She nods slowly. “Number four, only two people to a, uh, well, not a fight, but?—”
“It’s just the two of us. No one else.”
“Exactly. If the desire should arise, that’s what rule number three is for. Now, five. Let’s see, if we do find ourselves in a fight, we can only stick to one topic at a time. No hitting below the belt with other topics.”
“I should hope not. Number six?”
“Officially, that one is no shirt, no shoes, so we?—”
Declan would rail me for the flirty smile that I can’t hold back. “No funny business. Not even with my wife?”
Her cheeks go a shade darker. “Those are the rules. Seven, this club will go on for as long as necessary. Until we mutually agree to number three.”
Ifwe mutually agree to number three.
“The last one, if it’s your first Marriage of Convenience, you have to be married.”
I squint into the past, straining to remember the original rule from the movie and the template she’s using for the rules. “Does that mean honoring our vows?”
“Yes, and embracing marriage through communication.”
“Respect.”
“Trust.”
As we hammer out the terms of the Marriage of Convenience Club, something unspoken passes between us, even though Everly emphasized the importance of communication. It’s like the agreement we made in the courthouse received its final stamp of approval and we’re moving forward with this thing.
“Communication,” I repeat, emphasizing it because it’s not my strong suit.
“Speaking of, what did you say about a hot wife?” she says in disbelief. “I’ve been called many things, but nothot.”
I stifle a smirk. “Even the other guys on the team think so.”
She squawks a laugh. “As you can imagine, I’m not in the mood to be teased.”
The ache in Everly’s tone suggests she’s not being falsely modest or fishing for flattery. She really doesn’t see what’s so obvious.
“Too bad, because it’s true.” And she could be mine. All mine. But can I risk getting close to her?
“You still owe me a question from when I admitted that I drew you in the Cookie Dough Diary.”
“The what diary? Wait. That doesn’t count as my question,” I say as if this is a genie wish situation.
“Consider an explanation of my diary a freebie because it’s fun.” She tells a story from her college years and how each day she writes down her thankful three.
“That’s cool. Now, you tell me what you did wrong.”
She presses her lips together as though giving one more effort to keep the answer to herself. An exhale escapes and her sweet sunshine scent tickles my nose.
“You’re going to get bonus insight because I can’t answer this question without also telling you about my father,” she says.
“Ooh. My lucky day. Two for one,” I joke, rubbing my hands together.
“Have you ever heard of Lefevre Metal Holdings?”
I scan my mind. “Actually, I think they’re a sponsor for a football arena in Georgia.”
“Yup. They, meaning my father, owns the second biggest metal manufacturer in the world. Up until he inherited the corporation from my grandfather, it was the first, built by mygreat-grandfather. In fact, I’m guessing this airplane is made of Lefevre metal.”
