RIAN
My stomach churns with anxiety and guilt as I follow Pierce around the hardware store, pushing the cart. I’d been on the verge of either telling him the truth or a half lie, and I don’t know which would be worse. He’s been so open and honest, and here I am, shrouding myself in secrets to avoid letting him in. Thankfully, Marley’s poor memory saved the day.
I try to put it out of my head and focus on my pricing mission. I would’ve done this online, but I can’t see quality in an image. Fresh paint, a kitchen upgrade, new floors, and updated bathrooms is all the house needs, plus an exterior cosmetic facelift and some minimal landscaping. We have fifty thousand dollars to work with. My goal is to get it done with ten grand to spare.
We’re currently in the paint section. Pierce picks up a five-gallon bucket of primer like it weighs a much as a Styrofoam cup. The muscles in his forearms flex, making the golf ball under his skin pop. I watch, enthralled by the flex and pull of muscle as he hoists it into the cart.
He ducks down so his face is level with mine. “’Sup?”
“Huh?” I blink and realize I’m probably sporting a very blank look. I squeeze his arm. “Just enjoying the gun show.”
He smiles, but it’s not as cocky as usual. “I can do push-ups on top of you later if you want.”
“While you’re naked?”
“Is there any other way?”
I push on his chest, not because I can’t handle the flirting or the promise of what’s to come later, but because I’m full of conflict. I want to confide in him, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I do. I’m also afraid of what it means that I want to tell him the truth, and that I almost did. I’m getting attached, which is fruitless for so many reasons.
I scan the brands of paint, anything to get out of my own head, and note an alternative to the one in the cart. “That’s twenty dollars cheaper.”
He glances at it, but reaches for another five-gallon bucket of the more expensive brand. I want to point out how he’s wasting money, but I bite my tongue. He drives a Tesla and his second vehicle is a truck. A big truck with a push-button start and chrome everything. He’s not worried about money. He’s seen where I live now and is aware that we’re definitely not even close to the same pay grade—I’m sure he’s known that since he saw my Buick, but it still makes it more real. All of this feels more real than I want it to.
He drops the second bucket in the cart. “Cheaper but not the same quality. I’d need to use twice as much of the less expensive brand to cover the same square footage, so it would end up costing more in the long run.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize that.” Now I feel like a jerk for thinking he was wasteful. At least I didn’t say it aloud.
He points to another brand, even more expensive than the one he’s chosen. The kind my father likely would’ve chosen based on cost alone. “This stuff isn’t worth the price tag. Not when this”—he taps the buckets in the cart—“does just as good a job.”
“Good to know.” I check average square footage of coverage on the paint bucket, then mentally do the math for one of the bedrooms in our beach house, all four walls and the ceiling, and break it down by cost per square foot. “So this is about ten cents a square foot, but that would cost more like twenty?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes. “Did you do that math in your head?”
“Yes.”
He crowds me. “You need to stop that.”
I have to tip my head up so I can meet his serious gaze. “I need to stop doing mental math?”
“In public places, yes.”
I bite my cheek to keep my smile in check. “Do I want to ask why?”
“Because I find it sexy, and it makes me want to do inappropriate things to you in this aisle. The kind of things that would get me arrested.”
I grin. “You probably shouldn’t have told me that. I’m definitely going to use that against you in the future.”
He returns the smile, except his is dark. “I fully anticipate that you will, and that I’ll probably enjoy it.” He steps back, slips his hand in his pocket, and makes a covert adjustment. We continue down the aisle, where Pierce grabs paint rollers and a few brushes, cleaner, and cloths. I ask questions about best brands and most economical purchases.
“You know, if you want or need any help with your flip, all you have to do is ask. You can borrow whatever you need from me instead of buying new stuff, and I have trade guys I can call.”
“Thanks, that’s nice of you to offer. But don’t you need your trade guys, and won’t that piss off your brother?”
“I don’t know why you’re so worried about pissing off my brother. I’m not. And I don’t need them all the time, so I’m happy to share contacts with you.”
One thing I know about this business is that sharing contacts doesn’t happen often. “Thanks, that’d be great.”
We spend the next two hours shopping—well, Pierce is done picking up what he needs in less than twenty minutes. We spend the rest of the time discussing finishes and pricing out everything from kitchen cabinets to bathroom hardware.
