Getting the Goods Page 6

  She’s funny. She likes football, she’s smart as a whip, and she’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.

  But she’s just so…

  Nuts.

  “Alright. I gotta ask. Why are you going around and trying to trap innocent men? Do you have a vendetta? Did some guy screw you over? Are you just a few crayons short of the whole box? What is it? What is wrong with you?”

  I help her to her feet, and she backs up, running right into the wall. She breaks out in hysterics, laughing so hard at herself that tears fill her eyes.

  “Oh, my gosh. I’m such a hot mess,” she mutters, as she wipes away a tear. “I’m also actually hot.”

  Before I can even say anything, she lifts her arms above her head, and yanks her dress right off. My breath catches in my throat as my eyes take her in.

  She stands before me in a pair of black lace panties, a black bra, and a pair of sexy as fuck black heels.

  Sonofabitch.

  She’s crazy, I tell myself. Don’t stare at her, you’ll want her, and then she’ll try to trap you.

  I mean, she literally just openly admitted that she is currently trying to get some sperm from someone. Anyone.

  Fuck me.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Her eyes flutter up to mine, and she holds my gaze for a split second before stumbling again. My arm flies out to steady her, and as my hand grips the soft skin of her waist, I about lose my mind.

  “This.” She points to her stomach. “This is what’s wrong with me.”

  “What?” I glance down to her toned stomach and raise my eyebrows. “It looks perfect to me.”

  “I know, right?” She throws her arms up, which makes her completely lose her balance. She falls into my arms, and as I shake my head, I scoop her up. “FML.” She giggles again.

  “FML?” My mind travels back to her calendar that I shamelessly read.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Where have you been living, Conner Andrews? Under a rock? It means, fuck my life. It’s super fitting for me, because right now, my life is pretty fucked.”

  She is pretty fucked up right now, I’ll definitely give her that.

  “Which way to your bedroom?”

  “Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “I’m not doing that with you again.”

  “No? You prefer random hookups?”

  “Yep. Plus, you’re annoying. I don’t want my eggs infested with an annoying persons’ sperm.”

  “Well, don’t worry there, sweetheart. I’m not trying to get trapped right now. I’m just going to put you in bed.”

  “Well, good, but I don’t want to trap a guy. I just need some sperm. I need to have a baby.”

  I carry her up the small staircase towards her bedroom.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to wait, and have a baby with someone who actually wants one?” I question, as I kick open the door that she points to and carry her inside.

  “Well, obviously,” she snorts. “But I can’t wait. My eggs are dying, and if I don’t plant some spermy sperm sperm in there soon, I’m not going to be able to have a baby. Ever.”

  “What? That’s the most ridiculous thing that I’ve ever heard. You look perfectly healthy. I think that the problem is up here,” I tap on her forehead, “Instead of here.” I pat her stomach.

  She exhales, long and slow, as I lay her down in her bed.

  “I wish you were right. I found out on accident, you know. It wasn’t something that I was looking into. I’ve seen the best doctors around, and they’ve all said the same thing. My time is running out. I’ve had five years to find my Mr. Right, but I’m certain that he must have died while he was a stunt double for Matthew McConaughey. That’s the only explanation that works.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  “Something terrible happened to him, and I’ve wasted five years looking for him. Now, my time is almost up, so I’m having to resort to desperate measures.”

  “Sleeping with random strangers?”

  “Calculated random strangers, but yes. Sort of. You’re the only one that I slept with so far, and I fucked that one up really good.”

  I pull the covers over her, and her eyes close. In a matter of seconds, she’s fast asleep, no longer telling me all about her mission to have a baby.

  Even though Carter’s waiting for me, I can’t help myself. I sit on the edge of her bed and stare at her, wondering how in the hell any woman could be that damn desperate to have a baby.

  9

  Gabriella

  “I still feel like I’m dying,” I wail, and Maria rolls her eyes.

  “Well, you have to give the fluids time to get into your system, Gabs. You know that. This is not your first rodeo.”

  It’s definitely not my first hangover, or even, my worst. But the older that I get, the more that the day after a drinking binge totally sucks ass.

  I remember when we were in college, and I could get completely hammered one night, and wake up the next day feeling perfectly fine. I’d be all set to start drinking again and would find myself even drunker than the night before.

  This was a repeated cycle and was my jam for my entire freshman and sophomore years of college.

  I slowed down a bit my junior and senior year, but, not really that much. I had a hell of a lot of fun in college.

  But now, as I lay here in misery, pushing thirty years old, I want to go back to last night and punch myself in the face.

  Right in the fucking face, for doing this to myself.

  Yes, I kept an account for my company, but in order to do so, I had to sell my soul to the devil.

  Well, sort of. I cancelled my plans, all to help out the asshole who happens to be my boss.

  And now today, I’m paying for it.

  “I still can’t believe that you drove yourself home. I’m seriously so pissed off at you about that. You should have called me, or your dad. Or, fuck, Gabs, an uber. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “Less talky. More drug pushy.” I snap my fingers at her and point to the IV that is currently in my arm, infusing god blessed fluids into my body.

