Preach it. That’s how he lived, and it was the only way to go.
“Speaking of Sadie, I texted her. She’ll hurry through the paperwork.” He lifted Marlee’s suitcase, carrying it to his bedroom. “Should have something to sign in the next day or so.”
“Then the ninety-day purgatory begins.” Her footsteps were soft behind him. “You know the media is going to figure out that you’re the one I married.”
He knew. He’d been bracing for it. He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Eli,” she whispered.
“Wasn’t just you who stood in front of Liberace and said ‘I do.’” He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it’ll bring in new clients? Who knows.”
She nodded. Hopefully, something good would come of this for one of them.
“Aw, when did you take this?” she asked.
He paused. Turned.
She was looking at the family picture his mom had hung in the hallway. Last Thanksgiving when everyone was together, she’d had a professional photographer come and take the photo. His mom, dad, Eli, and his four sisters. The girls all moved away after college; he’d been the only one who stayed put. They all got degrees and worked in offices all over the country. “Last year. Everyone came home for Thanksgiving.”
“I haven’t seen Nicole in forever. Sadie said she doesn’t make it back much.” Marlee stepped closer to him.
“She’s busy changing the world.” And he was proud of her. She had made it to Europe. Studied foreign relations and now worked in some government office she couldn’t talk about.
“I figured you can set up shop in my bedroom.” He tilted his head toward the room.
Marlee raised her eyebrows.
That sounded wrong. “I mean, I’m moving out so you can have the real bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa. It pulls out.” Unlike him. He gulped and kept his eyes forward, unwilling to risk her reaction to his screwup. They’d already agreed they weren’t having a repeat of their wedding night. And he was definitely not having sex with the woman he was married to—a woman who would be staying with him for the foreseeable future.
That thought made him start to sweat.
He liked his private space. Liked being able to do what he wanted, whenever he wanted.
His feet slowed the tiniest bit as they moved to his bedroom. Marlee’s bedroom. He hadn’t even moved his stuff back in since Sadie had slept there.
“I can get a dog bed for Lothario if you don’t like him sleeping on the bed. And help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”
Marlee still hadn’t spoken. She was behind him though. The whispered swish of her feet on his carpet as she moved behind him was a giveaway.
He turned and caught her staring.
“Are you always this nervous when you have a girl sleep over?” She solidly squared him up.
“I don’t have sleepovers.” Not the kind she meant.
Yes, he’d had hookups. But he either went to their place or he fed them well and they went on their way afterward. No, he didn’t have sleepovers.
“Never?” she asked, genuine curiosity in her word.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Huh.” She ran her tongue over her teeth.
“What does that mean?”
“What?”
“The ‘huh.’”
“Nothing. It literally means nothing.”
“There’s a lot of not nothing in that ‘huh.’”
“Are you always this weird when you’re not drunk?” She followed him into the room.
He set her suitcase on the desk. “I’m not being weird.”
She held up her thumb and pointer finger. “A little bit.”
“You should be nice because I made enchiladas,” he grumped.
“My favorite.” She unzipped her suitcase and rummaged through. “So Vegas with me was your first sleepover?”
“What we did was hardly a sleepover.”
“It was totally a sleepover.” She raised her eyelashes, batting them in his direction.
“This is a ridiculous argument.” He shoved his hands in his pockets for lack of a better reaction.
“Do you mind if I take a second before dinner? I haven’t even had my post-airplane shower.” Marlee was already working on unloading her bag all over his unmade bed, totally oblivious to the fact she was laying her lace panties right where he usually put his head.
He pulled his gaze away from the clothing she was spreading around like butter on a bagel.
A second. She needed a second. He could give her a second. A minute even. Fifteen of them. Fuck, an hour, if that’s what it took. “For sure.”
“Eli?” she asked.
He was already nearly out the door. “Yeah.”
“Stop being weird. This doesn’t have to be weird. It’s just you and me rooming it up for a bit while our divorce goes through. There’s literally nothing weird about that.”
Uh-huh. If that’s what she said.
“And I just want you to know that once I have money again”—she kept talking. He kept standing there like the weirdo she’d turned him into—“I’ll pay you back for all of this.” She fluttered her hand around the room.
He tapped two fingertips on the edge of the doorjamb. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“You don’t owe me anything, either.”
“You’re family. And not just because we signed a paper with our real names. You’re family, and family is there for each other.” Even when they want to ignore the rest of the world.
She held his gaze, not speaking. Just looked at him like he meant something more.
Ever since the night they’d spent together, she had a way of glancing at him like she was doing just then, and it made him almost want to forget all about his commitment to perpetual bachelorhood.
His blood started to heat. His jeans started to get tight in the crotch. She dabbed at her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.
“Eli?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she said it in a way he knew she meant it.
“Anytime, Mar.” He headed back toward the kitchen.
Enchiladas.
He should get lost in a paper plate of corn tortillas and sauce. Tortillas and sauce were safer than a room full of Marlee, which was pretty damn dangerous, given that he’d just signed up for a life full of Marlee for the next ninety days.
