Rent-A Husband Page 5

  She smiles with a nod and walks over to the stainless steel fridge.

  “How long have you owned this place?” I ask.

  She pulls a beer from the fridge for me and passes it over. “A few years now. I started saving for a down payment as soon as I started working after college.”

  “Thanks for this.” I nod at the beer and twist off the cap. “Where’s your garbage?”

  “Just under the sink.” She points in the general direction.

  I toss out the cap and take a sip. “You don’t strike me as a beer drinker.”

  For some reason, picturing Camila kicked back with her feet on the coffee table and a beer in her hand is a struggle. She comes off as sophisticated, even when she’s dressed down and makeup-free.

  Her cheeks turn the prettiest of pink. She’s obviously thinking something behind that blush.

  “What?”

  “I’m not a beer drinker. I just grabbed some because I thought you might be.”

  I pause for a beat, taken aback by how thoughtful she is. “That’s really nice of you, thanks.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” She waves me off and goes to sit on the stool at the breakfast bar, creating more space between us. “Isn’t that what contractors do when they’re done working? Kick back with a beer?”

  I chuckle. “I usually do paperwork, but yeah, that’d be an apt description of my brothers’ end-of-the-day ritual.” I bring the beer bottle to my lips.

  “Oh, do you work with your brothers?” She rests her chin in her hand.

  “Yeah, the three of us co-own the business.”

  She smiles. “That’s wonderful. So where do you fall in birth order? No, wait!” She raises her hand. “Let me guess. You’re…” Her gaze runs up and down me, and I have the urge to puff out my chest and raise my chin, but I hold back. “You’re the oldest, am I right?”

  Her grin makes me smile. “How’d you know?”

  She shrugs. “Just a guess. You mentioned you do the paperwork while your brothers sound like they clock out at five. Plus you seem pretty responsible and are a take charge kind of guy.”

  “Okay then, what about you? Any siblings?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m an only child.”

  “I can’t imagine not always having a sibling in your space, ratting you out to your parents. Did you like being the only child?”

  She seems to really think about her answer. “It could be lonely. My mom worked a lot to put food on the table and it was just me, so I used to wish I had a younger brother or sister all the time.”

  I notice she made no mention of her father, so even though I’m curious, I don’t ask. We don’t know each other that well and I don’t want to overstep.

  We chat some more while I finish my beer, and I find out that she works for a large headhunting firm in the city. From what I can tell, she’s good at her job and enjoys it. We steer clear of our personal lives, and by the time I finish my beer, I realize that not only is this woman beautiful, she’s also intelligent, funny, and kind.

  Though I wish I didn’t realize that, because that knowledge only makes it more difficult to hide my attraction to her. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable and have her pull me from this job. That would leave me scrambling to find another way to earn enough to send my grandparents on that cruise.

  Ten

  Camila

  I’ve been distracted at work all week.

  If my mind isn’t wandering to thoughts of how Lucas called me beautiful, it’s remembering that Elijah is now engaged, as is my best friend. Thank goodness it’s not to each other. The one makes me sad and the other happy, but they have both set off a panic button in my subconscious that time is ticking steadily and I still haven’t found anyone.

  Which is stupid, because I don’t even want to date right now. The sting from my breakup hasn’t healed and I am in no way ready to try again.

  When I arrive home from work on Friday night, I decide to go for a run to clear my head. I’m tired of feeling this way. I know I need to just get over Elijah and move on. It’s not even that I’m not over him really, it’s more…

  I try to push my thoughts back from where they’re headed as my feet pound against the pavement, but it proves impossible. The feelings of betrayal and loss I encountered when Elijah revealed that he’d been cheating on me and had fallen in love with someone else echoed back to when I was eight years old and my dad left to go to the store and never returned. When will I be good enough for a man to stay?

  Tears prick my eyes as I increase my pace, my muscles screaming at me to slow down, but instead I lean into the burn. I refuse to let these tears fall. Neither of the men deserve them. I’m a good person and deserving of love. Sometimes that voice in the back of your head is a vile creature and wins the battle, but not tonight. No way.

  Finally, twenty minutes into my run, my mind clears and I fall into the zone where I only exist in the present. There’s nothing behind me, nothing to worry about in the future, just the here and now as my feet hit the pavement, one after the other in a steady rhythm.

  I don’t hit the nearby trails. Instead I stay within my neighborhood and eventually head back toward my house. When I reach my driveway, I pull my key from the zippered pocket in my shorts and unlock the door, grabbing the mail from the mailbox before I head inside. I flip through the various envelopes as I make my way over to the sink to get water. Bill, bill, bill, wait.

  I glance at the return address information on the soft pink envelope and read the name Amy Griffins, causing my stomach to plummet.

  Amy is a coworker of mine who is getting married this summer. But that’s not the issue. The issue is that Elijah and I used to pal around with Amy and her fiancé, Greg. Elijah and Greg hit it off and became friends in their own right. Which means that Elijah, and by extension his fiancée, will be attending all the wedding events—along with poor little single me.