  “Be careful what you wish for. I’m a doctor, you know that right? I can get my hands on all kinds of medications, and you would be none the wiser to what I was giving you.”

  She flashes me a devious grin, and I flip her my most favorite finger.

  “If you have drugs to put me out of my misery, please give them to me, and fast.”

  She draws up medicine out of a few different vials and pushes them into my IV.

  Maria may drive me absolutely insane sometimes, but I tell you what. She also comes in clutch for me all of the time.

  When I called her this morning, and told her how awful I felt, she gathered up some supplies, stopped at McDonalds and bought me breakfast, and then trucked on over to my house.

  She started and IV in my arm, which hurt like a son of a gun, but still. She did that, gave me fluids, medicine, and breakfast.

  She’s the real MVP today, that’s for sure.

  She flops down onto the couch next to me, and flips on the television. We decide on a movie and are about halfway into it when my doorbell rings.

  “Oh, dear god.” I look up at my ceiling. “Please do not let that be my mother. I cannot be responsible for my actions if it is. For everyone’s sake, please, do not let that be Donna.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Maria snuffs, and hops to her feet. “I happen to adore Donna, and you should be nicer to her. She’s your mother. She squeezed your big head out of her vagina. You should be…”

  “Still nauseated over her. Talking about my mother’s vagina is not helping things.”

  “Well, I’m just saying that if Donna is standing out there, in all of her little Italian cuteness, I’m totally letting her in. And I’m going to ask her to make us spaghetti.”

  “Actually,” I perk up a bit. “That’s a damn fine idea. Donna’s spaghetti does sound amazing.”

  “Dam
n right it does,” Maria agrees, as she goes to answer the door.

  “Oh, fuck!” she exclaims as the door opens. “Fuck a duck.”

  Well, I know that it isn’t Donna standing there. We don’t cuss around Donna, which is the number one reason that I didn’t want to see my mom today. She cringes at the F word, which happens to be my favorite. And when I don’t feel well, that words seems to flow out of my mouth far too often.

  “Who is it?” I call out, but, she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to, because in the next moment, I see exactly who was at my door.

  And I literally cringe.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” I glare at Conner, who glances at me with wide eyes.

  “Oh my god. Are you alright? You look like…”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Really? You’re going to show up unexpectedly in my house, and insult me?”

  “He’s got a point, Gabs. You look like death. Is that what you were going to say?” She glances at Conner, who just nods slowly, as his eyes rake over me.

  “Fuck you both.” I glare at them.

  I mean, alright. I know that I don’t look my best. I’m sure that I smell bad, even though I showered this morning, because I am literally sweating out whiskey.

  I washed my hair, but I didn’t brush it. I just knotted it on the top of my head and called it good. I threw on my favorite sweatpants, which are a bit on the ratty side, and an old t-shirt.

  I’m good with the way that I look. It matches the way that I feel, and if Conner doesn’t like it, well, he can just get the hell out of my house.

  “What are you doing here, Conner?” I glare at him, even though, I don’t have enough energy to really relay all of my feelings with my eyes.

  “I left my wallet in your car. I just stopped by to get it.”

  “Why would your wallet be…”

  Suddenly, last night’s events hit me like a Mac truck. Well, at least, I remember Conner driving me home. I then remember him being in my house, and, oh…

  Maria’s eyes widen, as if she is reading my mind, which, maybe she is. She seems to be able to do that a lot.

  “Oh, my god.” She snorts, and a giggle leaves her mouth. “You little slut.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no. Please tell me that we did not…”

  “Calm yourself.” Conner shakes his head. “If we had been together last night, I promise you, you would remember it. I just drove you home, Gabriella, and I left my wallet. That’s all.”

  “So, we didn’t…”

  “No.” A smug smile spreads across his face. “Like I said, you would remember that. Hell, you’d probably still be sore today.”

  “Oh my.” Maria breaks out into a fit of laughter and begins to shake her head.

  “Is your car unlocked?”

  I just stare at him.

  “I don’t know. Apparently, I didn’t drive it last. Did you lock it? If so, then yes, it’s locked. If you didn’t, then, no. It’s open.”

  “You are really something else.” Conner almost grins, as he shakes his head and looks at me. “You can’t ever give a straight answer, can you? You always have to be a dick.”

  “It’s a gift.” I shrug. “My mother’s Italian. We’re known to be spicy.”

  “You’re not spicy.” Maria rolls her eyes. “You’re salty. There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t know why we’re friends.” I shake my head. “I really just don’t.”

  “Because you, my little drunken hot mess, need a doctor in your life. That’s why. We are friends out of your pathetic needs.”

  “There’s a lot of truth to that.” I shrug. “A lot of truth.”

  “Anyhow,” I turn my attention back to Conner. “You’re welcome to go and look in my car. I have no idea where my keys are, but, I’m guessing that you do. So, help yourself.”

  With that, I turn back around and settle into the couch.

