Marry Me for Money (15 page)

“Thanks for a wonderful night,” Brian said, releasing me.

I stumbled back, still high on that kiss. When I regained my footing, I waved to him as he held the door open for me. I thought my heart skipped a beat as I rode up the elevator. I touched my lips where he had just kissed as I leaned against the wall of the elevator for support.

When I entered my apartment, my phone started buzzing in my purse. I reached in to pick it up.

“Hey, just wanted to see that you got inside safely,” Brian said.

“I did.” I was smiling like a giddy little schoolgirl, and I was glad he couldn’t see how cheesy I truly looked.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Beth. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I hung up the phone and started doing the happy dance before jumping up and down twice.

Life in Chicago so far was all I’d imagined and hoped it would be.

I was up, bright and early the next morning for brunch. “Hey, you,” I sang in my cheery singsong voice as I approached Kent, waiting outside my apartment.

I linked arms with him as he led us to our destination.

“Shh,” he whispered, wearing sunglasses even though there was no sun in sight.

I had a feeling he’d had a long night. He walked slower than usual and his eyebrows pulled together as though he was in deep concentration but most likely it was because his head hurt from the light.

“Okay, so where are we going?” I yelled obnoxiously as we walked.

“Please, Beth, have mercy.” He pulled me in the other direction, and we started heading toward the lake.

“I’m sorry. That was mean. You could have canceled. I would have understood. Long night?” I asked, immediately feeling bad. It wasn’t like I’d never had a hangover before.

He stopped at the corner and raised his hand to hail down a cab. “Was it ever. I woke up with a woman lying next to me. That never happens. I was so wasted that I didn’t have time to show her out,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t see as he opened a cab door. I scooted inside and Kent stepped in behind me.

“The Bongo Room,” Kent told the cab driver.

“The Bongo Room sounds more like a club than a breakfast place,” I said.

“Trust me, it’s good food. I know you’ll appreciate that.” He leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

I decided I’d give him some peace and quiet until we reached the restaurant. I thought back to the night before with Brian. I had hoped he would have called me to say good morning. I forgot that only boyfriends did that, not someone I had only been on one date with.

When I looked over at Kent, he was staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You have this ridiculous grin on your face. Did you get laid last night?” he asked, still leaning his head against the seat.

My eyes flipped to the cab driver who had his eyes focused on the road. Kent had no regard for who was or wasn’t listening. He didn’t get embarrassed easily—or more likely, he just didn’t care.

“No,” I said, glancing back to him. “It was the first date. Hello? Girls don’t give it up on the first date,” I whispered.

“Clara from last night would beg to differ,” he said.

“Okay, too much information, buddy,” I said, making a face at his comment.
How the heck did I become good friends with a man-whore?

“I don’t want to know about your hooker last night. Let me rephrase what I said earlier. This girl,” I pointed to myself, “does not sleep with guys on the first date.”

We reached the Bongo Room before the conversation could continue any further. He paid and grabbed my wrist to pull me out of the cab.

I tugged myself from his grasp. “Why do you do that? I can walk on my own, you know.”

Kent shrugged and held the door open for me.

My stomach grumbled as we entered the restaurant. The sweet smell of maple syrup and the greasy scent of eggs and bacon filled my nose. We were seated immediately even though there was a very long wait at the front of the restaurant. I had to wonder if Kent had slept with the greeter or if his dad was one of the investors at this establishment.

After the waitress took our orders, he placed his sunglasses on the table and his head in his hands.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Maybe you should drink some water.”

“No, it’s okay. I just need coffee. I’ll feel better after coffee.” Kent lowered his head and ran his hands back and forth through his hair. “Tell me about your date.”

I instantly smiled, but he couldn’t see. “You don’t want to know about my date.”

“I do. I like hearing your happy, happy stories. It’s entertaining. Go on, do tell.” He lifted his head from the table. “Where did you guys go?”

I started retelling the events from the night before—the flowers, the dinner, the walk home. A dimple emerged on his face as I talked and swooned about my date with Brian, recalling every tiny detail. Kent let out a low laugh when I told him how I’d held back on eating, not wanting to scarf down more than my date.

“I like seeing you happy,” he said when I finally finished.

His comment was so unexpected. It surprised me. “Why?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow and cast me a look. “Can’t a friend be happy for another friend? It’s a natural reaction.”

“Well, let’s be real here. You’re not a very nice person.”

He laughed in amusement.

“Kent Plack, you don’t care about anyone but yourself,” I said teasingly. “Who else do you like seeing happy?” I prompted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Who?” I raised my eyebrows, waiting for his reply.

“My mother.”

“Who else?”

There was a slight hesitation, and I started laughing.

He paused, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Fine. I don’t care about many people, okay?”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

The waitress came to pour our coffee. Her eyes flicked to Kent’s as the dark liquid filled his mug. He didn’t notice that she was checking him out. Maybe if he wasn’t hungover, he would look up to see that she was attractive in a simple, non-trying way—or maybe, that was why he didn’t notice her. The girls I’d seen him with were the flashy porn-star type. I watched him pour creamer into his cup as a whiff of fresh-brewed coffee moved my way.