  My stomach revolts and I inhale a deep breath to stop the vomit running up my throat. I drop the mail on the counter and suck in air. My legs feel weak and I hold the counter for support. Whether that’s because I just ran for almost an hour when I haven’t eaten since lunch, or because of the realization that my summer will be filled with awkward and embarrassing encounters with my ex and the love of his life, I can’t be sure.

  It’s not like I didn’t know Amy is getting married this summer and that I would likely be invited, but I hadn’t given any thought to what that would mean, practically speaking.

  When I feel more in control of myself, I blow out a breath. “Shit.”

  What am I going to do? I can’t imagine facing Elijah and his new fiancée in person, but at the same time, I can’t not attend the wedding of my friend.

  While I don’t know what I’m going to do about this situation, I do know what I’m going to do right now. Not bothering with a shower, I head to my bedroom and change into a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt. It might be a little heavy for summer when I don’t have the air on, but they’re comfy and my only priority right now is comfort.

  After I’ve changed, I head back to the kitchen and grab a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a bottle of wine. I don’t bother with the glass, I just uncork the bottle. It’s a straight-from-the-bottle kind of night. Then I take the envelope with me into the living room and set it on the coffee table for when I’ve worked up the courage to look at the wedding date that now feels like an execution date.

  I bring the wine bottle to my lips and take a large swig, then I set it down and rip open the potato chips. Once I’m chomping down on those, I flick on the TV and cue up one of the many true crime shows I’ve taped.

  For two hours, I vacillate between looking at the TV screen and staring at the envelope until I’m startled by a knock on my door. I don’t know who it could be. I’m not expecting anyone. Maybe Amber’s internal BFF alarm was set off by the energy I’m putting into the universe.

  I stand from the couch to answer the door and have to
put a hand on the arm of the couch to balance myself. Maybe I’m more drunk than I thought.

  Once I’ve steadied myself, I gingerly walk over to the door, sucking in deep breaths in an effort to not look like the sad reality I am in the moment. Maybe it’s just a neighbor asking to borrow some sugar.

  Yeah, when’s the last time that happened?

  I swing the door open and stumble back, catching myself before I land flat on my ass.

  It’s Lucas. Looking as good as always in a pair of cargo shorts and a dark navy T-shirt that stretches over his lean muscles in all the right places.

  Terrific. I can only imagine what I look like right now.

  “Hey…” His eyes widen a bit when he gets a good look at me. “The store called and your tiles came in, so I went and picked them up. I was just dropping them off. Sorry, I should’ve called first.”

  “No problem. Bring them on in.” I paint on a big fake smile while fighting back tears.

  Could this day get any worse?

  “You sure? I can just bring them with me tomorrow.”

  “Bring them on in. I’m just watching TV. You’re not interrupting anything.” I feel as if all my words are coming out clearly, but with the way he’s looking at me, there’s a chance I’m wrong.

  “All right, I’ll just go grab them from the truck bed. You go back to whatever you were doing.” He rushes off without another word and I give up the fight.

  What the hell? Who cares if he sees me like this? I have no reason to want to impress him—other than preserving some pride, but it’s too late for that.

  I leave the door open for him to come and go, then I flop back down on the couch to continue my pity party. I’ve become a master at them.

  Eleven

  Lucas

  I was not expecting the scene I walked into when I arrived at Camila’s.

  She’s been crying at some point, if the trails of black mascara over her cheeks are any indication. And I’m pretty sure she’s drunk. Her eyes are glossy and she had trouble standing up straight. I’m used to seeing her in tight-fitting clothes, but tonight she’s wearing baggy sweats at the beginning of summer.

  Something is definitely up.

  Though I had the thought that I should call before I came over, I was already in the truck and I didn’t want to pull over to make the call. Now I’m thinking I should have.

  I bring in the first few boxes of tiles and find Camila lying on the couch with one arm slung over the side, face half mashed into the pillow, watching TV. My next trip in, I spot the mostly empty bottle of wine sitting in front of her.

  She doesn’t pay me any attention as I bring in supplies. When I’m done, I debate whether I should leave or try to see what’s going on. She’s clearly upset and it doesn’t feel right to just abandon her, so I close the front door and walk into the living room.

  I sit on the arm of the couch near her head. “Hey, is everything okay?”

  “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Her voice is higher pitched than normal.

  “I don’t know, you just seem like you’re upset. Is there anything I can do?”

  She sits up and stares at me for a minute, not saying a word.

  “Should I be concerned that you’re sitting here watching murder shows, downing a bottle of wine and crying?” I try to lighten the mood with a lame joke, but she doesn’t crack a smile.

  Instead she crumbles into tears and covers her face.

  I slide off the arm of the chair to come sit beside her. “Hey, hey. It can’t be that bad. Maybe I can help. What’s going on?” I reach out to place a hand on her knee to comfort her but retract at the last minute.