Marlee’s phone pinged with a new group message.
Becca: Married and now you’re moving in together?
Kellie: Moved in. She’s there, so she’s already moved in.
Becca: Damn, this is all happening so fast.
Sadie: You should get him to loosen up while you wait for the divorce. De-Eli him a bit.
Marlee: Do you think that’s even possible?
Kellie: De-Eli-ing him could be fun. And involve more tuxedos.
Becca: Not the polyester kind.
Marlee: We agreed we’re not doing that again.
Sadie: Let’s talk about something that isn’t my brother naked? Pls. & Thx.
Marlee: Miss you guys. I’ll be on De-Eli duty.
Sadie: If anyone can do it, you can.
Marlee was good with goals, and right then, her goal was to get Eli to loosen up. She’d make it step whatever-she-was-on in her get-her-life-back-together plan. He was strung tighter than Scotty that time the airline accidentally sent his prized golf clubs to Phoenix instead of Ft. Lauderdale. But she should also add the immediate need for cash, a divorce, and clothing to her goals list.
She only had two suitcases of clothes. The rest of her boxes were stacked in her garage, held hostage by Scotty. All she had to do was wait until he went golfing the next day. Then she’d go get the rest of her stuff.
Now, where she would put it? That was a totally different question.
Towel-drying her hair, she padded down the hallway to the kitchen-living-dining combo. Eli’s place had an open floor plan—one big room with a hallway that led to the bedroom and bath.
He was sprawled on the sofa, staring at a football game on the television, a pillow snuggled against his chest.
She was good with goals. He was already super loose, and she hadn’t even spoken. She hung a left into the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten. The tray of enchiladas was untouched.
“You could’ve eaten without me.” She used a fork to get an enchilada onto her plate, the cheese leaving a long trail between plate and tray.
“Mar.” Eli was behind her. Like right behind her.
When did he get there?
“Yes, Eli?” She licked a stray string of cheese from her thumb.
He stared at the place she’d licked. “That’s not how you plate dinner.”
What? Her plate had dinner in the center. What else was she supposed to do?
Eli made a c’mere motion with his fingers. She handed over the paper plate.
Taking his time, he smoothed the cheese so it didn’t all flop down one side. Then, he added sliced black olives, a dollop of sour cream, and finished with a dusting of some kind of white stuff.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Cotija. Now, it’s ready to eat.” He slipped the plate back into her waiting hand.
She started to say something about how he was an artist, but she stopped herself. He was a professional, and he probably didn’t think of himself like that.
“I always thought you’d open a restaurant,” she said instead. “I mean, catering is great, but I figured you’d have a whole chain and be on one of those cooking shows.”
“Television? No. Restaurant? Yes.” He winked at her.
“Serious?” she asked. “When?”
“Catering pays the bills. Lower overhead, all that. I’ve been saving for a while.”
The way his gaze went a bit listless as he spoke told her it’d been more than just a while.
“I can’t believe you had time to make all this. I barely had time to get rejected by the Four Seasons, American Express, and my parents.” She stabbed a fork into her tortilla and chicken, raising it to her lips.
“Don’t be too impressed. I keep a stash in the freezer for times when I’m too tired to start from scratch.”
Lothario thumped his three-good-legged way into the kitchen.
Marlee sampled the forkful of goodness. Holy crap. If this is what Eli kept in his freezer, she was using hers wrong all these years. She let the tastes meld together on her tongue, closed her eyes, and experienced the flavors. “This is amazing.”
She opened her eyes to find Eli staring at her, his lips parted.
He wasn’t moving.
“Sorry.” She licked at her lips. “I got carried away. Should we sit?”
“Yeah.” Eli seemed to shake off whatever had caught his attention. Plate in hand, he headed to the coffee table and sofa.
Sure, he didn’t have a kitchen table. And they ate off paper plates. None of that mattered when he could cook up a masterpiece like this.
Plate in his lap, he dug in.
Marlee shifted and balanced her plate on her knees. “I need a job.”
“You’re not going back to the office?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I think distance from Scotty and my parents might be best until the divorce goes through. They know my weaknesses. They’ll figure out a way to get me to do what they want.” They always did.
But not this time.
“I can ask around. Brek could probably use another waitress over at the bar,” Eli suggested.
“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have any need for an art history major with minor event planning experience and a super cute dog?”
“When you put it like that, how could I possibly say no?” he replied. “But I’m all staffed up right now.”
“You think Brek’s waitresses make good tips?” She could waitress. It could be fun. She’d get to chat with people and hang out where there was live music.
He slid his gaze over her. Slowly. Like he was savoring a bite of a culinary masterpiece. Something flickered in his eyes. “I can probably come up with something in the kitchen.”
“You just said you don’t need me.”
“I can always find something.” He shrugged.
“Are you just jealous that I might get tips from handsome guys?” Could he possibly be jealous? She was pretty sure that was the flicker.
His cheeks got red when she mentioned being jealous.
He was so cute when he got all weird and jealous.
“I don’t get jealous,” he said on a huff.
