Melinda Curtis - Marrying The Wedding Crasher

Vince tried to topple Gabe with a suspicious stare, but his brother didn’t fold.

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Harley moved into peace-keeping mode.

“Gabe isn’t thoughtful,” Vince grumbled.

“Maybe I was selfish when I was younger and you outshone me with your huge talent underneath the hood.” An angel would have believed Gabe’s sincerity. He looked that earnest. “But I’m a changed man today.”

Vince scoffed.

“What do you do for a living, Harley?” Again, Gabe’s tone was innocuous. His smile that of an angel.

“She’s an architect,” Vince said before Harley could tell Gabe she was a tile installer. Vince gave Harley a look that telegraphed Let me handle this.

“How did you meet an architect working on an oil rig?” Gone was the angel. Gabe looked and sounded more like a hound dog on the trail of a fox.

“Vince doesn’t work on an oil rig anymore.” Harley pretended she was unable to translate Vince’s Morse code. Stick to the truth. Wasn’t that what they’d agreed? “I met him on a job site.”

They’d reached the parking lot.

“I’m working as a carpenter now,” Vince said through stiff lips.

Harley couldn’t fathom why he wouldn’t want his family to know about his job change or why he hadn’t told her his occupation was on a need-to-know basis. This was about his status quo, not hers.

They reached the door to the repair garage’s office.

“Brother, why don’t you use the shop sink to wash up?” Gabe opened the door and pointed to the stairs. “I’ll show Harley the second-floor facilities.”

Vince’s eyes narrowed.

“Sounds good,” Harley said, moving upstairs. Part of her role here was to stop Vince’s brothers from pestering him. A little distance between the siblings was called for.

The door at the top of the stairs led to a small, homey apartment with a galley kitchen. The kitchen table and living room furniture weren’t stylish retro, they were just old, yet well cared for. Three doors faced her. Two were closed. The open door revealed the bathroom. Harley went in and cleaned up.

When she emerged, Gabe was standing in front of the TV stand that didn’t have a TV. Instead family photos graced the top. He set one back down.

“I don’t want you to take this wrong.” Gabe sounded a lot like Harley’s protective older brother Taylor—overly confident and a tad self-important. Both characteristics were softened by Gabe’s unabashedly friendly smile. “I like you, but I know you aren’t dating my brother.”

Harley’s shoulders pinched in a near flinch at his assessment. She didn’t like lying, but she’d made an agreement with Vince to pretend they were dating. And there was just something about Gabe’s accusation that raised her competitive hackles. She’d never liked losing to Taylor, not in checkers and not in verbal chess.

“Really?” Harley forced out a chuckle and crossed the room to study the framed photo Gabe had been looking at. “Present your case, counselor.”

Gabe rubbed his hands together, clearly pleased that Harley hadn’t taken offense.

“First off, there’s your age difference. How old are you?” Not only did Gabe have no filter, he had no sense of boundaries. If it wasn’t for his good-natured demeanor, he would’ve been annoying. “I’m guessing twenty-four?”

“I’m almost twenty-seven.” Harley bent for a closer look. The photo Gabe had set down was of the three teenage Messina boys straddling motorcycles. An older man stood behind them with the same thick, dark hair and lady-killer grin as the boys. Their father? Harley leaned closer, taking in Vince’s multicolored striped shirt that seemed too short, blue jeans that seemed too long, and a grin that seemed too wide.

“When I was twenty-three, I dated a girl who said she was eighteen.” Gabe watched Harley closely, a spider patiently studying the fly. “Her daddy came after me with a shotgun.”

“Well, if we’re challenging each other’s relationships, I’d like to see the scars on your backside.” Harley straightened and laughed, more genuinely this time. “Are you implying I’m too young for Vince?”

“I think I’m spinning it the other way around.” He waggled his dark brows.

Harley shook her head. “Nice try, but seven years isn’t that big of a deal.”

“Sweetheart, it’s nearly eight years.” Gabe flashed a troublemaking grin. “More in dog years.”

“Clearly, it makes no difference to us.” Harley rolled her eyes. Gabe could have been cloned from the same genes as her brother.

“Clearly, there’s no zing between you two.” Gabe’s grin didn’t dim. “I’m only challenging your claim because we had a rough childhood and I feel responsible for my younger brother. You know, protective.”

“Pfft.” Gabe was more transparent than a new window in an old house. “You and Joe have a bet.”

Gabe’s eyes widened and then he began to laugh and nod. “Yep. Joe and I have a bet. Joe says you’re legit.”

Harley wanted to put Gabe in his place. And the only way she could think of doing it was to mention something personal about Vince, something he’d only tell a girlfriend, not an acquaintance. “Was this photo taken after your mother left for Texas?”

His smile disappearing faster than a cockroach on a midnight raid in the kitchen. “What did you say?”

Too late, Harley realized Vince must not have told his brothers about his mother’s location.

Vince opened the door, not looking like a man happy to see his girlfriend. No doubt, his expression would turn thunderous if Gabe asked about their mother.

The smart move would be to smile and make her escape, nose in the air. But then, nothing Harley had done this summer had been smart.

Instead she crossed the room, latched onto the collar of Vince’s polo shirt and kissed him hard.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.