Desperately Seeking Househusband Page 4

  I laughed, the sound a cross between my normal guffaw of awesome and a cry for help. Amy jumped in her chair, so I assumed it didn’t come out like the carefree laugh I intended. I tried harder. Amy jumped farther. I finally wound down to a prolonged sigh, seeing Rhett cringing out of the corner of my eye. Good. I hoped that bastard was regretting this whole thing even half as much as I was.

  Pasting on my best airhead smile and eye roll, I finally answered, “Oh, yes. I do know his brother. They don’t talk much, so I forgot who he was for a second there.” I swiped my hand through the air and tried to change the topic.

  “So, I don’t have any family that’ll come on the show, but I do have an incredibly pregnant best friend whom you’ll see from time to time. You’re gonna love her, I just know it.”

  Amy seemed to take the distraction well and moved on with her questions. I shrugged my shoulders, dislodging Rhett’s hand, and he got the hint. Pulling his arm from around me, he leaned forward and placed his hand on my thigh instead, which wasn’t much of an improvement. Just when I thought this whole thing might work out, a wrench in the plans had me scrambling. Typical O’Donnell behavior.

  Every nerve in my body was firing, just itching to get to the fight or flight stage of this ridiculous situation, but I had to stay calm. Had to sit in my chair, wear the smile, and answer the questions. I was a professional, goddammit.

  But when the crew left, and we were alone again, Rhett and I would be having words. Lots of them. And all at high volume. I wasn’t Italian for nothing.

  7

  Rhett

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  The door barely closed behind the last crew member when Gabby ripped into me. I had it coming. I knew this little secret of mine would get out, I just didn’t think it would happen so soon, or before I had a chance to tell her myself.

  Now her hands were jammed on her hips and there were flames shooting out of her eyes. Color dotted her cheeks. Meaning, she was fucking gorgeous, but I didn’t think now was the time to bring that up. Mama didn’t raise no fool.

  “I know you’re upset and you have every right to be.” I held my hands up in front of my chest. She looked just like a cat we had growing up; easily agitated and known for striking out with a deadly claw when you least expected it. I still had scars from that little she-devil.

  “Damn straight I have a right to be mad. You lied to me.” She took a step closer.

  A friendly smile wasn’t going to do dick right now. “I didn’t exactly lie. You didn’t ask if I had a half-brother, so—”

  “Don’t you use that bullshit excuse. Omitting an important fact is most certainly lying.” Gabby lunged closer, anger vibrating out in waves that hit me and shifted, becoming a layer of guilt that clung to me.

  I stood my ground, but knew I just needed to beg for forgiveness at this point. “I agree. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth right away.”

  Her chest was rising and falling with huge lungfuls of air. At least the apology got her nostrils to stop doing that weird flexing thing. That was scary.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Tell you right away? Because I knew if I did you’d have nothing to do with me. And I wouldn’t have blamed you. Hewitt is a total douchebag.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and her eyes shifted, becoming guarded instead of spitting fire. “Well, at least we can agree on that.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And why the hell would you want to sign up to pretend to date your brother’s ex-girlfriend?”

  “Half-brother,” I corrected, but continued quickly when she gave me a look. Oh dear God, not the raised eyebrow. “Look. I knew your name and that you’d dated Hewitt at some point. I was curious. You’re beautiful and funny and despite this crazy idea to fake date for a reality show, you seem smart. I wondered how you put up with the dickweed I share genetics with. I was curious, that’s all.”

  Gabby narrowed her eyes. “When was the last time you talked to Hewitt?”

  I rubbed a hand across my jaw, thinking back. “Maybe six or seven years ago now?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know that I can believe you. Hew never mentioned a brother.”

  A spike of hurt laced through my chest, pissing me off that it was even there after all this time. “Yeah, he was pretty good about forgetting a lot of things. Like I said. He was a total asshole. I’m sure things haven’t changed.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and handed it to her. She took it reluctantly and waited for me to explain. “Please, look through my phone. You can check my texts, call log, emails. I haven’t talked to him. I promise.”

