Finding Mr. Wrong

by A. m Madden

  George shook his hand, then hugged me and softly whispered, “Good luck.”

  “Why did he leave?” Jude just stared at the sedan as it pulled away down the narrow road.

  “Because we’re home, sweetheart.” I batted my eyes at him.

  “Fuck me.”

  “No, thank you.” For once, I was excited. This little white home was perfect—absolutely perfect. I instantly fell in love with the white shingles, thatched roof, the tiny porch holding adorable white potted plants, and the white picket fence surrounding the property. It looked like somewhere Snow White would live, if she lived in the Caribbean.

  “Why is everything white?”

  Ignoring him, I stepped closer, staring at all the details in awe. The house wasn’t any wider than a doublewide trailer home, but I’d give up everything in New York to live here in a second

  Without giving him the chance, I grabbed both my bags and pulled them behind me, clunking up the porch steps one by one.

  There was a sign on the door:

  Welcome to Ignite Your Spark Cottage.

  The place where love ignites into flames.

  Jude grumbled and rolled his eyes. “Welcome home, Sparky.”

  “I wish you’d stop calling me that,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Nah.”

  He reached in front of me and jiggled the doorknob. “Great, we’re off to a good start. No cell phone, and we’re already locked out.”

  I dug out the packet and produced a key. “Oops, I guess that’s what this is for.”

  Jude stared at me like a deer in headlights before snatching the key from my grasp. “There’s only one?”

  Looking deeper into the packet, I said, “Yup. And I’ll take that now.”

  “Not on your life.” He opened the door and shoved the key into his front pocket.

  My, “This is beautiful!” was countered with Jude’s, “This is a nightmare.”

  Stepping inside, my heart filled. The home was more like a studio apartment in Manhattan. The white walls were topped with a navy blue crown molding. The one room open floor plan was separated not by walls, but by each corner having its own living space. The dining room, bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom all shared equal real estate. Jude scurried through the small space, opening and closing doors. The only doors aside from the ones leading outside were the closet, a small laundry room, and the bathroom.

  “Do you realize there’s only one bathroom? And what the fuck is that?”

  “It’s called a washing machine,” I enunciated the words very slowly. “It’s to wash clothes.”

  “Smartass,” he grumbled. “This is no bigger than a jail cell.”

  “Which you need to get used to, according to your plan of murdering your ex-friend. Stop exaggerating. This place is beautiful.”

  I was truly in love. Navy curtains framed every window, the fabric pooling on the dark wood floors. The doors leading in and out were French, with tiny panes of glass that made it a touch more formal than just a beach house. Even the kitchen was inviting. A small peninsula island was the focal point. White tiled countertop accented in navy matched the color scheme of the room. The white on white cabinets, although few, were delicately designed with etched glass fronts. Even the tiny round table in front of the peninsula with two dark wood chairs made me smile.

  Jude contradicted my joy with a grumble. “This gives a new meaning to breakfast in bed. I could just swing my legs over and eat at the table.”

  I glanced at the quilt-covered bed attached to a fancy wrought iron headboard. My eyes first realized that it was only a full size. Shit.

  I could tell the size of the bed only just hit him as well. “What the hell. Is that a twin?”

  “It’s a full. You’re assuming you’re sleeping in the bed.”

  Jude’s eyes scanned the room. “There isn’t even a couch in here. That small couch doesn’t count, Miss We Need to Follow the Rules and Share a Bed.”

  “Oh gee, I can’t wait,” I mumbled, but he heard me.

  “I need air.” It only took a few strides until he opened the door leading to the outdoor space. I hurried behind him, excited to see what was there.

  My feet were immediately ensconced in sand. I glanced around for a mat or rug. Constantly having sand on those gorgeous wood floors would drive me nuts. A spicket on the side of the house and a hook with a towel hanging off it immediately caused a sigh of relief. Pointing to it, I said, “See that?” His eyes followed the line of my finger. “Please wash your feet and use the towel before you come in the house so we don’t have sand everywhere.”