It’s fun. And normal. And coupley. It worries me how much I like it, and my guilt over my almost truth eats at me even more.
Afterward we go for lunch at a little bistro. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s dressed for construction among a bunch of suit-wearing business people. Pierce refuses to let me pay my share. I want to be appreciative of the gesture, but it reinforces what I’m struggling to come to terms with—that I’m invested in this man for reasons beyond his stellar bedroom skills.
Getting involved with someone who can afford luxury is scary. It’s too close to what I’ve had before and what I never expect to have again. Until now, it’s been easy. Takeout and sex in half-renovated houses or rentals don’t lean toward any kind of permanence. But this—expensive meals and shopping trips where I watch him drop five grand without batting an eye—is something else entirely.
Beyond the material luxury, getting emotionally involved is downright terrifying. I don’t want to get used to indulgences, even little ones, like this lunch. And I don’t want to get too comfortable with him, too close, because it puts me at risk, and Marley, and everything we’ve worked for. If he digs, he’ll find out who we really are. He’s only a few well-worded searches on the internet from being able to uncover our whole sordid family history, and then what? Maybe he won’t care. But if he told his brother … I don’t know Lawson well enough to say for certain that he wouldn’t use that information against us. If we’re connected to our parents, it could obliterate our career in real estate. We’ve built ourselves up from almost nothing. I don’t want to jeopardize that because I’m hot over some guy who isn’t going to stick around anyway.
Pierce drags his fingertips along the back of my hand. “Everything okay?”
“I could’ve paid for my meal.”
His lips press into a line. “I came over unannounced and coerced to you into shopping for purely selfish reasons, me paying for lunch is not unreasonable.”
“You paid for takeout the other night.” This is a stupid thing to be worked up about, but I’m struggling a little with how much this feels like a relationship. This is usually the point where I walk away, but in this case, I don’t want to since it’s going to be over soon enough anyway.
“And I invited you over then, as well.” He taps the table with long fingers. “What about me paying for lunch bothers you, Rian?”
“I like equality.”
“Oh.” He relaxes back in his seat. “Okay. I suppose I can understand that. Sometimes my sister likes to buy dinner even though I make four times what she does. Although she is marrying a man with more money than God, so I don’t usually feel too bad about it.”
“That guy with the sleeve?” I motion to my arm. “What is he, some kind of mobster? I’d say MMA fighter since he’s a tank and all, but his face is way too pretty and intact for someone to be beating on it regularly.”
Pierce laughs. “Lex would probably get a kick out of that. He’s actually—” He’s cut off by his phone ringing. He flips it over and frowns at the screen. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
“Sure. I need to use the bathroom anyway. I’ll meet you out by the truck?”
“Perfect.” He brings the phone to his ear. “Hold please.”
Leaning in, he kisses me on the cheek and passes me his keys. “Thank you. I won’t be long.” He turns his attention back to his call and heads toward the door. “This better be important. I was in the middle of a lunch date.”
I gather my purse and use the bathroom, taking my time before I head to the truck. Pierce is already leaning against it upon my return, arms crossed over his chest, eyes on his phone, expression somber.
“Everything okay?”
He glances up and his hard expression melts into a soft smile. “Debatable.” He doesn’t elaborate, instead he opens the door for me, his hands on my hips as I step onto the running board. I don’t need his assistance, but I certainly don’t mind it.
Once he’s in the truck, he taps the steering wheel. “So I have to go to the city this afternoon, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be there, which means we’ll have to cut our day short and possibly reschedule our date.”
The last time he was in the city he ran into his ex and then drunk texted me. “Is it lawyery stuff?”
“It is. It’s more of a pain in the ass than anything. Can we figure something out when I come back? I don’t think I’ll be gone more than a couple of days.”
“Sure. Whatever works.” I don’t want to sound too disappointed, even though I am. I like spending time with Pierce, in a bed, out of a bed, eating food, talking. I like him. Which is why it should be a good thing he has to cancel.
“I’m really sorry, Rian. If it’s any consolation, I’d rather be with you than in Manhattan, dealing with lawyery bullshit.”
“I’d rather be under you than having you deal with lawyery stuff too.” A reminder to myself that I need to keep this light, not serious.
“I’m taking a rain check on that. As soon as I’m back. You and me. Sleepover. Lots of sex. Extra cuddles so I can sniff your hair without you getting weirded out.”