  She ran her gaze over my face and then looked down at the phone, touching the screen. She did that burping-slash-laughing thing again when she saw my screensaver.

  “What the hell is this?”

  I felt a smile coming back, which meant we were on firm ground again. “That’s me and my buddy, Jayden.”

  “Yes, but why are you wearing tutus, and—oh, good Lord—nothing else?”

  I moved next to her and gazed down at the picture. “It was for a good cause. We were raising money doing an obstacle course race. And we were wearing something else, by the way. G-string speedos.”

  “Oh, well then. That’s totally better.” She giggled and I rejoiced at the sound. I didn’t like a mad-at-me-Gabby.

  She sobered and handed me back my phone. Looking up, she met my gaze with her beautiful, huge brown eyes. They were actually almost green around the irises. “I don’t need to look through your phone. I trust you. I’m not happy you kept it from me because now it might come up on the show that I dated Hew, which I don’t wish to speak about. But it’s too late now. We’re in this together and we have to make it work.”

  I placed my hand on her arm, having enjoyed how smooth her skin was when I traced her shoulder with my thumb over and over during the interview. “I promise you, Gabby. I’m the right man for the job. Whatever you want me to be, however you want me to act, I’ll do it.”

  After a moment her eyes lit up. “Oh, really?”

  The wheels spinning in her head were practically visible. “Yes, really. I may come to regret this, but I’m all yours.”

  And I meant it. This was turning out to be an incredibly fun job and being able to do it with Gabby was everything. All night, as we prepared in a mad scramble for today, she’d kept her sense of humor. She appreciated my ideas—except for Snookums, she was still very resistant to that nickname for some reason—and she’d looked so cute in her long pajama pants and little tank top, hair piled high on her head. There were real relationships built on far less.

  “We need to take you shopping, Rhett O’Donnell.” She frowned. “Wait, what’s your full name? I need it in case I’m angry at you.”

  “Hold up. Only my mama gets to call me by my full name.”

  She shook her head, her long dark hair dancing around her arms. “Nope. Not how it works. Once you start dating a woman for any length of time, she gets to use the full name too. It’s totally a rule. I write an advice column in the newspaper. I know these things.”

  I scoffed. “Oh ho ho! The lady ‘knows’ these things, huh? Well, I bow to your obvious superior intelligence.”

  She hit me square in the chest with the back of her hand, for the third time in the last twenty-four hours. “It’s true! Give me the goods.”

  I rubbed the spot on my chest. “Am I gonna need to wear Kevlar around you? Damn, girl. If I tell you, will you promise to never call Hewitt my brother again?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. If it’s that big of deal to you, I promise to remember to call him your half-brother. Now tell me your name.”

  “Did you even read that background report?”

  “I glanced at it, but mostly just found the part where it said you have no criminal history,” Gabby replied sheepishly. “Now quit stalling. Lay it on me.”

  I sighed, knowing what was to come. “It’s Everett Wilbur O’Donnell.”
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br />   Her eyes went round and then she bent in half, a snort of some sort the only sound. Then came the cackles and then finally the loud whooping that made me want to squeeze my ears shut.

  I waited her out, having been on the receiving end of this reaction my whole life. Whenever someone heard my full name, they found it hilarious for obvious reasons.

  “I don’t know what my parents were thinking. I mean, I do, since Wilbur was my mother’s father’s name, but come on. When I turned eighteen I almost legally changed my middle name to Danger. Wouldn’t that have been rad? Everett Danger O’Donnell. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? I always wanted to say ‘Danger is my middle name.’”

  Gabby had straightened up while I explained, a hand over her mouth to muffle the laughter, but that sent her over the edge again and she was back to whooping, her face turning red as she stooped over.

  “Wilbur?” Her voice came out so high-pitched I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. “Wilbur as in the little piggy?”

