Page 8 of Seal the Deal
Nicholas is even more attractive in person, and he’s also even more of a dick. Helping him with his financial issues is going to be a nightmare, but one Andrew will endure for Denise and Amanda because if they’re asking this of him they must really need the help. He can suck up his own feelings long enough to get this asshole’s numbers running smoothly and get him back out of Andrew’s life.
“Please tell me you have a single malt scotch in the kitchen.”
“No.”
“Cognac?”
“No.”
Nicholas sighs. “A nice bourbon?”
“We have red wine.”
“Who the fuck drinks red wine?” Nicholas frowns.
“I do,” Andrew answers, lifting his glass and smiling at Nicholas before taking a sip.
“Should’ve guessed,” Nicholas grumbles.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Andrew questions, trying and failing not to get offended.
“You just seem the type, is all.”
“What type is that?” Andrew challenges, ignoring the way Amanda and Denise are frantically whispering.
Nicholas gives Andrew an appraising once over that has Andrew crossing his arms over his chest.
“Not the type I’d fuck or date.”
“Andrew,” Denise tries at the same time Amanda hisses, “Nicholas.”
“Lucky for me, I don’t want to fuck or date you.”
“Andrew.”
“Lucky me indeed,” Nicholas says with a roll of his eyes. “Why did you try to find someone as boring as possible for me to fake date, Gumby?”
“Andrew,” Denise and Amanda say at the time, but Andrew isn’t listening.
There’s a ringing in his ears, and the room is suddenly far too small. He needs to lay on the floor, or stand under the shower until he forgets he’s a person. He needs to not be here with Amanda and Denise and Nicholas fucking Whitmore staring at him.
Before tonight, Andrew didn’t think anything could be worse than being set up on a blind date, but he was wrong. Being set up for a fake blind date is worse because everyone in this room knows what Andrew has long worried—that no one really wants to date him.
Not only is Andrew someone’s last resort, he’s the lastfakeresort. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but Andrew is tired of cleaning up everyone else’s messes; he’ssotired of being the last choice over and over andover.
“It’s not what it sounds like,” Amanda tries. “Or I guess it kind of is, but?—”
Andrew can’t hear thebut.
“I need some air,” Andrew interrupts, stumbling backwards.
“Doll,” Denise tries, but Andrew shakes his head. He can’t be around people right now. He doesn’t even want to exist right now.
“Andrew, wait. Please,” Amanda tries, but Andrew is already moving towards the front door, gulping down huge lungs full of fresh air as the front door slams behind him.
Whatever he’d feared might happen tonight, the reality is worse.
So much fucking worse.