  He stared at me while blinking. I responded with a fake smile.

  Two mesh lounge chairs were nestled together, creating the perfect romantic setting intended for couples. The cute white picket fence bordering the front of the cottage also wrapped around the back. I let out a sigh, appreciating everything about this home.

  “I could live here forever.”

  Jude glanced back at me. “You just got here.”

  “It doesn’t matter, look at this place. It’s paradise.”

  “It’s hell.”

  “Are you going to disagree with everything I say? If so, this is going to be a very long vacation.”

  “Vacation? Did you see the TV in the bedroom, or should I just say room? The screen on my iPad is bigger.”

  “No, I didn’t notice. I’m not planning on watching television while we’re here.” I opened the back gate and spotted a hammock two steps away from us on the beach. Cutting my eyes to his face clued him in to what I was about to do. At the same time, we both lunged toward the hammock, sending it rocking furiously from side to side.

  “I call dibs,” I said, trying to push him off.

  “No way, Sparky. This has my name on it.” Without effort, he lifted me by my waist and plopped me down so fast, the bottom of my dress pushed up toward my hips. On instinct, my legs straddled his lap.

  The position lined us up perfectly, and I gasped at the immediate contact of his obvious arousal. “Now we’re talking, Sparky,” he said, his tone husky. Despite his words, there was no humor in his eyes. They blazed in vivid color as he stared right through to my soul. Before he had a chance to blink, I flew off his lap and lost my balance, landing ass first on the sand beside him.

  “Shit.”

  “You’re a klutz.” He leaned over the side of the hammock and chuckled. “That’s twice now that you’ve landed on your ass in my presence, and we haven’t even been together twenty-four hours. Maybe you should consider strapping a pillow to your ass.”

  “Shut up,” I brilliantly responded, dusting myself off and storming toward the turquoise sea. Just staring at the ocean as I crossed the short strip of beach already calmed me. I had a feeling sitting out here while reflecting my bizarre predicament would become a normal occurrence these next six weeks.

  Hearing the waves roll in was so peaceful, I debated running back to the house to grab a towel to sit on since I despised the sand, but that would have made my dramatic exit comical. Forcing myself to sit required a pep talk, and my inner voice quipped I was in the freakin’ Caribbean and needed to suck it up. With my hands behind me, I leaned back. The ends of my hair grazed my lower back as I relaxed my neck to face the sun. Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine how wonderful this place could be if the person I was with appreciated it as much as I did.

  When Jude said he was in hell, my heart sank. Not because of me, there’s no way I’d think I was his heaven, but St. John was far from hell. Thoughts of the man we’d met at the airport made me smile. I could see why he came here to celebrate with his wife for their anniversaries. It was a shame she wasn’t here now. A seagull squawked and flew overhead. When I opened my eyes, Jude was sitting next to me, his forearms on his knees as he stared out over the water.

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “Not long.” Turning his head to look at me, he gave me a smile that made my heart beat a bit faster—one I
knew could get the attention of anyone in its presence. “I’ve always loved the water.” I simply nodded. “I’m sorry I said this was hell.”

  “Me too.” I gave him a feeble grin. “That’s twice you’ve told me you’re sorry. Maybe you should consider those words to be your next tattoo.” After taking a shaky breath, I offered, “I don’t know what type of life you lead, but that house is everything I’d ever want or need. It’s simple and beautiful at the same time.”

  “So, you’re a white picket fence sort of woman?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it too much in the past, but now being in this predicament, it was hard not to. “I suppose I am. I’m guessing you’re not?” He quirked a brow. “I know you’re not a woman, I meant about the picket fence.”

  “Two point two kids surrounded by a picket fence has never been anything I’ve dreamt about, so I suppose my answer is no.”

  “Then it’s probably a good thing we’re only in this for a year.” Even though I picked the wrong guy for the right intentions, knowing we didn’t want the same things saddened me for some reason. Maybe it was because of what I’d been dealing with between Stefan’s cheating, my self-induced unemployment, and the endless interviews that went nowhere—rejection in any form wasn’t pleasant.

