Not That Kind of Guy Read online

  He suddenly became very interested in his chicken thigh—the one she wanted to jam down his throat, bones and all. “Seriously, calm down.” He took a bite. “Chicken’s great.”

  “I hope you enjoy it.”

  She must have sounded as stone-cold as she felt because he looked up at her then. She wasn’t about to back down on this. And she wasn’t going to cry in front of him. Not when that might let him see her weakness. Not when that might let him see that she wasn’t completely sure that she was going to break up with him. That wouldn’t do. She was going to make him break up with her, and she wasn’t going to let him see her cry.

  “What’s wrong?” Poor baby. He sounded confused now.

  “You tell me, babe.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.” He waved a hand. “We’re getting too old to just date.”

  “Says you. Try again.” Bridget was still standing up and wouldn’t be finishing her dinner. She doubted that she’d be able to smell roast chicken after this without wanting to throw up. Why couldn’t he have ruined one of the things she made him that she didn’t like? She could live without smothered pork chops or chicken-fried steak.

  “You don’t want to move in with me? You don’t want to get married? Have kids?” Chris tossed his fork on the plate. “Damn it, Bridge.”

  She had to suppress the urge roll her eyes. He was going to play this like an overdramatic baby man. That was his signature move whenever they got in a fight. Like the time he’d wanted to hike the Inca Trail over spring break when she’d just wanted to read books on the beach in Maui. He’d won that time. Or the time he’d shown up blasted, with an unexplained cut on his head, to her law school formal. They’d gone to the emergency room instead.

  Instead of apologizing to her, he liked to deflect. Make it about her. And he was going to do that again in ten, nine, eight . . .

  “I’m sorry, Bridge.”

  Wow, he’d managed to shock her. He hadn’t apologized in years. “Sorry for what?”

  “I thought you wanted this.” He paused. “I’m in love with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” She seldom used the voice she used when cross-examining a witness with Chris. He hated it. But since he didn’t care what she wanted, she couldn’t give two shits right now. “You’re only sorry that I’m not overjoyed that YOU BOUGHT A HOUSE WITHOUT EVEN FUCKING ASKING ME.”

  That finally got him to meet her gaze. “You’re so ungrateful, Bridget.”

  Bridget snorted. “That’s rich.”

  “I just wanted a future for us.”

  The only future they had, the only one that wouldn’t kill her slowly, was ending this right now. She took a deep inhale, ready to tell him it was over, when he beat her to the punch. “I guess I was wrong.”

  Bridget didn’t think before saying, “Get the fuck out of my apartment, then.”

  “I can’t even finish dinner?”

  “Oh, you’re finished.” When he hesitated, she walked over to the entryway, where his shoes were carefully laid on her floor and his coat hung on her coat rack. She opened the door and threw all of those items down the stairs, to the building’s foyer. “Get out.”

  The worst part was, six months later Licorice had died. “Fucker,” Bridget mumbled under her breath.

  “Language, Bridget Mary Nolan.” Of course, now that her mother was pretending to parent again, she was policing Bridget’s language.

  “I cooked him the chicken, Mom.” The chicken that used to be known as Ina Garten’s Engagement Chicken. Of course, in her world, it was now known as the Relationship Ender.

  “You cooked for Matt?” her mom asked.

  She was similarly perplexed with her own behavior. Why the fuck would she cook Matt chicken? He is—was—her employee. And she could never date him for real now that he was going back to school.

  “She’s talking about the other one,” Hannah said. Even though Chris had been Jack’s best friend since they were in diapers, Hannah wouldn’t even say his name out loud. She was polite to him, but only in a way that made it clear that he didn’t exist to her after she found out about how the breakup with Bridget had gone down.

  “Why are you even thinking about him anymore?” Her mother really didn’t get her at all.

  “We were together for over a decade.” And she hadn’t been thinking about him of late. The only guy she thought about these days was Matt.

  Hannah looked between the two of them, and her eyes widened for a second before her event-planning instincts kicked in and she did the whistling thing with two fingers in her mouth to make it extra loud. “Okay.” She clapped her hands like a kindergarten teacher for extra emphasis. “The official itinerary of debauchery is slightly behind schedule because of this lovely reception by Matt, but we have a schedule to keep. Dinner is in six hours and I have spa treatments booked for those who are interested. The rest of you will have to gamble and bathe in stripper glitter.” She looked at Chris for the first time in maybe ever with that last part.

  Bridget had always wanted a sister and really couldn’t have asked for a more loyal one than Hannah.

  “Wait, wait, wait! I have a toast!” Sasha clinked her glass with a pen to get everyone’s attention. She spread a palm down the front of her dress and cleared her throat before speaking. “Since Father Patrick couldn’t join us in the City of Sin to absolve us of our sins personally and simultaneously with us committing them . . .” She gave a meaningful look to Jack, who had his arm around Hannah’s waist and his hand creeping ever closer to her boob. “I have taken it upon myself to set some ground rules.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Bridget’s dad muttered. Her mother slapped him on the shoulder playfully, and Bridget winced. She hated seeing her parents flirt. It was unnatural.

