She was probably just thinking about all those sweet donations to the museum drying up if Bridget and Matt didn’t work out.

  “Don’t worry about it, Molly.” She relished her mother’s wince, even though it was crappy. “Matt’s mother will probably hand over their entire collection of Rothkos now that our marriage was dissolved.”

  Her mother’s face sort of crumpled, and Bridget felt extremely guilty. She felt even more guilty when her mother said, “You really think I was worried about how this would affect my work?”

  Not deep down. But Bridget had been resisting getting close to her mother—hell, truly close to anyone—for so long that it was second nature at this point. Pushing her mother away extra hard after she’d pushed Matt away was just all a part of that.

  In the cold light of day, she knew that she’d probably made a mistake not trying to talk it out with Matt. But she was so tired of taking care of everyone else’s feelings.

  When would someone take care of how she felt for once?

  And her mother wasn’t going away this time. Maybe she was for real about trying to be a family again. Just this once, Bridget let herself hope a little.

  “What happened?” her mother prodded.

  Bridget already felt hollowed out and empty. What more damage could letting her mother in do? “He thought I was with him for his family’s money.”

  Her mother’s eyes flashed with a temper she’d never seen from her, and she stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. “What?”

  “His mother offered to pay off my student loans if I signed divorce papers on the spot.” That really raised her mother’s ire because she ran her hand through the elegant bob that never had a single gray strand out of place. She even made a deeply unladylike grunting noise before Bridget continued, “I told her to shove it up her ass.”

  That earned her a half smile from her mother. Maybe they weren’t as completely different as she’d thought. “I can only imagine the look on her face.”

  “Barely fazed her.” Bridget remembered the slight start that Jane had given when Bridget had started talking in a loud voice in the crowded restaurant. Very satisfying, but she’d decided to double down quickly. “Well, she told Matt that I was all set to take it.”

  “And he believed her?” Bridget could visibly see her mother’s regard for Matt go down as the volume of her voice rose.

  “Shh!” Bridget tried to get her to quiet down. The last thing she needed was Sean Nolan coming up here. She only wanted to tell this story once, and she didn’t want to have to talk her father out of going after Matt, loaded for bear. “You’re going to get Dad up here, thinking he’s going to have to break up a catfight.”

  “He believed her?” her mother asked, more quietly this time.

  But it was too late, because her door swung open and her dad entered. This was going to be a huge pain in the ass. At least he’d brought eggs and toast—with bacon.

  “Do you need a little hair of the dog?” he asked as he put the tray over her legs. Her heart warmed. At least she’d always had one parent who cared for her. Maybe that had been all she needed. And even though she’d accepted her parents being back together, she still worried about her dad. Who would take care of him when Molly left him again?

  “What the hell are you two doing?” Bridget asked, not capable of a filter anymore.

  “What do you mean?” her father asked as her mother said, “We’re not here to talk about us.”

  “No, seriously. What are the two of you doing together? Besides the sex stuff that I don’t want to hear about.”

  Her dad shrugged and looked at her mom like he looked at heavily discounted lumber prices. “She’s the one.”

  “But how did you know?” She’d thought Matt was the one, but it had turned out that he was only one of two. “And why did you stay away from each other for so long if she was the one?”

  Her mother grabbed her father’s hand. “I know because I tried to be without him, and my life didn’t make sense.”

  “For more than a decade and through a whole other marriage, your life didn’t make sense?” It just wasn’t logical. All those years that her family was right here waiting for her, and she’d always seemed happy when she took them to lunch or brought presents over for birthdays and holidays. “I thought you didn’t want us.”

  “I made a lot of mistakes.” Her mother came back to sit on the bed and grabbed her hand. Bridget wanted to pull it away, but part of her was so starved for maternal tenderness that she didn’t. “The biggest one was that I didn’t make sure that you and the boys knew how much I loved you.”

  “You said it.” Even Bridget could admit that her mother had never treated them like a burden when she was around—it was just that she wasn’t around a whole lot.

  “But I should have shown it more. I just—I didn’t feel like I was a good mother when I was here. I hated the day-to-day of it all, and I didn’t want my resentment to spill out and ruin everything. I’d never had anything of my
own my whole life. I left my parents’ house, became a wife and mother, and I never knew who I was. I never knew what I had in your father and you and your brothers, either. If you give me a chance to be in your life—really—again, I promise that I won’t take any of you for granted. Not for a second.”

  And for what felt like the millionth time that weekend, Bridget’s eyes filled with tears. As they fell, her mother wiped them away. And Bridget let her. “I should have been here to do that when you were first falling in love with a boy.”

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything. I decided I was in love with him when I was four.”

  That’s when her father piped in. “When he whipped his johnson out and pissed in your wading pool? That little son of a bitch is lucky that they’d started frowning on corporal punishment by then.”

  “He was always a little shit,” her mother said on a laugh. “I would have tried to talk you out of him.”

  Her father grunted. “I would have wished you luck with that. The girl always was as stubborn—”

  “As you are?” She had to admit that it was comforting to watch her parents bicker in such a nonmalignant way.

  Her father just grunted again. “Eat your eggs.”

  Bridget followed instructions, eating her breakfast while her parents gazed at her with worried looks on their faces. “You guys don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?” Her father had the audacity to look innocent. “Just when I think I get all three of you knuckleheads out of my house for good, your dumbass brother gets a divorce and you get married and divorced in a butterfly’s lifetime.”

  Her father made the way she’d blown up her whole life sound almost poetic.

  “It’s not her fault.” Her mother was trying to defend her? Maybe she was living in an alternate universe.

  But her mother was wrong to defend her on this. She’d made a decision in the heat of the moment and decided that Matt couldn’t possibly love her because he was having doubts. Totally natural doubts given what he’d gone through with Naomi and the fact that they barely knew each other before getting married.