Page 3

CHAPTER 3

OLD MAN THEODORE

THEODORE

B ridget’s voice shrieks as she practically sashays through the front door. “Theodore! Get my bags from the rideshare! I can’t spill my coffee.”

? * Goddamnit . Here we go.

I can’t say that I’ve particularly missed her or the demands that seem to almost constantly be spilling from that hole in her face one bit.

I nod while passing her, not giving her any verbal response, and head out the door. I grab her luggage from the guy’s trunk, but when I spin around I notice that Emerson is out on their front porch dumping ice into some coolers. When he notices me he yells across the street, “Hey, neighbor!”

I give him a quick wave in return. “Hey!”

This isn ’t good .

I shouldn’t have to feel like I want—no, need —to hide Bridget from our new neighbors, but I do. I don’t want her to be disrespectful to them. And in order for that to happen, that would pretty much require her to never talk to them. Because nine times out of ten, something snarky almost always comes out, whether she does it on accident or on purpose.

I haven’t seen this woman be genuinely nice since we were kids.

My eyes land back on the house across the street, and as I further examine what’s going on, I realize it looks like they’re getting ready for… Shit.

Let’s hope, to all things holy, that whatever they’re planning isn’t going to be as big as I have a feeling it’s going to be on the first night my impossible-to-please fiancée is here.

I’ll never live that down. She is already less than impressed that we live in a college town, let alone so close to campus.

Resigned to the fact that I have no control over the situation right now, I head back into the house. Not even a foot in the door and Bridget snaps, “Theodore, I told you I was having Regina come down to decorate. Why are there already things up on the walls?”

I hate it when she uses my full name, and she knows it. She insists it sounds more “highbrow” and “respectable” than Theo.

I deadpan, “I already had the decorations here. I can only stare at blank walls for so long.” Setting her bags down by the front door, I level my stare with her as she looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

She pauses a minute and looks around. But I can see it in her demeanor. She wants to be here about as little as I want her here. And when she opens her mouth, I know what she’s about to say before she even says it. “I can’t believe we’re living on the same street as all of these college kids. We’re better than this.”

Here we fucking go.

“This is for my job. I have to be here, remember? A college town will always be a part of my life.”

She acts like this is somehow all brand-new information. Like she hasn’t known since we were teenagers this is what I wanted to do.

Growing up, our families were incredibly close. We were neighbors but not the kind you’d see in the city. No, we were the kind of neighbors that were the only two houses on the whole thirty-mile back road. And on the sides of that road were vineyards as far as the eye could see. One side was theirs, and one side was ours.

I don’t have the energy or the mental capacity to get into the nuances of the entire situation at the moment, but it’s important to know that mine and Bridget’s marriage could be the only thing that will save the longevity of our family businesses. Something that I so carelessly put on the line with my “selfishness,” or so my father says, and something both he and Bridget’s father so often remind me of.

That thought stays in my brain for the rest of the day as I listen to her complain about any and everything she can find wrong with this house.

The house of my dreams.

One that’s now the centerpiece to my nightmare of a life.

* * *

“Theodore!”

The progressively higher and higher shrieking that’s coming from the master bedroom should make me answer her, but it doesn’t. I have a dull headache from keeping my jaw clenched tight enough to crack a molar since she got here. And now the tension in the house has increased ten-fold because the house across the street has finally turned up their music to an unavoidable level.

“Theodore Young!”

I hear her footsteps coming to find me in the kitchen, where I’m about to polish off my second glass of whiskey, and when her face comes into view, I down the last sip. “What?”

“Go over there and shut this monstrosity of a party down,” she huffs out. “I just saw two naked people running through the front yard!”

I stare at her, hoping if I don’t answer she will go back upstairs. But as I look at her, I’m reminded of the fact that, despite her personality, Bridget truly is beautiful. Blonde hair, perfect skin, long legs. Physically, she truly is every man’s dream. But then she snaps her fingers at me, and I’m reminded of exactly who I’m dealing with.

I roll my eyes at her dramatics. “It was probably just a dare. Didn’t you do crazy shit in college?”

She looks at me like I’ve grown another head.

I pour another splash of whiskey into my tumbler, down it, and slam my glass back on the counter before sliding my runners on. Maybe getting out from under the same roof as her will help clear my head a little.

Here comes old-man Theodore, coming to shut the fun down.

* * *

I should not be in this house right now.

I should not be at a college party filled to the brim with students who attend the college that now employs me.

And I definitely should not be three glasses of whiskey deep while stepping foot in here.

I spot a broody Dom over in the corner and give him a head nod before I’m scanning the room for the man I know who runs this house.

A split-second later I see a tall, dark-headed guy with dimples as deep as the Grand Canyon in the middle of the living room screaming lyrics to Shania Twain.

The guy on the dance floor is yelling the lyrics across the room at someone, and I find myself smiling at the antics. He makes his way across the room and grabs someone, who I can’t quite see through the crowd, by the front of the shirt and pulls him to the middle of the room.

That smile is wiped off my face when I finally see who the other man is.

The man I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off of from my window.

The man I don’t know the name of.

I stand still in my spot for what feels like an eternity, as I watch Emerson approach them. A moment later, Emerson finally spots me. And… his brother.

And as he stares at me, it feels as if he can see straight into my soul. Even with the insanity that’s occurring around us, it suddenly feels like we’re the only two in the room.

All too soon he shakes out of a trance and practically bounces over to me. And the fact that he’s coming to me, does little to ease the unexplained and sudden jealousy I have over him dancing with some other guy.

Which is why, when he finally gets to me and says, “Hi, I’m Jackson,” I don’t introduce myself like a civilized human being. Instead, I practically growl, “I need you guys to turn the music down.”

* ? harder to lie. - elijah