If she hadn’t seen the little glimmer of jealousy, she would have believed that. Eli was the epitome of a lone wolf. He just didn’t realize that he had a full pack of family backing him up at all times.
“That wasn’t an answer to my original question. Do you think I could make good tips at the bar?” she asked.
He bristled. “Yeah, Mar, I think the tips would be good.”
“I should try for that then.” She focused on her plate. It was either that or the television—but football was on—or Eli, and he was prickly as all heck.
“Seriously, Mar. I can find something for you to do in the kitchen.”
“Health insurance, vacation time, all that?” she asked around a bite of cheesy goodness.
He scowled. “What did I get myself into with you?”
She nudged him with her elbow. “I’m messing with you. If there’s something I can help out with, that’d be awesome. At least until I can find something more permanent.”
“The dog’s gonna have to stay in the office. He can’t be in the kitchen.” Eli acted surly toward Lothario, but Marlee knew deep down he had a soft spot for the dog. She’d caught him not glaring at Lothario more than once. He even petted him a time or two. “You can’t have a dog in the kitchen. Health codes and all that,” he said.
“Fair enough.” Lothario wouldn’t like to be where everyone was walking anyway. He had a solid fear of being stepped on. “This is going to be great. And maybe I can waitress, too. Extra money is extra money.” Not even a day and she had a sort-of job with her sort-of husband, which was fantastic until they could get that real divorce.
Chapter Eleven
Eli needed a night out with his buddies. A night without a reminder that he was in a marriage, waiting on a divorce. They’d only been back one day, but he wasn’t used to having others in his space. He’d specifically arranged his schedule when Sadie had stayed with him so he was at work most of the time.
That morning, he’d gone with Marlee while she distributed a dozen cups of Starbucks to a crew of homeless folks who met her at the corner by the drive-thru. This was apparently a ritual of hers a few days a week.
That was the morning. Then, they’d spent the day together at the kitchen, picked up the boxes from her house, and that led to where they were now. Home. His home.
Lothario sat on the floor by Eli’s feet while he shaved. He whined and tilted his head like Eli should say something.
“I see your mom dressed you in your blingy collar tonight.” She had a whole slew of collars for the mutt. Tonight’s was a rhinestone number that matched the rhinestones on Marlee’s socks. Yes, Marlee had rhinestoned socks. And she coordinated them with her dog.
Lothario shook his whole body in response.
Which was exactly the response Eli would have had if he’d been forced to wear a rhinestoned collar that matched Marlee’s socks.
“Just tell her no next time,” Eli said. “Tell her you are your own man and you’ll pick out your own collar.”
Lothario huffed, walked in a circle, and plopped down on the top of Eli’s foot.
“Make yourself at home.” He rubbed the shaving foam between his hands. “Just don’t get sexy with my foot while I’m shaving. I don’t want to cut myself.”
Lothario rolled onto his back, tongue lolling to the side.
He had made himself right at home in Eli’s apartment. Lothario had officially started a relationship with each pair of Eli’s shoes. H
e’d also taken to following Eli around instead of Marlee.
“I don’t have asthma, kid,” he’d said more than once.
Lothario didn’t care. Eli was his new infatuation.
Which was funny, since his mom was Eli’s new infatuation.
What kind of woman wore rhinestoned socks to deliver coffee to the homeless? And it wasn’t like she volunteered with a charity—she knew these guys, genuinely cared about them. And they cared about her, too, it seemed.
What was Eli supposed to do with that?
Hence his need to step away for a bit. Distance meant clarity. Clarity was good. He rubbed the foam over his cheeks.
Lothario just lay there, watching Eli like he was a showgirl on one of those poles Marlee had danced on.
“Just because I said you can hang out with me doesn’t mean you can look at me like that. I’m not your entertainment.” Eli pressed the razor against his jawline.
Lothario snuggled against Eli’s foot in response.
“I’m more than a pair of feet, little dude. Get to know me, you’ll see.”
“What are your plans tonight, cowboy?” Marlee propped herself against the doorjamb while Eli finished shaving. He startled at her voice but didn’t cut himself. He glanced at her reflection in the mirror.
“My buddy’s engagement party.” His buddy, Jase, was getting married to his fiancée, Heather. On purpose.
At least when Eli did it, it was a total accident. One by one, his buddies were falling into the pit of marital bliss.
They’d string him up by his nuts when they found out he’d already hit the neon-lit altar and had the live-in wife to prove it.
“Lothario wants to come, but I told him he needs to do his job and make sure you can breathe. He defiled my workout shoes in retaliation.”
“I promise I will buy you an entirely new wardrobe of shoes once I have money again.” Marlee made an X over her heart with the tip of her index finger. “Cross my heart.”
He grinned.
“Look what Sadie had someone drop off.” She held up an envelope and pulled out a stack of papers.
“Are those what I think they are?” he asked. Not that he was in a hurry to divorce Marlee, but getting his life back in some semblance of order was a good thing.
Take It Off the Menu: A sizzling, accidentally married rom com! (Mile High Matched, Book 3) (A Mile High Matched Novel) Page 9