  I didn’t know right then, I might have preferred her angry at me instead of this fit of laughter at my own expense.

  “Yes. Wilbur as in the pig in the famous children’s book.”

  She finally calmed long enough to look at me. She had to swipe at both eyes to clear the tears before she could see me clearly. “That’s so cute.”

  I nodded wryly. “Yes, just what every man wants to hear.”

  She inhaled sharply. “I just realized Everett rhymes with Hewitt. Was that on purpose?”

  If I thought Wilbur was bad, this was even worse of an admission. “Yeah, my mom married my dad after a nasty divorce my dad went through with Hewitt’s mom. There was a lot of tension there and my mom wanted to make sure us boys were united, even though we had different moms. She chose Everett to make us sound like a matched set. Hewitt was already ten when I was born, and he wanted nothing to do with me. Our father doted on my mother. They were crazy in love and that was a hard thing for a little boy to see, I guess.”

  Gabby’s eyes still looked wet, whether a leftover from laughing or because of my story, I wasn’t sure.

  “Hewitt always changed the subject when his father came up. I thought it was because he mourned his death so much. I didn’t realize there was all of this too.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, he pretty much turned his back on my mom and me the minute Dad died. Hew was twenty. I lost my dad and my brother the same day. I was only ten.”

  Gabby’s hand slid onto my chest, like she was seeking out the source of the pain and feeling the broken, tender heart of a ten-year-old boy who only wanted a moment of attention from his idolized older brother.

  Her touch, the way she sympathized when she barely even knew me, made me like her even more. I wasn’t still a heartbroken little boy, but a hurt like that never really went away. The fracture smoothed over with new growth, but the line was always there, tender when prodded.

  The moment hung there between us. It occurred to me that she probably had a story too, one where Hewitt created another crack, this time on her heart. I hoped she’d trust me enough to tell me one day.

  She tapped my chest with her finger and then dropped her hand. “I know what you need. Retail therapy.”

  I was all too happy to change the subject. “You do realize I’m male, right?”

  The color flooded her cheeks again, but she smiled, a real smile, which meant I’d say yes to anything she suggested.

  “Let’s take my car. We need to get you a bunch of filthy rich man clothes.” She spun around and grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. “Let’s go, Willy!”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Willy?”

  “Do you prefer Wilbur?” The damn woman smirked at me.

  “I prefer Rhett.”

  She shrugged and moved toward the garage, saying over her shoulder, “And I don’t prefer Snookums, but there it is, on reality TV for everyone to hear. So, I guess that means we go with Willy, don’t you think?”

  I grabbed my chest and staggered back even though no one was around to see my antics. “Damn, she’s feisty…”

  8

  Rhett

  “Spare no expense, I want a full wardrobe,” Gabby told the sales lady as she rushed off to find another pile of clothes for me to try on.

  “Why does this feel like Pretty Woman, but in reverse?” I muttered over the fitting room door to Gabby where she sat on a chair and tapped out a text on her phone, burgundy thumbnails flying over the screen.

  I stripped off my T-shirt and tried on the polo that sat at the top of the stack. It fit well and I had to admit, the material felt silky against my skin. Opening the door, I showed Gabby, who glanced up and then back at her phone before glancing up again. Aha! Got the woman to do a double take of my manly chest. Suddenly all those years of weight training seemed worth it.

  “I heard that, by the way.” She looked back at her phone. “That’s a ‘yes’ on that one.”

  I went back into the fitting room to try the next one on, like a dutiful puppy. “You know, I actually feel bad for you rich people and your buttery soft materials. You’ve never experienced a scratchy sweater or a clothing tag that chafes your neck. You know, you wouldn’t have to do those fancy spa appointments where they exfoliate your skin if you’d just wear the cheap shit. Cotton polyester will just rub that dead skin right off for you. Genius really.”

