The Perfect Match. Kristan Higgins
Shock and awe, shock and awe... It was chilly in here. She swallowed and waited some more.
Brogan’s father poked his head into the kitchen. “Smells good—oh. Hello, Honor, dear.”
Brogan’s father.
Brogan’s father.
Oh, fungus.
Honor dove under the table, knocking over a chair with a crash, crawled a few paces and grappled for the damn coat. Held it in front of her. Noticed the floor could use cleaning.
“Dear? Are you all right?” Mr. Cain asked.
“Did you say Honor’s here?” Mrs. Cain.
God, please kill me, Honor thought, jerking the coat around her shoulders. “Um, one second,” she said, her voice higher than usual.
Brogan bent down, his face puzzled. “On? What are you doing under—oh, man!”
“Hi,” she said, trying to get an arm in her sleeve.
“Dad, Mom, get out for a sec, okay?” He was already wheezing with laughter.
Where was the damn sleeve? Brogan squatted next to her. “Come on out,” he managed, wiping his eyes. “You’re safe for the moment.”
She crawled out, then stood, wrapping the coat around her. Tightly. “Surprise,” she said, her face on fire. “Sorry. I’ll try never to be spontaneous again.”
He tipped her chin up, and there it was, that mischievous, slightly lecherous smile, dancing eyes. Her skin tightened, lust mingling with mortification. “Are you kidding? My father will like you even more than he already does.”
The words gave her hope. Honor smiled—it wasn’t too easy, but she did—and readjusted her hairband. Dang, she’d meant to leave that at home. Hairbands with a Scotty dog pattern and nudity didn’t really go together. “So. Hello.”
He laughed and gave her a one-armed hug, then turned toward the living room. “It’s safe to come back, parents!” he called.
And back they came, Mrs. Cain’s face in lines of disapproval, Mr. Cain grinning.
Bite the bullet, Honor. “Sorry about that,” she said.
“Absolutely no need to apologize,” Mr. Cain said, his breath leaving in an ooph as Mrs. Cain elbowed him in the ribs.
“My parents are visiting,” Brogan said, his eyes dancing with laughter.
“So I see,” Honor murmured. “How’s Florida?”
“It’s wonderful,” Mr. Cain said warmly. “Stay for dinner, dear.”
“Oh, no. You... I can’t. But thanks.”
Brogan gave her another squeeze. “Yes, you can. Just because they saw you naked is no reason to feel awkward. Right, Mom?”
“Laugh it up,” Honor muttered.
Mrs. Cain was still in lemon-sucking mode. “I didn’t realize you two were...together.” She never had liked Honor. Or any female interested in her son, one imagined.
“Please stay, Honor,” Brogan said. “We’ll just talk about you if you leave.” He winked, utterly unfazed by her little show.
He got her a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, and she changed in the downstairs bathroom, avoiding looking at her face in the mirror. Okay, one quick glance. Yes, she looked utterly humiliated. But if she was going to be his wife, she’d just have to get over this little debacle. It would become part of the Cain family lore. They could laugh at it. A lot, no doubt.
Brogan covered the awkwardness over dinner with shop talk, telling them about the upcoming baseball season and spring training, who was out with what injury, and Honor tried to forget that Mr. Cain had seen her naked.
The elder Cains were only here en route to Buffalo to see Mr. Cain’s sister, thankfully. Maybe the night wouldn’t be a total wash, after all.
Finally, they left. The second their car pulled out of the garage, Brogan turned to her.
“That was maybe the best moment of my life,” he said.
“Yes. You’re welcome,” she said, blushing again. But smiling, too, because there it was, that nervous, tingling feeling. The—she hated to think it, but it was true—gratitude. Brogan Cain, the hottie sports photographer, had just complimented her.
“So let’s pretend the night is just starting, shall we?” he said, pulling back to smile at her. “You go outside, I hear a faint knock, and who is it but the beautiful Honor Holland!” He led her to the door and gently pushed her outside, though the rain had turned to sleet.
And so Honor did it again, and this time, things went a little more according to plan. Except the kitchen table was covered in dishes, so they went to Brogan’s bedroom instead.
And when they were done, and when Honor’s heart was racing, not just from exertion, but from terror, let’s be honest, she tried to draw in a calming breath. Settle down, she told herself. He’s your friend.
Yes. He was. Honor raised herself slowly—Brogan seemed to be sleeping. That was okay. This way, she could just look at him. He was so handsome. Black lashes worthy of a mascara commercial, straight nose, perfectly shaped mouth. A hint of five-o’clock shadow gave his almost-beautiful face just the right amount of machismo. Hard to believe she was in bed with him, even after all these...encounters.
She knew he’d had a few girlfriends here and there. During those times, they didn’t sleep together, of course, and Honor would try to be neutral on the rare occasions that Brogan did talk about these other women. Inevitably, he’d break up with them (which was a great sign, she thought).
As for other men, well...there’d been four other relationships, lasting between five and twenty-three days. She’d only ever slept with one other guy, and let’s face it. It hadn’t compared with this.
Now or never, Honor.
“You asleep?” she whispered.
“Nope. Just letting you ogle me,” he said, opening his eyes with a grin.
She smiled back. “And I appreciate it.” She licked her lips, knees tingling with adrenaline. “So.”
“So.” He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. It was all the encouragement she needed.
“You know what I thought the other day?” she asked. Her toes curled, but she kept her voice casual.
“What?”
“I was thinking we should get married.”
There. She said it. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe normally.
“Yeah, right.” Brogan snorted. He stretched, yawning. “Man, that flight is catching up with me.” Then he looked back at her. “Oh. Uh, are you serious?”
Play it easy here, her brain advised. “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s a thought.”
He stared at her, then his eyebrows jumped in bewilderment. “Really?”
His voice did not indicate that he’d just heard a wonderful idea. It indicated...bafflement.
“It’s just, you know, we’re good friends. Good, good friends. Really good friends.” Oh, youch. Stop talking. You sound like an idiot. “You know, we’ve been friends for ages now. Long time.” Her tongue felt like a piece of old leather, and wasn’t that an attractive image! Would you like to kiss my shriveled, dry, leathery mouth, Brogan? Because the years are precious, you know. Egg-wise.
She forced out an awkward laugh, then wished she hadn’t. “Just putting that out there. It’s been, what? Seventeen years that we’ve been together?”
“Together?” he said, sitting up abruptly.
“Uh, sort of. We