The Three-Week Arrangement (Chase Brothers) Page 9

  Rue fell back on the bed and hugged her old friend. She kind of wished she could hug Ethan instead, but he was Ethan. Now officially the sweetest guy she knew, but he was hedging past off-limits and speeding full-tilt toward complicated.

  And then he upped that by lying on the bed next to her. Granted, the dog was between them—this was so about Shaggy—but they were still horizontal. Where he slept. And of course it meant nothing to him because the only zone he had was a friend zone, but he’d just done what had to be the most accidentally romantic thing ever. And she was the one he wanted to share that with.

  Shaggy chose that moment to wriggle free of her contented heap and shuffle closer to Ethan.

  Rue snorted and stretched to scratch under the dog’s chin. “I see she has her favorite.”

  “I did bring her home.”

  As he spoke, Shaggy got up, gave them both plaintive looks, and jumped off the bed.

  “Well then,” he said. “I stand corrected.”

  “She loves you. She’d be crazy not to, and now you can honestly tell anyone who asks that you have another woman in your life.”

  He rolled over to his side and faced her. “I think that’s my cue for a confession. I know you love her, and I kind of hoped you’d want to stop in and see her between trips to the edges of the earth.”

  “Ethan Chase, you are not using that dog.” She poked him in the abs, finding them terrifically hard, and barely had time to swoon before he grabbed the offending finger. And then he closed his hand around her smaller one, dragging warmth from every corner of her soul.

  Common sense fled, and she wanted harder than she’d ever wanted anything. Her belly flip-flopped as if she was twelve and her crush had just smiled at her. But hadn’t he?

  “You’re wrong about two things,” he said. “One, I’m not using the dog. I’ll take the fringe benefits, should there be any, but she needed someone, and I’m beginning to realize I did, too.”

  She mentally counted the inches between them. Maybe fifteen, and no dog in the way. And holy hell, were his eyes ever bright against the muted gray comforter. Everything about the man was intense, from the hardness of his body—no need to go there—to the platinum streaks in his hair. His hands were rough, but he held her so tenderly that she knew some of her unshed tears were as much for him as they were for knowing Shaggy had a home. She ached to know a man who cared so much had been so deeply devastated by life. That a love like his had been lost.

  That she’d never, ever know anything like it.

  But somehow just having him there, her hand in his, was enough. She could go have a dozen flings and never have this kind of intimacy.

  She blinked back the resurging threat of tears. “What else am I wrong about?”

  “I don’t have another woman in my life.”

  “Well, she’s a dog, but still—”

  “I have two.”

  “Ethan…”

  He reached over with their joined hands and knuckled away an escaped tear. “Just don’t lose my number. Good friends are hard to find.”

  Dammit, she wasn’t supposed to cry. But he’d adopted the ugly dog, and if that wasn’t reason enough, nothing was.

  “I just wanted to let you know,” he said in some deep, probably unintentionally sexy tone,” just in case you still felt guilty, that I’m glad you dragged me into this.”

  She smiled. One that crawled straight out of her heart and beamed like one of those spotlights at a used car lot. “I’m glad I’m not torturing you, then.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t torture.”

  She went to poke him again, only with their joined hands as her weapon it was more of a punch to the gut. He folded to dodge the playful blow, obliterating those fifteen inches to about two. Close enough to see that his eyes were flecked with neon.

  Definitely close enough to notice the direction of his gaze drifted to her lips.

  She was pretty sure she stopped breathing.

  “Some forms of torture are better than others,” she said, trying so hard to make her voice sound normal that the words came out in some sort of strangled chicken tone that was anything but casual. She tried and failed to swallow the clog in her throat.

  He released her hand, only to thread his fingers through hers, and stared at her across that whopping two inches of bed. She wanted to ask where they were going with this, but she knew the inevitable end, and it wouldn’t be pretty. Not if she fell for him, and especially not if he fell for her. Because he’d just friend-zoned her, making it clear where he stood. And even if he made some crazed leap back to the land of the living, he wasn’t the kind of man a woman left behind, and she had no intention of giving up her dream just because a hot guy showed up in her life.