  “First of all, please remember the cardinal rule—beer before liquor, never been sicker.”

  Chris raised his glass and said, “Who’s wasting their time on beer?” Bridget resented the fact that he was drinking the very fine booze provided by her date. Matt for his part seemed totally relaxed, with one arm looped around her shoulders. It felt heavy in that moment, but in a way that kept her rooted to the ground and safe rather than burdened.

  Sasha looked at Chris with a narrowed gaze and a wrinkled nose that reminded Bridget of Sister Antoninus in a very frightening way. “Also, let’s avoid bringing in any strays to the group.”

  “You’re no fun,” Chris responded, and Bridget wanted to kick him in his face. He hadn’t matured a single day since he pissed in her kiddie pool, and she didn’t know how she hadn’t realized that before now. Had she actually married him her life would have been terrible. He was not even half the man her father was. If they’d had a child together—well, it would have ended in a bigger disaster than her parents’ marriage had. She shuddered at the thought.

  Matt noticed, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Are you cold? Did you bring a sweater?”

  It was surprisingly arousing, and she definitely should have known that she was in grave danger of wanting far more than friendship with benefits with Matt Kido right then.

  Instead, she focused on Sasha’s impromptu speech. It was much safer that way. “And, since most of us are Catholic, I’ve called ahead and scheduled a private Mass at a church about thirty miles away. It starts at six thirty a.m. on Sunday, so we’ll all need to be at the bus at five forty-five. I would advise that we lay off the booze on Saturday night.”

  Everyone was silent for a few long beats, as though they were waiting to see which one would tell Sasha she was going to be going to Mass alone—that or the first one to check to see whether she was a pod person and figure out what she’d done with the real Sasha.

  Sasha broke before any of that was necessary and dissolved into giggles, nearly falling to the floor.

  “That was not funny, Sash,” Hannah said, sh
aking her head. “If you weren’t my best friend, I would have kicked you out of the wedding.”

  Sasha sobered a little bit. “C’mon, it was a little bit funny.” She pointed at Matt. “He laughed.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t know that you’re a heathen like the rest of us.” Hannah grabbed a bottle of Dom away from Sasha when she reached to refill her glass. “You’re cut off.”

  “You’re so mean,” Sasha complained.

  “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

  “For some reason.”

  Hannah shook her head, then clapped her hands. “Now, you know the actual plan. Let’s get it done.”

  * * *

  • • •

  EVERYONE LEFT ONCE THEY had their orders from Bridget’s impressively scary future sister-in-law. Bridget seemed surprised to see Matt standing there when she turned from putting all the empty champagne glasses on the bar.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  “Don’t we have to get ready to go to the spa?”

  “I thought you’d be more into the gambling and showgirls.”

  He’d done plenty of gambling in Macau over spring break. And gambling and topless dancers didn’t have Bridget. “I came here to hang out with you.”

  “But . . .” She seemed to be thinking of a way out of it but gave up after a few seconds. “Okay. Where’s the bedroom?”

  “You need a nap already?” He smiled at her when she looked at him like he’d grown a second head. When they’d been working together, he’d never dared to give her an iota of shit. And now that they were on an equal footing, she couldn’t just dismiss him. Now that he’d brought her here on a private jet and arranged for a suite, she kind of had to be polite to him. It wasn’t the most noble thing, but he liked it. And he had a whole summer of being noble to make up for. Maybe if he was a little bit of a shit like her ex-boyfriend, she would pay attention to him, as something more than just an employee or a convenient date to an event that she didn’t particularly want to attend.

  She motioned to her flight-rumpled clothes. “I need to shower.” Matt stifled a groan. She had no idea how attracted he was to her, and he wasn’t about to disabuse her of the notion that he was just grateful for the experience she’d given him over the summer. Thinking about all that freckled skin getting pink under the heat of the rain shower wouldn’t do anything to help his cause.

  That would only tell her how much of a perv he was when it came to her.

  After a few awkward years in adolescence, he’d never had to work to get a girl to like him. Being damn near irresistible without the hefty trust fund—plus the actual trust fund—usually meant that he kind of just had to exist.

  Maybe part of the reason he was so sprung for Bridget Nolan was that she didn’t give him the time of day when it came to anything but work. Except something had changed when they’d gotten on the plane that morning. The way she was looking at him now, flush high on her pale cheeks, biting her full bottom lip until it was more rose pink than petal—almost as though she was attracted to him.

  The idea that she was into the money and everything that came with it crossed his mind, but that didn’t seem like her. That hadn’t mattered one whit to her during the whole summer. Maybe she’d been suppressing the same attraction that he had been over the past few months, and now that they were alone in a hotel room, she couldn’t keep it in any longer?

  That was what he hoped.

  “You’re going to come get manicures and pedicures with us?” She raised a quizzical brow.

  “I have hands and feet.” He held up the back of his hands to her, and she caught her breath. Was she into hands? Good thing he was into putting his hands all over her.

  “Are you going to get waxed, too?” She smirked at him, and he wanted to kiss that sarcastic smile off her mouth. She was across the room, though. And she’d given very little indication that she wanted him to kiss her.