  Jude stood and brushed sand off his legs. Everything the man did was sexy. Maybe I should have picked bachelor number two. Then at least I’d know my heart wouldn’t get broken.

  He extended his hand to help me up and we stood toe to toe, looking at each other. It was a shame he was such an ass sometimes, because he was perfect in every other way possible. How I wish I could call Vanessa or one of my friends to help me out. Okay, maybe not Vanessa. She’d tell me to jump his bones.

  Chapter 8

  Jude

  Hunger hit like a freight train. Realizing we hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the three vodkas I had on the plane weren’t really sustenance, I rubbed a hand over my empty belly. “I’m starving. Let’s order dinner.”

  “Order dinner?”

  The way she asked made me snippy. “Yes, order dinner.” I glanced at my Rolex, and added, “It’s only five, but we haven’t eaten all day.”

  She stood with a smirk like the cat that swallowed the canary. “You do realize we didn’t see any restaurants or eateries on the way to the cottage, right?”

  Come to think of it, we didn’t. “So, they’re going to starve us? Please don’t tell me there’s a clause in that stupid rule book that says that boat,” I thrust my arm forward and pointed a finger at the little dinghy anchored off shore, “is meant to catch our own meals!”

  She laughed, and I was pretty sure it was at me. “The fridge is stocked. They aren’t that cruel.” As she walked toward the cottage, she dusted the sand off her ass, and my eyes honed in on the motion. Turning her head, she said over her shoulder, “I’ll cook tonight. You’re welcome.”

  What the fuck? Cooking? Laundry? Seriously, what the fuck? I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to relieve the tension radiating through me. How was a couple supposed to fall in love when subjected to all this menial labor?

  I reluctantly followed her, my hunger making my ire even worse. Two things made me very cranky: lack of food and lack of sex.

  I found her removing ingredients from the fridge, humming as she did, taking her sweet ass time. “Do you need help?” I asked to speed things along.

  “Yes, can you light the grill outside?” My guess was the very audible sigh I released wasn’t what she was looking for as a response. “Never mind. I’ll do it.”

  Ignoring her, I went outside to light the fucking grill. I think I did this once in my life at the frat house. How hard could it be? They all had to be the same, right? I stood before it, almost wishing the thing would spontaneously ignite itself. Maybe it was a female grill? The thought made me chuckle.

  “Okay, be nice,” I said to it as I turned a few knobs and pushed the button marked start. With a small whoosh, the flame sparked to life, bringing with it a smile on my face. I rubbed the hood affectionately. “Thanks, babe. Forced to be here six weeks to ignite my spark, and how ironic if it only ended up being with a grill.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I turned to see Brae holding a plate of raw chicken. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to know the island heat has baked your brains.” She walked over and plunged a fork into one of the breasts before plopping it on the grill.

  “Did you season them?”

  She furrowed her brows. “Not yet.”

  “You do realize you need to, right?”

  “After they’re cooked, I will,” she snipped. I knew enough about cooking to know that’s not how it worked, but my line of questioning annoyed her enough to thrust the plate toward me. “You’re welcome to take over.” When I remained still, she nodded. “Yeah, I thought so. You can set the table.”

  Another sigh caused her to roll her eyes, and I walked back into the shack. After opening and slamming a few cabinets, I pulled out plates, glasses, and utensils. That took me all of three minutes, and then I stood with my hands on my hips while staring into space.

  What the fuck was I supposed to do with myself now? I could jerk off, but even that made me cranky. I glanced out the window to see a very vague outline of her body surrounded by white billowing smoke. Part of me felt like I should check on her, the other said fuck it.

  I walked to the small TV and switched it on. Static. Switch. Static. Switch. Spanish News. Switch. Static. Switch. Soap Opera.

  “Goddamn it!” I jerked the knob to turn it off. My eyes darted around the room, looking for something to do. Boredom aggravated by hunger hit me full force, and it wasn’t a good combination.