  Not even for those electric green eyes and a body that would make a nun sob for sweet relief.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he said softly.

  “Don’t ask to be tempted,” she shot back. Beg for it.

  He grinned, all slow and sexy and—

  Crash.

  They jerked apart.

  “Ah, hell,” he mumbled. “I have a dog now, don’t I?” He rolled to his feet and sprinted out of the room, Rue right behind him.

  One of the barstools parked at the end of the counter was lying over, with Shaggy sitting pitifully at its feet. Above her, the boxes of takeout Ethan had ordered sat in a neat row far back from the edge, still safe for now. “I guess we’re not the only ones who like Chinese,” Rue said.

  “Abbie said no people food, so Shaggy can forget it.” He pointed to her food and water dishes, neither of which was empty. “I’m starving, though, and I can’t touch that cake until we eat, so I say we remove temptation.”

  She grinned. “Is it that easy?”

  He leaned close—reaching for the food, she realized a beat too late—but he paused before he left her airspace. And he set fire to her libido when he whispered, “Not even close.”

  Her breath thoroughly stolen, she just stood, numb, while he gathered plates and utensils. It must have finally dawned on him that she hadn’t moved because he stopped and gave her a curious look.

  His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “You suck at friendship.” Not what she’d meant to say, but it did suffice.

  “Because I stole your dog?” His grin suggested he was toying with her again. Maybe he did have a flaw. He was either teasing or dead-wife serious. No real middle ground.

  But middle ground could be dangerous.

  “No.” She sighed. “Well, yes. That was really sweet. You really know how to muddle the waters of a temporary acquaintance.”

  He half shrugged. “Honestly? I really didn’t adopt her for you. That was for me.”

  She’d known as much—he didn’t seem to be the type to take on a pet because he liked a girl—but nevertheless, the admission saddened her. And she hated herself for that because Shaggy deserved a loving home and Rue had no doubt she found that with Ethan. She wanted that sincerity behind what he’d done. “But you wanted me to know.”

  “I thought you might worry if she wasn’t there next time you showed up,” he said dryly.

  “You could have texted me.”

  “I did.”

  Rue threw up her hands. “You’re being difficult. On purpose.”

  “It comes naturally.” He offered an easy grin and leaned back against the counter. Like he was proud of it. Like he knew how irresistibly cute he was and that wasn’t supposed to drive her crazy.

  “That doesn’t help,” she shot back. Not helpful in more ways than one.

  He crossed his arms and kicked one foot in front of the other. “Well, then. Since you’re already irritated, can I ask you something?”

  “That segue is worrisome.” Especially since he’d taken the classic defensive arm-crossing position. She leaned to scratch Shaggy, who had wandered over to her, and braced herself.

  “Can you explain your hair?”

  She laughed. “No.”

/>   He shook his head like he’d given up. “And somehow that does. Explain it, I mean.”

  “It’s different,” she said. She lowered her voice and mumbled, “And so I won’t look like a Barbie.”

  He nearly dropped the chicken he was pilfering from the takeout box. He caught her staring and asked, “General Tso’s?” When she nodded, he scooped some onto both plates. After a moment, she realized his shoulders were shaking. He was laughing.

  She glared. “What’s so funny?”

  He piled three eggrolls on her plate and handed it to her. “You made a conscious decision not to look like a Barbie. This is amusing.”

  She cringed at the memory. Why was she telling him this stuff? “My mom paraded me through pageants until I was thirteen, when I first got a version of this haircut. I did it myself, backstage, right before they announced the winners. That was probably the only time my mom was utterly mortified that I was crowned princess snot or whatever it was.”

  He snort laughed. It was adorable.

  “Anyway, she took me to her salon to have it cleaned up. The only person there who would touch it was a new girl, and instead of putting on extensions or whatever my mom expected when she said fix this, she styled it. I loved it, and I’ve stuck with variations of it ever since.”

