I say my quick goodbyes and make my way out to my car. Honestly, I can’t get there fast enough. But just as I set my things in the back of my Toyota and close the hatch, I stop.
Gavin is standing by my driver’s side door, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at me. Just staring.
“Forget something?” I ask.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you seem…upset,” he says.
“I’m not upset,” I shake my head, but refuse to look at him. It never does me any good when I look at him.
“Your tone and body language say differently.”
Okay.That’senough to make me look at him without my nipples hardening. I’m too pissed off to get aroused.
“Excuse me? Mytone?”
“Yeah. That one, right there.”
“This one right here is because someone walked in on my meeting with my clients and obtruded with my entire process!” I snap.
“Obtruded?” he asks.
“Yes. It’s a big word, I know,” I say.
“I know what it means,” he says, arching his eyebrows. “I just don’t think it’s the right word. The bride and groom seem very happy about my suggestions. And while you may be the hired planner, I am the one paying for the wedding, including your cut of the deal so–”
I cut him off by laughing. “Really. Wow. Wave your fat wallet around a little higher, will ya?”
“Listen,” he says, pulling his hands from his pockets and stepping forward. “They asked me to help you. I would think, with how stressed out you are about all of it, you’d graciously accept.”
“Emphasis onhelp,” I say. “Not take over.”
Gavin snorts at that. “Suggesting pulled pork instead of tuna tar tare at my son’s wedding isn’t exactly taking over,” he says defensively. “But if you want me to stay out of your way, fine.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want,” I snap.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Awesome.”
Great.
Chapter 12
Gavin
“I love my kids,”Elias tells me as he plants his feet on the grass. Well, the patch of astroturf. “But an afternoon away is pretty great.”
We are at TopGolf, which is not exactly the same as being out on the golf course. Of course, I’m not a golf cart kind of guy. I’m more of a swing a couple times and drink beer between turns kind of guy, which is why my brother and I come here instead.
“Would be even better if you actually got near one of the holes,” I tell him while sipping a Guinness. I’m leaning back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, my left arm resting on the back of the couch. It’s a warm day for January in Denver, sixty, I think. The sun and crisp air are refreshing.
“Says the man who may have hit the net on his last swing,” Elias says through parted lips and a focused stare.
“Don’t be jealous that I can drive the ball further than you,” I say.
“Is that what it’s called? Driving?” he asks before swinging. The club hits the ball hard and sends it sailing.
