Page 98 of Bad Situation

Jen goes back to making sandwiches on the kitchen table and I haul another trash can of rubble out the back door.

Sarah is back at work and my mom needs to get back to it soon. Larry, the philandering dickhead, told me to take as much time as I needed. I’m afraid he just wants me out of the office but it’s not my fault he was stupid enough to meet in a public park and go at it like a horny teenager with his subordinate. Get a hotel room like a normal adult.

Speaking of hotel rooms, I woke up this morning with a hangover and a hard-on. That’s never happened to me but I’m experiencing all kinds of firsts when it comes to the very down-to-earth millionaire who has me twisted in knots. I’m doing shit I don’t normally do—like drowning myself in a fifth of whiskey to keep from putting my hand through a wall because I’m so pissed at life and how I’m handling it.

Which, in my case, means handling it with the precision of a rusty saw that’s been mangled to hell and back, which is exactly how I feel right now after the whiskey.

Then I saw the wall-sex burn she had on her back this morning. If I could kick my own ass, I would.

Something to know about Jensen Montgomery—she does not travel light. She had salve for her back and PMS meds for my headache. I was grateful enough to take whatever she gave me because I felt like shit about not being careful with her while I was drunk. I deserved to feel like I’d banged my head against the same wall I fucked her against.

When I told her I had to finish cleaning up my parents’ house today, she pulled sweats and running shoes out of her bottomless suitcase and offered to help. Then she called her protection detail and told him he’d better not wear a suit today unless he wanted to ruin it while he helped me tear out a kitchen. Between the three of us and my mom, it’s going fast.

“What would you and Sam like for dinner? I’ll order takeout since we can’t cook,” Jen asks my mom as I’m on my way out the door.

My mother looks at her like she hangs the moon and the stars.

This after my mom dragged me into their bedroom this morning to ask me ten million questions about the surprise woman who showed up yesterday. She couldn’t be happier and it has nothing to do with any phone call Jen has made since her pricy shoes landed in Chicago. As my mother put it, it has everything to do with the way that woman looks at her son. She even added that she doesn’t give a shit that she’s not Catholic, but she left out the shit part.

So, there you go. It was love at first sight for my mother, because never in my life did I think she’d be abso-fucking-giddy about me being with someone who wasn’t Catholic. It’s who she is.

“That’s so sweet. Anything you want would be great. No!” my mom exclaims. “Maxwell’s. It’s a greasy spoon but you have to try it while you’re here. We’ll get you the pork chop and the Polish sausage—you can try both.”

I’m about to inform my mom that her new girl-crush doesn’t eat much meat, but Jen’s eyes cut to me in a flash and she lies, “That sounds great. I’ll call ahead so we can pick it up.”

I shake my head and watch as she hands out sandwiches on paper plates before she parks her sweet ass next to my dad on the sofa.

Simple. Someday, maybe we’ll get there, but today is not that day.

*****

Jen

We just took off and Chicago wanes behind us. Andrew took a seat facing the back, which I appreciate. He’s good at staying close yet pretending he’s not here.

Eli, on the other hand, has contemplative written all over him since we said goodbye to his family this morning. I told him he didn’t need to fly back with me, but he insisted he needed to get back to work, as well.

I have a feeling I know what’s eating at him since he basically spilled it all when he came to me drunk the other night.

I look to him. “I know what you’re thinking and you need to stop.”

He runs a big hand across his scruffy jaw before shifting to face me and throws an arm over the back of the sofa where we’re buckled in. “Yeah? What am I thinking, my little mind-reader?”

I narrow my eyes and kick him with my old-school white Adidas with black stripes. “We’re not different. There’s no your world and my world and fitting here and fitting there. I’ve been through this before and I certainly don’t want to go through it with you.”

He gives my hair that he was twirling around his finger a little yank and smirks. “You know what they say about people who assume shit. For your information, I think you fit with me like a glove and I’m not interested in you fitting with anyone else.”

I’m taken aback. “Oh.”

“If you want to know the God’s honest truth, I was wondering if private jets come with snacks at the same time cursing your security detail for being here. I’d like to put my mouth between your legs and make you scream to show my gratitude for showing up, but I don’t feel like doing that in front of Andrew.”

I wet my upper lip with the tip of my tongue and watch him watch me do it. I’m sure Andrew heard him say that, but I’m also sure he could hear us through the adjoining door the past two nights. “Oh. That’s not what I thought you were thinking.”

His eyes meet mine and they turn serious. “I don’t give a shit how much money you have or that you can fly off on a moment’s notice in your private jet.”

I tip my head. “It’s not my jet. I only have access to it.”

He raises a brow but ignores me. “Your job is your job—everyone has one. Just because yours comes with a bigger paycheck, doesn’t mean you work harder or have it easier than anyone else. It is what it is. I do find your shoe fetish obnoxious and your taste in food annoying, though.”

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