  Laughter danced in his eyes, but there was more there. Maybe respect. Probably fear. Her heart flip-flopped anyway. “You really are a rebel at heart, aren’t you?”

  “I rebel against her pretentious insanity. I’m not sure that counts.”

  “It counts,” he said. “And your friendship counts. I guess I did need to get back out there, just not in the way everyone wanted.” His gaze drifted to a spot on the wall that hosted nothing but an empty, freshly painted hook—probably one that had recently held a photo of his wife. When he blinked back to Rue, he said, “Having you here with zero chance of complications and entanglements has been really nice.” He opened the fridge and snagged a beer, then handed her an iced coffee.

  She accepted it, stunned. Not just because he had her favorite drink, but because there was a whole row of them in there.

  Who the hell did that?

  She was still thinking about it two hours later when he insisted on walking her downstairs and paying for a cab. He’d stocked his apartment with her favorite drink.

  And he’d adopted her favorite dog.

  And then he’d friend-zoned her.

  If this was how he did friendship, she was screwed.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning when Ethan walked into work, he wasn’t alone. Shaggy trotted at his heels, a lot less concerned about wearing a harness than Ethan expected. He’d met with Abbie and a vet as part of the whirlwind adoption process, and the vet had confirmed most of the leathery skin was actually scar tissue, probably from some kind of burn, and she wasn’t likely to get any of the missing hair back. The damage was extensive, but it was old. Shaggy was otherwise in good health and from the looks of things, lucky to be alive.

  Sawyer was the first to see the dog. “What the ever-loving fuck is that?”

  “She’s a dog, you asshole.”

  “Boys!”

  “Sorry.” Ethan hadn’t seen their mom behind her computer. If he had, he would have watched his language, but the way he figured, Sawyer deserved it. Besides, it sure as hell wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before.

  “It looks like a skinny hippopotamus.”

  Ethan suppressed a laugh. She kind of did look like a skinny hippopotamus, but he wouldn’t give Sawyer the satisfaction of telling him that. Fortunately, their mom came over to see the object of their attention. He hadn’t wanted to take Shaggy away from the staffed shelter to leave her on her own during the day, so before he went back to talk to Abbie about adopting her, he’d run the idea past his mom, who said she’d love to have her in the office while he went out on jobs.

  “What do you think?” Sawyer asked her. “A face only a mother could love?”

  “This isn’t about you,” Ethan shot back.

  Sawyer glared.

  “Is she sick?” his mother asked. Ethan had warned her Shaggy had an unconventional look, but even he had to admit that was an understatement.

  “No,” he said. “She’s a rescue. Probably burned at some point, but she’s okay now. The vet said she’s healthy.”

  His mother knelt to greet the dog, and Shaggy ate it up, leaning into the attention. “Poor baby.”

  “Her name is Shaggy.”

  Sawyer spit out the coffee he had the misfortune of having lifted to his mouth. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Sawyer Chase, I have some dish soap in the back if you can’t watch your language.” She spoke in a quiet, sweet voice—obviously for the dog’s benefit—but left no question about her intent.

  “Did you hear him say the dog’s name was Shaggy?” Sawyer sputtered.

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “Like she’s the only one to ever exaggerate certain physical attributes.”

  “I really don’t need to hear this.” Their mother stood and made an abrupt turn and headed to the back, calling behind her, “I’ll be back here when you’re ready to bring her to me.”

  Ethan laughed.

  “Seriously,” Sawyer said. “That is one ugly dog. It couldn’t have been love at first sight.”

  Ethan helped himself to a cup of coffee and thought about Rue and her iced coffee addiction. After stocking his fridge back home with her favorite drink, he’d stared long and hard at the bottles. Buying them had been automatic, and he hadn’t realized the implication of doing so until they were lined up neatly in the space next to his beer. Now he thought of her every time he opened his refrigerator. And apparently when he drank coffee. Nice going, dummy. Of Shaggy, he said, “She came from a shelter. No one else was going to adopt her.”

