The Job (Auctioned) by Cara Dee (highly illogical behavior txt) 📕

“It works for me,” I said.

“Good. Now, help me pick an outrageously marked-up package deal.”

Deal implied bargain; this was the opposite. Thankfully, we weren’t the ones getting robbed.

I took a swig of my gimlet and peered at the offers that included gin. One package stood out. A small bottle of vodka, a small bottle of gin, six beers, six hard lemonades, and mixers. Oh, you got snacks too. I was a big fan.

“That one.” I pointed to it.

Boone approved and flagged down the bartender again.

So that was how we ended up in one of the smaller, circular booths a little while later. The backs of the booths were high, and as if that didn’t provide enough seclusion, they were draped too, leaving only the entrance open. And we had our selection of drinks on ice on our table, including a tray with lime wedges, orange slices, and lemon rinds. Fancy shit.

While I dragged a couple nachos through the guac, Boone decided to mix us two gin and tonics.

This was better. More comfortable. Much less noisy.

Over the next drink and two beers, I explained what Allegra and I had agreed to, after which Boone and I discussed our immediate plans. I knew he wanted to take that trip down memory lane, but we had work to cover too. I wanted to get that out of the way, including how we divvied up the workload.

We decided that Boone would take over for me and keep an eye on AJ Lange’s habits, while I focused on Allegra’s request to pin the cheating wife, because I assumed that would take a few days at least. Possibly more. I could easily bring Ace with me too.

“Speaking of,” he said. “I don’t wanna do every other week with Ace anymore. I fucking hate it. I wanna be able to see her whenever.”

I furrowed my brow and dumped a few ice cubes into my glass, then reached for the vodka. “What choice do we have?”

“That’s a dumb question coming from the family’s self-appointed brain and beauty,” he replied. I laughed, couldn’t help it. The drinks had warmed me up and loosened my tongue. “You can stop pushing me away and let me stay with you until we find a house.”

Until we…

He narrowed his eyes at me—or tried. The booze had reached his head. His cheeks were a little flushed, and his blue eyes were slightly glazed over. “You’re hesitatin’,” he accused. “Why don’t you wanna live with me? You said it yourself, we’re the best family. And like the good old days—you’re in charge of food and laundry. I tidy up and clean.”

Fuckin’ hell, he was going way too fast. “They’re good old days to you, Boone. To me, it was…” Sheer agony. The best and the worst of all of it. Being so close to everything I wanted without actually having it.

I shook my head and emptied half a bottle of ginger ale into my vodka. Some lime followed in my lame attempt to create a Moscow mule without the proper ingredients.

“I thought we were gonna go slow.” I took a long swig of my drink, thankful that I didn’t feel bad or anything. The topic would’ve been much more uncomfortable if I’d been sober.

“Slow sucks! Slow is keeping us apart.”

I grinned lazily at his outburst. It was funny how the same words could have different meanings depending who spoke them. He was all about getting our family back together. If I’d uttered the words, “I don’t want us to be apart,” it would mean something else.

“I forgot what a whiny crybaby you can be,” I drawled. “God forbid I leave my dirty clothes in the bathroom after I shower.”

“Because they go in the fucking hamper two feet away,” he snapped. “And you’re one to talk. I accidentally put one of your CDs in the wrong case once, and ever since, I’m not allowed to go near your stereo.”

“That’s how CDs get lost forever!” All it took was one time.

The fucker flashed a grin at me. “See how good we are together? I make sure you put your dirty clothes away, and you keep me in line so no shitty ’90s music disappears.”

Okay, no need to trash-talk my favorite music.

“I’m not sure bickering like an old married couple qualifies as good together,” I muttered into my drink.

Damn. I knew I was getting drunk when I barely tasted the vodka, and I hadn’t skimped on it.

“You know I’m not gonna tell you no, Boone,” I said, downing my drink. “All I’m asking is that we take our time.”

“We will,” he promised. “It’ll be a while before we can afford a house anyway. That’s why I think you should open your heart and let me stay with you. It’ll give us a chance to get used to living together again.”

I groaned through a laugh that felt full of hopelessness. He didn’t get it. By going slowly, I meant I needed space. He couldn’t be around me twenty-four seven. I’d lose my shit. Hell, I’d already lost it. I was screwed. Completely. I’d known for years that there would be no getting over him, so while “taking it slow” was nothing but a feeble attempt at delaying the inevitable, it was all I had. I wasn’t ready to become a basket case yet.

“Hey.” He shifted in his seat to face me better, and he cupped the back of my neck. “Instead of focusing on what we might fuck up, let’s talk about shit we’re looking forward to. Such as throwing Ace a kick-ass birthday party in a few months where her dads aren’t avoiding each other.”

I chuckled and sucked some lime juice off the edge of my thumb.

“Maybe we could go somewhere?” he suggested.

I’d like that. “Sounds good. Just the three of us.”

He smiled and let his hand drop, though he stayed close and dropped his forearms on the table. “Mexico will be nice that