Page 56 of The Nice Guy
“Yep. I’ll have to have this printed out to hang up at my place.”
His place. “Why haven’t you taken me to your house yet? Do you have a wife and kids locked away there that you’re hiding?”
He laughs loudly, and I smile. I love hearing his laugh. “My house is a bachelor pad. Besides, I love your house. I’ve always loved it. I don’t know if you know this, but I tried to buy it when your grandpa passed.”
“Wait, you were the buyer my lawyer tried to get me to sell to?”
“Probably.”
“I’m glad I didn’t accept.”
Nodding, he gazes into my eyes. “Me, too.”
Everything led me here. Right here to Rhett, and I hold him tightly as we continue to dance under the stars. It makes me think of what my future holds, and everything I come up with has Rhett there beside me.
Chapter Eighteen
Rhett
For almost two months, things have been great between Brynlee and me. We’re official, and there have been no other incidents of people in town talking about her that I’ve been made aware of. We went to buy her a new car at Isaac’s dealership, which makes me feel a lot better knowing she’s driving safer these days.
Every night is spent in bed, and the sex is amazing. Even when I dated Honor for those six months, we didn’t spend as much time in bed as I do with Brynlee. But more than that, we talk. We dream. It feels like the universe has finally given me the woman I’ve prayed for.
Last night was a late one, and not only am I sore, I’m tired as hell. Coffee at three in the afternoon isn’t something I normally make, but I need a pick-me-up. Especially since we’re getting together again tonight, and tomorrow is Thanksgiving with my family. She’s finally meeting everyone.
For the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m on borrowed time with her. That we’re in this together with the same goals and wants. She wants everything I do, and I’m feeling more secure than ever before. Until the moment I hear my guys talking in Stanley’s office across from the breakroom.
I stand by the coffeemaker as I wait, and the door to the breakroom blocks me from view of anyone. They’ve all gathered in my shop manager-slash-accountant’s office.
“She’s way too hot for him,” Tyler says, and I get that sinking feeling in my gut. The one that tells me he’s talking about Brynlee. And me.
Normally, I don’t mind this type of conversation. When I’m involved. I’m more than aware that my girlfriend is way out of my league, and it’s kind of a compliment when guys tell me I really leveled up. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter that they wonder why she’s spending her nights with me.
“Rumor has it, Rhett’s packin’ some big equipment downstairs, if you know what I mean. That’s what Honor tells everyone—poor Everett—and that has to be at least part of the reason she’s stayed with him so long. Women do tend to stay with a man who can lay it down that well,” Roger says.
The comment disgusts me, but it’s also confusing that it’s a little flattering. I think. They’re acknowledging I’m not onlyabove average in areas that can’t easily be improved upon, but also that I have sexual prowess. Which is true. Unlike them, I don’t brag about it.
But the fact that Roger, and now everyone in Stanley’s office, actively think about my dick size ruins it. I don’t know how I’ll look them in the eye again. The guys have now thought of me naked thanks to Roger. That borders on sexual harassment, I think.
“Have you seen the guy she’s engaged to?” Stanley asks.
Wait, did he just say engaged?
“No, who is he?” Tyler asks. “And she’s engaged? What’s she doin’ here if she’s marryin’ someone else?”
“Kevin Sandoval. You know… Sandoval Whiskey? It’s his company. The guy comes from big money. His dad is some real estate tycoon in the Midwest, and he likely did business with the mob. Oh, and I think Kevin’s a model, too.”
I never ask about Brynlee’s ex, and she never brings him up. Now, I regret that decision. I can’t get his name out of my head. Kevin Sandoval. Kevin Sandoval.
“And Brynlee’s marryin’ him? Holy shit, he’s good lookin’,” Tyler says.
“Accordin’ to this, they’re gettin’ married in February. It’s a lovely little weddin’ countdown website. It’s goin’ to be a big deal—Jesus, look at that engagement ring!”
My world crashes to a halt. She’s getting married in February? What have I been doing with her, then? She said he was her ex-fiancé, but what’s with the countdown? I have to know everything about this guy.
“Hey…” Roger asks, his voice wavering. “Who made coffee at three in the afternoon?”
“That’d be me,” I call from the other side of the door.
