Page 2 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

She waves her hand. “What’s the benefit of having all this money if you’re always working?”

I leave her in the bathroom and head into my walk-in closet to pick out a suit for today.

“Whoa. Anal much?”

My chin drops to my chest. Of course she followed me in. I watch her run her hand along the suits that are hung according to color, all on the same hangers and an equal distance apart.

I’m a polite guy, been praised all my life for my patience, but I think that might be because my best friend and cousin Easton is more of a hothead. In comparison, I look like the patron saint of patience. Regardless, Lizzie the Lawyer is draining my patience like a siphon.

I pick out my suit and slide by her back out to my bedroom, then slide on my boxer briefs with my back to her. “Surely you didn’t become a lawyer without having to work a lot.”

She joins me in the bedroom and shrugs. “Technically, I’m in law school.”

My head whips around. “How old are you?”

She laughs and falls onto the bed—still naked. “Don’t worry. I took a few years off after my undergrad. We’re closer in age than you’d suspect.”

I never told her how old I was, which is another clue, among many others, that she knew who I was before she approached me in the bar last night.

“Listen…” I broach the subject, meaning to tell her that she needs to leave, but her arms flail and she jumps to her feet.

“Let me. Let me. I always wanted to do this.” Her hands reach for me, and she grabs the ends of my tie.

“I’m sorry?” My forehead creases.

“Get my man ready.”

Her hands work on my tie as she hums to herself, our eyes meeting a few times. Once she’s done, I look in my dresser mirror and see that she actually did a great job.

“I’ve been practicing for years. I know all the popular ones—Windsor, double Windsor, four-in-hand, Pratt, Nicky—”

“Thanks.” I cut her off. “I’ll go make some coffee while you get dressed.”

Take the hint, Lizzie. Take the fucking hint.

“Okay, party pooper.” Her voice changes octaves as if she’s the cartoon character Eeyore.

I say nothing and venture into my kitchen, happy to see a full pot of coffee waiting for me. At least I did one thing right last night, setting the timer. I grab two to-go cups and lids and fill them.

Lizzie joins me a minute later, dressed in the skirt and revealing blouse she wore last night. Her blonde hair is finger-combed at best and she definitely seems fine with the walk of shame.

“I take milk. Do you have milk?” She leans against my counter, pulls out her phone, and lets out an excited squeal.

I roll my eyes and slam the fridge, the bottles inside rattling.

“I completely forgot Love, Marriage, and Where to Find It had a recording drop this morning.”

I place my hand over her phone. “Please don’t.”

Her eyes bug out and her mouth hangs open. “Why? It’s the hottest podcast. Especially for us single folk.” She pokes my stomach as if I’m the Pillsbury Doughboy.

That final ounce of patience finally drained out. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“What’s not to like?” She presses Play before I can stop her again, and I have to hear the music jingle intro before…

“Kenzie Gavino and her best friend, Blake Allen, are here to dish on love, marriage, and where to find it. This episode features—”

I take the phone out of her hand and press Stop.

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