  10

  Conner

  My phone rings again as I’m digging through Gabriella’s car. I swear, her car is the place where empty Starbucks cups go to die. I’ve literally pulled at least six of them out from underneath the seat while searching for my wallet.

  Why are women so gross? I swear, every single one that I knows car looks just like this. It’s just not right.

  I almost ignore the call, but something tells me that I shouldn’t. That little nagging voice inside of my head is usually spot on.

  “Hello?”

  I don’t recognize the number on the screen.

  “Conner? Hey.” My sister Alexandria’s voice fills the line.

  “Alex? Hey, what’s up?”

  My stomach drops as she speaks.

  Excitement fills her voice, as she babbles on and on about an anniversary party that she is throwing for our parents. Their fortieth wedding anniversary is coming up in a few weeks, which of course, I knew.

  I never really imagined that it would be much of a celebration, though, because my parents pretty much hate each other.

  I don’t know if hate is the right word, but they definitely aren’t madly in love. At least, not like what you see on television.

  Their marriage was arranged, and I don’t know that either would agree that the arrangement ever really fit.

  Both of them came from wealthy, powerful families, whose whole goal in life was to build an empire. By my parents getting married, two kingdoms combined, which of course, led to the building of an empire. A financial empire basically, definitely not one built of love.

  My parents never held hands, never hugged, and most definitely never kissed. My mother was cold, always, to everyone in the house, but especially to my father.

  It was no secret to us that my parents weren’t in love, and it was also no secret that my father had many mistresses on the side.

  It was just normal.

  So, the fact that they are actually having a party to celebrate that marriage is almost a damn joke.

  “You and Carter are coming home for the party, right?”

  Wrong.

  “Ah, I doubt it. We’re pretty busy here in Chicago. We just bought a new company, and now isn’t exactly a good time for us to come home.”

  There will never be a good time for us to come home, and we both know that.

  Once Carter and I went off to college, we never really went back.

  We’d miss holidays, family gatherings, all kinds of things, always with the excuse that school or work was just too busy for us to come back.

  “There’s never a good time to come home, but this is important. Mother is not going to rest until she knows that you and Carter have booked flights.”

  “Lex…”

  “Conner. It’s not open for discussion. This is important. Forty years of marriage is huge! It’s something to be celebrated, regardless of how you feel about it.”

  “You and I both know that their marriage is nothing to celebrate.”

  “Sure, it is. I mean, had they not been married, none of us would have been born. If nothing else, celebrating their marriage means that we get to celebrate our lives. Look at it that way.”

  “You’re grasping at straws here, sis.”

  “I know that. But, Conner, please! You guys have to come. If you don’t, I’ll be left here with all of those stuffy people, and it will be awful. I need you guys. Please. If you won’t do it for mom and dad, at least do it for me.”

  Fuck.

  My baby sister knows how to get me where it hurts. Of course, I’d do just about anything for her. She’s my sister, and I love her dearly. Plus, I totally understand where she’s coming from. I would hate to be the only one of us stuck at a stuffy ass party. It would be horrible.

  “Fine. Let me talk to Carter, alright?”

  “I already did. He agreed if I could convince you, and since I’ve done that, I will see you guys in exactly three weeks. I can’t wait!”

  “Alright,” I sigh, and then, Alexandria pauses for just a moment.r />
  “Perfect. Now that you’ve agreed, there is one more minor detail that I should include…”

  “Lex…”

  “Sarah will be here, and, um…she’s been spending a lot of time with mother.”

  “Sarah, wait? Why?”

  “Well, remember that agreement?”

  My blood freezes in my veins. I had forgotten all about that agreement, and honestly, all about Sarah Montgomery.

  Once upon a time, I had thought that I was in love with her. She was always around, since her father worked with mine. We basically grew up together, and when I was fifteen, she was my first.

  Of course, I learned quickly that Sarah didn’t really care about me. She grew up much like I did, in a house filled with money, but lacking in love. She ended up sleeping with a friend of mine, and turns out, it didn’t bother me much. It was in that moment that I realized that I wasn’t exactly capable of loving anyone.

  Throughout the years, she and I have revisited our relationship. By relationship, I mean that every once in a while, we fuck. The last time was a little over two years ago, when I was working in Washington and she was there on business. We spent three days together, holed up in my hotel room and fucking each other’s brains out.

  It was at that point that she reminded me of an agreement we had made, along with our parents, when we were much younger.

  We would marry each other, and continue to build our families empires, if neither of us were in love or married by the age of thirty.

  I turn thirty in three months.

  “Fuck that agreement, they can’t force me to do anything.”

  “No, they can’t, but Conner, you agreed to it. If you don’t follow through, you lose everything in Mom and Dad’s will. You remember that, right?”

  I do, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck. I’ve made plenty of my own money, and I don’t really give a damn about inheriting any of theirs. There is no way that I would allow them to force me to marry someone that I don’t want to. In fact, watching their marriage has made me realize that I don’t ever want to be married, period. And I sure as hell don’t plan on ever having kids, and letting my children grow up in the cold and sterile environment that my siblings and I had to.