“You won’t have to talk to Lawry. I just need you to pacify her with daily texts.”
Oh, fuck, no. “I hate texting women. And I loathe pacifying them more.”
“You hate being texted by women you’ve fucked and plan to never see again.”
Stout makes me sound like a colossal dickhead. But he isn’t wrong. I have a four-step routine when it comes to dating.
One: I fuck a woman.
Two: She clings. Every. Time. Because that’s what they do.
Three: I call it quits.
Four: End of story.
I’m not a manwhore. Well, maybe I am a little.
I was married to Bridgette for six years. We weren’t in love. Never were. She was my best friend and unfortunate circumstances forced us into a marriage neither of us wanted. I couldn’t love her the way a husband should, so our marriage was over before it ever began. We never had a chance at making it work. There was too much tragedy. Too much hurt.
But I did love her in a different kind of way. And I respected the vows we made to one another, even if we were only nineteen at the time. That means I didn’t fuck around on her… until she asked me to open the doors of our marriage.
So, yeah. I guess I’ve used the time since our divorce to have as much sex as I wanted with many willing women. No harm in that.
Those looking in at my marriage from the outside probably saw a nasty love triangle destined to end poorly for me. That wasn’t the case at all. It wasn’t Bridgette’s or Warren’s fault they fell in love. It just happened. I wasn’t a husband to her so I didn’t feel betrayed. People couldn’t understand that or how I could be so forgiving. Especially after everything that happened.
As Bridgette’s husband, I was the partition between my two best friends. I was preventing two people I loved from being together.
Damn, those were rough times. Fucking brutal.
I didn’t want to be the one standing in the way of their happiness so I did the only thing I could: step aside as Bridgette’s husband and as Warren’s business partner. Best decision of my life.
Fuck, I don’t know why I’m thinking of things long buried.
“I know I’m asking a lot of you.” Stout’s voice forces my thoughts back to the present.
Why ask me? “Porter knows your sister. Wouldn’t he be the better candidate?” That makes better sense to me.
Stout laughs. “Porter goes completely stupid when it comes to Lawry. He’d probably forget he was supposed to be texting as me and hit on her.” I’ve never known Porter to be interested in one particular woman. I have no idea what his type is. I guess the Lawrence type.
“I’m already putting my workload off on Porter. It would be pretty shitty to place double duty on him.” I can agree with that.
I lean back in my chair and tug my beard as I consider the task being asked of me. There is no way I could come off as Stout. We are so different.
He’s a dreamer. An idealist.
I’m a numbers man. Logistical.
I know nothing about his relationship with his sister or their history. This is fucked up.
But Lovibond needs this problem to go away. And fast. If a thirty-day inpatient program is what it’ll take, then I have to help make that happen.
“Why do you feel the need to keep this from your sister? You’re an adult. Can’t you tell her what happened the same way you told me?”
“If she knows I was charged with DUI, she’ll immediately worry I’m an alcoholic. I’m not. I swear. I can lay it down today, never have another drink, and I’d be fine.”
Stout likes to have a good time, but it’s never caused a problem. “I know you’re not.”
“We have a strong family history with drug addiction so I don’t want to upset her.” He’s never mentioned that.
“You’re saying it would be like maybe a text a day or every other day? Something like that?”
“Probably more than one a day but still not a big deal. She mostly messages about random stuff happening in her life. Porter could help you out if you run into a problem.”
It’s texting. I hate that shit, but how bad can it be? “I’ll do it.”
Stout closes his eyes. He brings the top of his closed fist to his mouth and clears his throat before he chokes out, “Thank you.”
“No problem.” At least I hope there’s no problem. “When does the façade begin?”
“I’m scheduled to check in to the clinic tomorrow morning.”
“That soon, eh?”
“No reason to wait. The sooner this is behind me, the better, so I can get back to work.” He ain’t lying about that. Lovibond is going to suffer while he’s out.
“How are we going about doing this?” I need specifics if I’m going to pull this off without a hitch.
“We usually speak once or twice a week. When you don’t take her call, she’ll leave a message. She always does. You’ll need to be clever when you decide how to explain away why I’m unable to talk. You can’t bullshit Lawrence. Her meter is spot on.”
“What do you mean I can’t bullshit your sister? My understanding was that this whole thing was specifically about bullshitting her.”
“It is. I just meant you can’t give her any of that usual nonsense you feed women. Be genuine. Respond the way you would with your sister.”
I don’t have one of those. But I have Bridgette. She’s very much like a sister and I’d never bullshit her. “I’ll do my best.”
“And you have to tell her you love her at night. That I love her. You know what I mean.”
I have all the feels now. “Should I text her hearts as well?”
“I send the smiley faces blowing kisses. Or hearts. Either is fine.”
I. Was. Fucking. Kidding.
I’ve never done hearts, flowers, or any of that other shit with a woman. Ever. Not even my mom. And definitely not Bridgette. It wasn’t how we were with one another. “All right. It’ll be hearts and kissies for sissy.”
“I owe you one, Tap.”
“Yeah, you do. A big one. And don’t you forget it.”
“Name what you want. I’ll make it happen.”
“I hope you know I plan to make this worth my while.”
“I’d expect no less out of you, Tap.”
Texting the sister.
Hearts and flowers. I’m a smart guy. I can wing charm and brotherly love. I got this.
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A beautiful neighbor. A complete stranger. That’s all she was when I moved in next door.
Adelyn Maxwell is my neighbor but she’s no girl next door. The more I come to know her, the more I discover she’s a good girl with a lovely dark side. And maybe I don’t want her to stay on her side of the fence.
I want to disturb the rhythm of her pulse.
I want to see the way her hair spills on the bed when she lies beneath me.
I want her to teach me the dirty pretty things she desires behind closed doors. And she does.
But mostly I want to leave my mark on the most intimate, untouched part of her body. Her heart.
A seemingly insignificant intersection of our lives neither of us recalls suddenly becomes a pivotal moment in our future. We aren’t strangers at all. And our paths aren’t crossing for the first time.
These twists and turns of fate will become one of two things: a wrecking ball to tear us apart or the connection to bond us together forever.
***Note from Georgia—Stout is one of three books in the Men of Lovibond collection. Each novel will feature a different couple and can be read as a standalone. HEA. No cheating. No cliffhangers.
The house surrounded by a white picket fence. The house sitting in the middle of a perfectly manicured lawn. The house with the inviting brick steps leading up to the front door. This is a home where every member of the family living under the roof wears a true smile. Says please. Says thank you. Says I love you. Not shut your bratty mouth before I give you something to cry about.
This is the kind of house my childlike mind envisioned when I dreamed of the place where happy people lived. This is the home every kid deserves. From the beginning. Not after six years of torment.