  I came out with the next shirt, a weird salmon-colored button-down that gripped my biceps like a soccer mom with the last bottle of white wine in the grocery store. Gabby snort-burped, the sound making me laugh, but also worming its way into my chest where it gave me a soft hug.

  “How’d you get your fat bank account, anyway?” I struck a pose, which made her giggle and intensified that hug sensation. She gave me a thumbs-down, so I went to try on the next item.

  “It’s old family money. My great-grandfather actually started the LA Times.”

  I popped my head over the door. “He did?”

  She shrugged, a small smile on her face. “Yeah, but my father eventually sold it and reinvested most of it in other ventures. When he died, he left it all to me.”

  I came out again with a pair of slacks and a dress shirt I actually really liked. Who knew Calvin Klein made more than underwear? “Okay, so if you have all that money, why do you still work as a columnist for the paper?”

  Her gaze drifted up and down my body, checking the outfit, I knew, but it was more than that. Her gaze lingered in certain areas and those areas noticed and wanted to flirt back. Instead, I clenched my jaw and focused on what came out of her mouth.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a reporter, but they work really odd, long hours, sometimes in dangerous conditions, and my father was not fond of the idea. Being an advice columnist was sort of a compromise. While his previous ownership may have opened the door for me, I’d like to think that my writing has kept that door open all these years.”

  I went back inside the dressing room. “I have to admit something.”

  “Uh-oh. More than the fact you’re my ex’s brother?”

  I winced. “Well, it’s not as earth-shattering as that. I was just going to say I read your column for a while when you were chronicling the Mom-Com thing. It was freaking hilarious.”

  I turned around to see her cheeks flushing.

  “Thank you. That was a really fun one. Maybe I’ll come up with another article or series that’ll have you reading my column again.”

  I waited until her gaze snagged mine. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  “How about some formal wear?” The attendant came back into the room, breaking the moment I thought we were having with a whole rack of suits for me to try on.

  We spent another two hours trying on clothing that seemed way overpriced and unnecessary when I had a whole suitcase of rad T-shirts back at the house. I quickly found out that my opinion on the outfit didn’t actually matter, so I let Gabby and the sales lady make their choices. I tried dropping some Pretty Woma
n lines, but my audience didn’t find me funny.

  By the time we left I was exhausted and happy to learn the rich and famous didn’t have to carry home their purchases. Apparently, they’d all be delivered to Gabby’s doorstep tomorrow. Funny enough, I always thought I’d enjoy being someone’s boy toy. I mean, I was a boy and who didn’t love toys? Not this guy! But the reality of it left much to be desired. Yet another dream shattered in a dressing room.

  Gabby and I agreed on sushi takeout for dinner, so she called in the order while I drove her Mercedes. Not that I’d ever cheat on my vintage Land Cruiser, but this ride was similar to the fancy clothes. All smooth lines and supple leather, responsive engine and every high tech option you could imagine at your fingertips. It was nice, it was different, it was overkill.

  We got home and inhaled our sushi without even speaking a word to each other as we sat around her kitchen table. When I finished, I sat back and laced my hands over my belly.

  “Thank you for the clothes. I’m sorry it cost a mortgage payment or two.”

  She laughed and sipped her wine. “You should see what women’s clothes cost. At least you don’t have hair coloring, nails, waxing, and spray tans to worry about.”

  My whole body shuddered at the thought of waxing. I liked my chest hair, thank you very much. And spray tans in LA? That seemed ridiculous. Just go outside. Ta-da! Tan.

  “Cameras start following us tomorrow.” I floated that statement out there, not wanting to put a damper on a good day, but we needed to be ready.

  Gabby put her wine glass down and sat back in her chair, mirroring my relaxed pose. “We got this. Just act weird and the director will eat it up. I work from home most of the week, so you won’t be left alone with the cameras the whole time. If you ever don’t remember something about our relationship, just act like a pigheaded male who doesn’t remember anniversaries and my favorite flowers.”