  On the coffee table was her girly magazine and a pen. Desperation had me picking it up and flipping it open. The crease in the spine forced open a page that read—How does your man rate?

  I only managed to read six of her answers, but it was enough to know she thought I was an asshole. Guilt had me slapping the periodical back on the table when I heard her coming through the door. I made the mistake of glancing at the plate where what looked like three large lumps of coal sat practically whimpering over their condition.

  Humming to herself, she seemed unfazed that she cremated our already dead dinner. I continued to watch in disbelief as she put a plate of salad and wilted vegetables on the table beside the chicken.

  “Honey, dinner is ready,” she said with a saccharin smile.

  I was absolutely starving, but there was no way I could eat this meal. God, what I wouldn’t do for a Spark’s Steakhouse sirloin right now . . . heh, Sparks.

  She helped herself to a serving of each and started sawing through the charred chicken, oblivious to my gawking. Her eyes cut to mine as she huffed. “Do you expect me to serve you too?”

  “Um, I can’t eat this.” I was sure my prick-ish behavior would further her negative opinion of me, but damn it, I was starving and this wasn’t going to cut it.

  She waved a hand to the fridge behind us, and said, “There’s plenty in there for you to eat. Feel free to help yourself. You live here as well.”

  My eyes focused on the meal already prepared, then to the fridge, then back. On the one hand, I could eat now, even if it was crap. If I started from scratch, it could be another twenty minutes before my stomach was fed. Flipping back and forth like watching a tennis match, the sound of her knife screeching across the ceramic plate forced my decision.

  I stood and stormed over to the fridge, which only took three steps, and yanked it open. Eggs. That would be the quickest thing to make. Finding some cheese, peppers, and onions, I prepped and made a quick omelet without uttering a word.

  Seven minutes later, I was sitting with my edible dinner. She glanced at my plate, eyeing the contents like it was a gourmet meal.

  “So, you can cook?”

  Around a mouthful of food, I said, “I never said I couldn’t. You assumed.�
� Pointing to her plate that still held more than half a charred breast, I added, “No wonder you’re so skinny. It has nothing to do with not eating meat, you just suck at cooking.” Loading my fork up with a healthy bite of eggs and peppers, I lifted it toward her. “Want some?” She leaned away like I was offering her road kill. “Suit yourself.” I shoved the forkful into my mouth and moaned in pleasure. “Mmmm, not so bad, if I do say so myself.”

  “Okay, hotshot. You just earned cooking as your chore for the duration of our stay. Congrats.”

  “And what is your chore going to be?” I shoved more eggs into my mouth with a smirk. “Keeping your man happy?” I asked with an obvious wiggle of my eyebrows.

  “Yeah, no. I’ll do the laundry.” She pushed her plate away with a shake of her head. “Why are you such a jerk?”

  “You tell me.” I pointed to where the magazine lay, and said, “You seem to have all the answers.”

  Her eyes followed, her brows puckered together in confusion. “What answers?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Question number four, would your man put you before his own needs? You don’t know me enough to answer ‘hell no.’” I stretched and grabbed the magazine off the end table, tossing it between us.

  “So, you’re my man now? That’s not about you,” she quipped.

  It didn’t occur to me it could be someone else. I mean, why was she here if she was attached? Then again, how could someone like her not be attached? Remorse had me hanging my head and mumbling, “Sorry. I assumed it was.” The pained look on her face caused a lump to form in my throat. “You don’t have to explain. It’s none of my business.”

  While I stared at my plate, the sound of her chair scraping against the hardwood floor caught my attention. She stormed over to the small kitchen and dumped the contents of her plate into the garbage. Feeling like a heel, I followed to grab a beer from the fridge, also having lost my appetite. The water splashed around her hands as she scrubbed her plate before leaning into the counter with her head down. After expelling a long breath, she turned her head to look at me. “Remember when I told you I was unemployed?”