He sipped his drink in silence, and I bit my tongue to prevent myself from yapping about my date again. I would let the caffeine settle in his veins before I went all jolly on him when he wasn’t feeling well.

The waitress dropped off our plates in front of us. Again, I noticed her eyes travel from his face to his arms before finally resting on his chest. She seemed shy as she didn’t try to get his attention like other women I’d seen him interact with. When our eyes caught, she turned and walked away to serve another table.

Kent leaned back and closed his eyes. His head tilted to the side, and I wondered why he’d come. He could have canceled, and I would have understood the need to stay locked up in small quarters with all the curtains drawn, head under a pillow, and earplugs in his ears.

Hungover. Been there. Done that. Not the best feeling in the world.

“I have to admit this is the best pancake in the world,” I said after a while. I savored the banana-caramel pancake melting in my mouth and sighed inwardly.

His head perked up, and he finally reached for his fork to take a bite of his food. “I’ve realized your peppy mood improves even more when you’re fed,” he said, studying me. “Usually, men are like that.”

“The way to this girl’s heart is through her belly.” I cut a piece of pancake and jammed it into my mouth for an exaggerated effect.

He laughed. “Okay, back to your date. If you like him so much, why didn’t you let him spend the night?”

I shook my head as I continued to chew my food.

“What’s the point of prolonging the inevitable?” Kent asked before lifting a forkful of egg into his mouth.

“What if I’m not into him, and I don’t want to date any further?” I prompted. “And I have to clarify, that is not the case.”

“It’s only sex. If you don’t like him, then you don’t have to see him again.”

“Kent, if you had ever been in love, you would know that sex is not just sex. With the physical comes the emotional.”

“Never been, and never will be,” he concluded.

“Plus, I’m waiting for romance,” I said. “I want him to cook me dinner at his place, a candlelit dinner for two. I just want the night to be perfect before our first time together.” I knew I totally sounded like a chick, but I didn’t care.

He lowered his fork, shook his head, and stared at me in disbelief. “You know that only happens in the movies, right?” he said with a dubious look on his face.

“So?” I replied.

He flashed me an amused look.

“I’m a good girl. I play by the rules. I just want the movie version. Is that too much to ask for? Other girls get the movie version. Don’t I deserve romance, dinner, and candlelight? Don’t I deserve the movies?”

He regarded me with a slight smile and nodded slowly. “Beth, if anyone deserves the movie ending, it’s you.”

The workweek had come and gone, and the weekend had approached quickly. Before I’d known it, Saturday’s morning sunshine and Kendy’s call had woken me up from my deep sleep.

“Oh, Kendy, the first date was perfect, and the second date was even more perfect than the first,” I squealed. “He’s seriously the greatest guy, all in a blue-eyed, blond man package,” I said. “When are you coming down here? I want to show you Chicago. I want you to meet him, and I want you to finally meet Kent.”

I heard her huff on the phone, and I could picture the crinkle in her nose on her annoyed face. “So, how is your new best friend?” she asked, jealously etched in her voice. “Is he still spoiled and having a hard time keeping his pants up?”

I silently laughed at the intonation of her voice. I could tell she was envious of my friendship with Kent. “Seriously, he’s not that bad. He’s still spoiled, and yes, he has a hard time keeping his pants up, but to be honest, he’s the closest thing I have to you here in Chicago,” I said, every inch of me missing my best friend and her sassy self.

“Blah. I don’t know,” she blurted.

“Promise you, he’s not bad news. And I’m still the good girl who you know and love,” I assured her. “When are you coming to visit?”

I crossed my fingers, hoping she would say soon. We hadn’t seen each other since I moved, and I missed her physical being, her Kendy-like hugs, and her goofy self.

“I wish I could. They have me working crazy hours over here. I can never get a break. We’re short-staffed, and until they start filling positions, it will never let up. Ugh, that reminds me. My break has been over for fifteen minutes. I have to go, babe.”

I held the phone closer to my ear, not wanting to drop our call. “I miss you, Kendy. Don’t make it too long before you call me again, okay?” I sighed into the phone, wishing she was right next to me.

She used to call me every day, but now, because of her nursing hours, I was lucky if she called me twice a week. I was beginning to resent her job, and I knew that was stupid.

As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again, and my first mistake was not checking the caller ID. The second mistake was picking up. I should have dropped the call as the person started speaking, but I fielded these all the time.

“Yes, I know. I know that it’s past due. When was my last payment? No, there’s no need to send it to the collection agency.”
Like collections didn’t already know me by my first name.
“Will you take payment over the phone? Can I just pay the minimum balance for now?” I leaned over the side of my bed to reach for my purse on the floor. Pulling out my wallet, I recited my debit card number.

“There really is no time off for you guys? Nothing. Thanks again.”
Jerk.
I hung up the phone and got out of bed.
A call from a creditor. What a way to start the morning.

I’d avoided this long enough. Trudging toward the kitchen, I picked up the pile of letters. It was my personal hate mail. Most of them were tinted pink, which indicated past due. I sifted through each and every piece. Just in my hand, there were over ten bills. It was the first of the month, and in two weeks, more would come on the fifteenth. My cycle every day was to come home, get mail, and put mail—mostly bills—in a pile to be sorted later.