  Sawyer’s face twisted as if he smelled something bad. “And you just meandered into a shelter?”

  “Not exactly. I volunteered for an evening.” A great evening. One he hadn’t stopped thinking about. He’d like to think he’d have adopted Shaggy no matter what, but the truth was every time he saw the dog, he remembered laughing like he hadn’t laughed in ages and he needed that as much as Shaggy needed a home.

  “You volunteered? Doing what?”

  Ethan took slight offense to the idea that he wouldn’t do anything, ever. He’d gone out plenty. He just didn’t date. “Photographer’s assistant.”

  Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t your…girlfriend a photographer?”

  “You know she is. A shark-punching, volcano-climbing, sky-diving photographer.” To Ethan’s own ears, the short resume sounded absurd, but when he thought of the way Rue’s eyes shone when she talked about her adventures, he wanted to smile, too. And the best thing about her was she was just as excited about helping the abandoned animals at the local shelter as she was the ones occupying the far-flung corners of the world. She just found life in everything, which made her an odd match for a man who’d been waylaid by death. Or maybe she wasn’t an odd match…maybe she was the best kind.

  As a friend.

  But either way, it wouldn’t matter for much longer.

  “So this is legit?” Sawyer asked. Ethan automatically bristled, but for once Sawyer didn’t sound like he was headed for a punch line. With him, there was always one around the corner. “I mean, you actually have a girlfriend?”

  Ethan sighed. He really didn’t want to go rounds with his brother. Again. He’d been doing it for a long time, ever since Amy’s diagnosis. People had been asking if he was okay for years now, none of them ever believing him if he said he was. Frustrated, he said, “Call it what you want.”

  “I thought you were bullshitting us.”

  “You met her,” Ethan replied, exasperated. And he wasn’t sure why. He’d had his own doubts about pulling off the charade with Rue, but after years of telling him he needed to move on, why couldn’t his family just accept he had and be happy about it?

  Becaus
e it’s a lie.

  Only it wasn’t. Not because his friends-only relationship with Rue wouldn’t go anywhere, but because in so many ways, it already had. She’d dragged him out of his comfort zone, and while he still had a long way to go, at least now he thought he might get there someday. At least maybe if he found a woman who knew how to sit still.

  Sawyer watched him with open curiosity. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t hire her to play a part,” he said.

  The accusation hit a little too close to home, but it pissed off Ethan anyway. “Look, not everyone jumps into bed with someone within hours of meeting them. We’re friends, we’re hanging out, and neither of us is seeing anyone else. I don’t know how you’re looking to define this relationship—my relationship, I might point out—but what’s there is real.”

  In a deeply uncharacteristic move, Sawyer kept his mouth shut, at least for a minute. He glanced at Shaggy, then back at Ethan, then shook his head. “You know I’m not the type to give a fuck.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Ethan said dryly. “Also, the eloquence of your language.” He eased into the nearest chair, and Shaggy immediately rested her chin on his thigh. He scratched her head, and her tail thumped. When Ethan looked up, he found Sawyer watching intently. “Want to pet her?”

  Sawyer shook his head. “Not really. But seriously, man, I’m happy for you.”

  Guilt smacked into Ethan with unrelenting force. Sawyer didn’t know the truth—that he had no reason to be happy for him. No one did. Ethan couldn’t completely undo what he’d started, but he could at least keep it in check. “She’s leaving,” he said quietly.

  Sawyer froze in the middle of pouring himself a refill of coffee, nearly overflowing his cup. He leaned down to take a sip off the top. When he straightened, Shaggy was right in front of him, sniffing his knees. “Is this thing going to eat me?” Sawyer asked.

  “No, she probably smells your dog.” Sawyer’s fiancée had a Chihuahua, and much to the amusement of everyone but Sawyer, he was the only person in the world the dog didn’t like.