“Benny Henderson,” he said. “You helped him call off the wedding three months ahead of time.”
“Noted. How far away is your wedding?”
“Thirty days.”
“Good.” I nodded. “I prefer to handle things long before the rehearsal dinner whenever I can. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the highest, how sure are you that you’re not interested in getting married?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” He leaned closer. “Idowant to get married, but not to my fiancée.”
I arched a brow.
“I mean, I love her—like truly love her, but I’m not in love with her.” He paused. “The woman I really belong with is her sister.”
“Come again?”
“We started hanging out a bit more last year, and then one night, while we were going on a grocery run for taco-nacho night, we got caught in the rain with the ingredients, and then it just happened right there in the backseat.”
“Thetortilla chipsmade you cheat?”
“We get along so well and connect on a much deeper level.” He ignored my comment. “It’s almost like she was meant for me, like I wish I had met her before her sister, you know?”
I said nothing.
“She turns eighteen at the end of the year, and I just want to make sure I can give her everything she wants and needs the moment she hits that milestone.”
“You slept with a seventeen-year-old?” I lost the will to be cordial. “Is that what you just said?”
“Seventeen is perfectly legal in our state, Mr. Brooks, don’t worry.”
You’re thirty-eight going on thirty-nine…
“I know my fiancée won’t understand this, and I doubt our friends and family will either, so I was hoping you could concoct something that won’t make me look like a bad guy,” he said. “And then, like six months or so after everything has calmed down, me and her sister can go public and all will be well.”
“You honestly think six months is all it will take?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “One month for every year we were together.”
I gave him a blank stare.
“You think it should be eight months, then?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you think it should be longer than that.”
I am truly fucking speechless.
“Mr. Brooks?” He waved a hand in front of my face. “Are you okay?”
“No…” I pulled out my wallet and set a couple of bills on the table. “Not at all. This should cover your shot and whatever else you decide to order tonight.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t you want my ten-thousand-dollar deposit now?” he asked. “When exactly will I hear from you again?”
“Never.” I stood to my feet. “Helping you goes against one of my rules. I’m sorry.”
“Whatrules?” He scoffed. “Benny wasn’t exactly a saint.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Cutler.” I turned away, but he grabbed my elbow.