  “I’ll probably pass on that.” He waxed his balls for no woman.

  She must have been thinking about his balls, too, because her flush deepened. “I’m just going to go . . .”

  He motioned toward the bedroom at one end of the suite, where the porter had placed her luggage. “By all means.”

  * * *

  • • •

  FIRST ORDER OF SHOWER business—stop thinking about licking Matt Kido’s treasure trail and what a shame it would be if he waxed. Second order of shower business—stop thinking about having his really superlatively masculine and gorgeous hands all over her.

  While she accomplished neither of those things, she did get clean and down to the spa in time for a massage. Matt was in another room, because the Lord was merciful and wasn’t going to let her see him mostly naked.

  “Relax,” the masseuse told her as she dug her elbow into the rigid muscles between her shoulder blades.

  “This is about as relaxed as it gets,” Bridget mumbled.

  From the table next to her, Hannah smiled with her eyes closed. She didn’t even want to think about what Jack had done to put that smile there. “You should have availed yourself of a quickie with Matt. That would have relaxed you.”

  “It’s not like that. This is a fake date to piss Chris off. Not a real date to get my rocks off.”

  “But it would be so convenient,” Hannah said, loud enough that Bridget’s mother would probably hear.

  “Shhh.” The last thing Bridget needed was her mother hearing about her nonexistent thing with Matt. “I’m never going to see him again after this weekend. He’s going back to school, and it’s not like he’s going to come work for the office.”

  For some reason, that thought made her very sad. She’d gotten used to seeing Matt every day. And she could admit to herself that she thought about him more than she’d ever thought about any of her other interns. She thought about him more than her colleagues and her student loan payments combined.

  “That’s why it’s perfect.”

  “How is it perfect?”

  “A little one-night stand to get your mojo back.”

  “Who says ‘mojo’ anymore?” She had to get Hannah off this topic. If she didn’t, she would start to think about how crisp and white Matt’s shirts were and how gold his skin looked against the fabric. How he made Chris look schlubby by comparison. How, every time she saw Matt, she had to resist the urge to touch him. How she could fall for him. And how he’d forget all about her when he went back to school in a few days. “Besides, he’s not even interested. This was just a favor because I gave him valuable experience this summer.” Hannah didn’t need to know about his declaration of interest and the almost kiss on the plane.

  “The only valuable experience he’s looking to get is—”

  “Shut up, Hannah.”

  Hannah snorted. “Fine. It’s probably better if I let you fill in the blanks.”

  “First time for everything.”

  “Hey!” Hannah got loud again. “I don’t tell you half the things I could tell you about your precious big brother.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “I want you to be happy.” Hannah got quiet. “I know your parents and their messed-up failed divorce has all of you weird in the head about relationships. I just don’t want you to give up after that loser Chris.”

  Hannah did have a point. She had given up on finding someone she could fit with after Chris. After all, if she couldn’t make things work with someone whom she had decades of history with, who could she make things work with? If she couldn’t make the necessary compromises for Chris, who had grown up the same way she had, what hope did she have with someone like Matt? Matt lived in a whole other stratosphere.

  Matt made Chris look like a schlub, but he made her feel shiny and brand-new. That was why she’d treated him like gum on her shoe
when he’d shown up a few months ago. She’d immediately sensed the danger. For the first time in years, he made her feel something other than sad. He didn’t even have to do anything.

  And every time he took a load of shit from her with nothing more than a twinkle in his eyes, he made her feel more feelings than she wanted to feel for him.

  She hated it.

  “I think the two of you are going to hook up this weekend.” Hannah made it sound like a pronouncement more than a prediction. “I can feel it.”

  “Since when do you have a romantic bone in your body?”

  “Since your brother’s di—”

  Bridget turned her head. “Nope. Don’t want to hear it.”

  “Don’t set yourself up like that, then.” Hannah giggled. Bridget had the feeling that giggling was a new thing for her since meeting Jack. Too bad she was taking such joy in Bridget’s current situation.

  They were going to need a lot of champagne to get through the weekend.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MATT HAD A PLAN for the evening. He was going to stick to Bridget’s side like glue, keep her douche ex-boyfriend from sidling up to her, and wait for her to come on to him. After that morning on the plane and in their suite, he had a feeling it was only a matter of time, and he also had a feeling that Bridget needed to be the one to make the first move.

  Never mind the fact that he’d been making moves since weaseling his way into getting invited to come along. But that was just him being himself.

  He’d mostly stayed quiet during manicures and pedicures with Bridget and her girls. Caught up on reading a book he’d had loaded on his phone and listened for sensitive intel. Unfortunately, Sasha, the maid of honor, had made a point of making him feel welcome, so he didn’t hear anything good.

  “I think it’s so great that you’re taking care of your hands.” She’d looked off into the distance with a sigh. “Most men don’t pay attention.”

  Hannah, the bride, had said, “Yeah, you wouldn’t believe the kinds of claws I had to fend off from my lady bits.” He’d wondered how much champagne she’d had to drink. “It’s like . . . if you can’t clean under your fingernails, I don’t want your fingernails in my business.”