  “There’s nothing anyone can do. I’m screwed.” She lets out a laugh, then dissolves into crying again.

  This time I do pull her into an embrace, rubbing my hand up and down her back. “Hey, hey. Every problem has a solution. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on so that I can help?”

  Her sobs dry up a bit. “There’s nothing you can do, short of making an imaginary boyfriend appear,” she says into my shirt before pulling away and wiping under her nose with the back of her hand.

  “Start at the beginning.” I’m holding her by her shoulders and trying to make eye contact with her, but she won’t meet my gaze.

  “It’s going to sound stupid.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “It will.” She stands from the couch and my hands drop.

  “Come on. Even if I can’t help fix your problem, you’ll probably feel better just talking about it.”

  She paces in the space between the coffee table and where the TV sits on a piece of wood furniture against the wall. “Fine, might as well complete my humiliation for the day.”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” I assure her.

  She stops walking and meets my eyes. “I’m having an emotional breakdown in front of my handyman. I have snot and tears running down my face and I’m sure you’ve already clocked the bottle of wine and chips that were my dinner.” She motions toward where they sit on the coffee table.

  “Camila, everyone loses their shit from time to time.”

  She lets out a long sigh and her shoulders droop. “A few years ago, I began dating a guy I worked with. Elijah. I fell hard for him and I thought we were in a committed relationship. We exchanged I love yous all the time, stayed at each other’s places, went on vacations together. I thought we were progressing toward marriage. Until about six months ago when he came to me at work and told me we needed to talk. I naively thought that he wanted to talk about our future. He did, I suppose, just not in the way I expected.”

  Hearing her talk about how in love she was with another man isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but I school my expression to hear her out. “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to tell me that he’d been seeing someone else for a couple of months and that he was in love and was leaving me for her. Apparently he figured out that he never really loved me once he met her.”

  “What a piece of shit.” My hands clench into tight fists.

  “Pretty much. He cheated on me, then had the gall to act as though I was overreacting when I was upset. Like I made up how serious our relationship was and read into things.” She tilts her head down and looks at me from under her brows. “When he took me to his family’s the Christmas before, he introduced me as his future bride.”

  I shake my head and press my lips together. The asshole needs a good boot up his ass.

  “Anyway, long story short, he and that woman are now engaged to be married.”

  “So that’s what you’re so upset about?” I frown.

  Camila shakes her head. “No, that’s what I was upset about the night my shower broke. Tonight I’m upset because I just got this wedding invitation.” She picks up an envelope from the table and tosses it to me.

  My jaw hangs open. “He invited you to his wedding?”

  She shakes her head. “No, this is Amy’s wedding invitation.”

  “Who’s Amy?” I scratch the back of my head. Is she so drunk she’s talking in circles?

  “Amy is my coworker whose fiancé is friends with my ex, Elijah, who I know also has one of these invitations and will be attending with his new fiancée on his arm.”

  It takes me a second to put the pieces together, but I nod in understanding. “You’re upset because you’re going to have to face him at Amy’s wedding?”

  “And her. Alone.” Camila crosses her arms and sticks out her bottom lip. It makes me want to nibble on it, which is fucked up given the conversation we’re having.

  I feel for her. It’s a shitty situation to be in, even without having to spend hours upon hours in the same room as them. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

  She nods. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I already felt like a fool when Elijah tossed me aside, but the idea of being in the same room and witnessing them together…” She shakes her head and shudders. “I don’t know if I ca
n do it. But if I don’t show, everyone will know why. Not to mention the whole missing my friend’s wedding part.”

  My chest aches at seeing how much pain this dipshit, Elijah, has caused her. It’s obvious she’s not entirely over him, no matter what she says.

  “Could you bring a friend?” I offer the only solution I can think of, but she shakes her head immediately.

  “My best friend, Amber, would come with me, but I can’t ask her. If I show up with her, everyone will know it’s for moral support and I’ll look even more pathetic.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I just want to move on with my life.”

  I can’t help myself. I slide over to her and pull her into an embrace. “Don’t forget that this Elijah guy is the one who came out of all this looking like a prick. You did nothing wrong by opening yourself up to him.”

  A dark chuckle leaves her lips. “Nothing wrong except trusting him not to hurt me. I should’ve already learned my lesson.”

  I pull back and look down at her. “What do you mean?”

  She sniffs, her tears having now dried up, and waves me off. “It doesn’t matter.” She steps back from me and I let my hands drop to my sides.

  I heave out a sigh. “What will make you more comfortable going to this thing? Maybe I can help you figure something out.”

  She bites on her full bottom lip for a second. “I thought of one thing while we were talking. It’s a crazy idea, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Camila spins around to turn her back to me. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

  “No idea is stupid. Just spit it out. Even if it’s not feasible, maybe it’ll spark another idea.”

  She turns to face me again, wringing her hands. “Okay, well… the idea that maybe you could be my date and you know… pretend to be my boyfriend popped into my head. But that’d just be weird, right?”

  Twelve