The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(67)

Pat turns to her, but keeps my hand trapped in his. I’m a willing prisoner, not even pretending I want to escape.

He smiles at her. “What is it, Jojo?”

Hearing Pat use her nickname so easily is a pinprick to my heart.

“You can get rid of some of your coats,” Jo says, turning to me. “Then Pat could fit his things in your closet.”

I glance quickly at Pat, who’s probably wondering why I have so many coats in the first place. “Good idea, bear cub. We’ll take it under consideration. For now, though, let’s help Pat move his things to the guest room.”

She obeys, bounding after Pat. I have a feeling I’m going to need those coats. Every. Single One.

Whether I’ll be screaming or crying in the closet, time will tell. I have a strong feeling it will be both in equal measure.





“Why do I feel as though I’m entering a cage fight to the death?” Pat asks, walking into the kitchen where I’m seated at the small table.

I tilt my head. “Not a bad idea. Maybe later.”

He pulls out the chair across from me and sits, angling his long, jean-clad legs out to the side. His feet are bare, which makes the moment suddenly more intimate, and as I watch, he grabs a stray fork off the table and scratches underneath the ankle monitor.

“Do I smell coffee?” he asks.

I get up, refilling my mug and pouring him one. “Do you still take it black?”

“Like my heart.”

I start to shake my head, then stop as the coffee sloshes over the rims of our mugs. Pat does not have a black heart. In fact, I think he might be the sweetest person I know.

My favorite kind of sweet too. He’s not the cloying kind that makes your teeth ache, but more like the dark chocolate sprinkled with salt or with a hint of pepper to give it bite. There is always push and pull with Pat. So much friction, a delicious amount of tension.

I love it. I’ve always loved it.

“You have the furthest thing from a black heart.” I set the coffee down in front of him.

Pat puts a hand over his chest. “Aw. And to think—I thought you hated me.”

“You know I could never hate you. I married you, didn’t I?”

That million-watt smile of his returns. I wish he’d shift to something more energy efficient, like the stupid forty-watt bulbs that keep my house perpetually dungeon-like.

“You did, wife.” When I squirm, Pat’s smile ups the wattage to blinding levels. “Marriage, sealed with a kiss.”

At the word kiss my eyes skate down over his cheekbones, past the light brush of stubble to his full lips, curving in a grin. I clear my throat several times, dispelling the tension the way only a good, unnecessary throat clearing can.

“Mawwiage,” I say, pushing a paper across the table, “is what bwings us togevah today.”

Pat laughs at my Princess Bride quote until I hand him a pen. His smile dims as he actually reads the paper.

“‘The New Rules’?” Pat groans. “What is this, Lindy?”

But he knows what it is. The flash of hurt now morphing to frustration in his eyes tells me that.

I lean back, telling my body to stop humming in awareness at Pat’s nearness. Even when he’s upset, there’s a magnetism yanking me to him. Every room feels smaller with him in it, the air more dense, like he’s surrounded by the atmosphere from some other planet.

I take another swallow of coffee. It’s too hot and burns all the way down. “If this is going to work, we need ground rules.”

His chuckle is humorless. “We tried that before, remember? How did the rules work out for us?”

Not well. We made rules and then I broke the most important one, falling in love. From what Pat says, he did too, though I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the idea.

“Consider it a prenup.”

He shoves the paper back across the table. “We’re past the pre part. We’re already married.”

“A post-nup then.”

The less real this feels like an actual marriage, the better. For a few slivers of time today, I forgot the pretense, forgot the reason behind it all, and let myself enjoy the moment.

Which is a dangerous, dangerous thing. I need this flimsy piece of paper. It’s all I have to guard my heart, to keep me from making the biggest mistake of my life twice.

Pat slides the paper back across the table. “There’s no such thing as a post-nup.”

There is, actually, but I’m not picking a fight about it right now. “Call it what you want, but I NEED THIS!”

There’s a pause after I shout, one in which we both tilt our heads, listening to see if my shouting woke Jo. I don’t know why I’m surprised Pat is already so attuned to her. She demanded that he put her to bed tonight. The sound of Pat reading to her, stumbling over the words a bit but making voices for each character, practically burned right through my protective heart vest.

Hearing nothing, Pat and I return to our battlefield on the worn table. Pat takes the paper between two fingers, spinning it so he can read. I know the whole thing by heart after writing like ten drafts. Ultimately, I kept it simple.



The Rules, Take Two





No unnecessary touching (if you aren’t sure, it’s probably unnecessary)