Page 125 of Mr. Infuriating

I motioned to the cabinet, still sitting on the kitchen floor. “Let’s get this out of here before the wood warps.”

The second the door leading to the house closed behind us, I growled, “What. The. Fuck. Did you just do?”

My cocky little brother replied, “I think it’s pretty obvious what I did.”

“Do you know how much this is going to cost me?”

We adjusted our hold on the cabinet before walking up the ramp.

“Really?” Beau replied as we set the cupboard down. “You’re worried about paying a plumber when you get to have Gretchen staying at your house? I think that’s a small price to pay to have your soulmate under your roof for a few days.”

“For the last time, she’s not my soulmate! This isn’t going to end how you think it will.”

We hopped off the truck onto her cement driveway, and I slid the ramp into the slot under the truck bed that Beau had custom installed for me.

“I dunno. You were pretty quick to step up and take the blame and insist she stay with you.”

Okay, yeah, I did do that.

“What else was I going to do? She doesn’t have any water.”

“You could have let her go to her parents.”

“And add an extra thirty-minute commute to her drive in the morning?” I asked as I pulled the roll door on the truck down and locked it.

“You could have offered to pay for a room at the inn.”

The Seaside Inn was the only lodging in town, so everyone just called it “the inn”.

Maybe I should have done that.

I shook my head, sputtering, “You volunteered my house! I couldn’t exactly back pedal from that without looking like a jerk.”

The little prick just shrugged, not remorseful in the least.

“I guess you better make the best of it then.”

Yeah, I guess I better.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Gretchen

What the hell am I doing?I reprimanded myself as I picked out what I was wearing to school tomorrow in order to put it in my overnight bag.

The bag that I was taking to Gabe’s house.

Because Jake and I were spending the night there.

Because apparently, I’m a masochist.

“Or I don’t have a backbone,” I muttered out loud while I carefully folded the dress I’d selected.

But I knew that wasn’t true. I’d never been a doormat. I wasn’t going to Gabe’s house because he’d told me to.

No, somewhere deep down, Iwantedto go.WhyI wanted to was fodder for my next therapy appointment, but for now, I was going with the masochist angle. It’s the only thing that made sense.

Why else would I willingly put myself through the yo-yo of emotions that Gabe wrung out of me?

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