Page 24 of Stirred Up

“No, after five thousand orders, I begged them to pour in an actual vat of fat.My bad,” he deadpans. “Did you want non-fat?”

Well, someone’s in a mood.

Not wanting to test the waters further,I take another sip, the harshness in his surveying eyes running the length of my front and then back up.

“Why aren’t you dressed for work? And why’s your phone been off sinceyesterday?”

“Morning to you too, Brady. I’m fine, thanks for asking, and my phone was switched off because as a grown ass woman. I’m allowed to do that when the mood strikes.” I breeze past him in long, angry strides.Dick!

“Why?”

“Why what?” I huff, setting my coffee on the counter while I snatch a hair clip from the junk drawer.

“Whywas your phone off?”

I wrap my hair in a loose bun and slide the clip in place, debating the best response, a formidable Brady looming over me. “I was tired.” I turn on my heel and pry open the refrigerator in an attempt to block him out whileseemingly searching for something of substance to squelch the gurgle of my empty stomach.

“Bullshit.” His hand, inches from my head, slams the fridge door shut, locking me in place.

“We need to talk and you ignoring my calls and texts—” his nostrils flare, eyes hard as he leans into me, “pisses me off like nothing else.”

My chin juts out in response. “That’s what happens when you act like a jerk!” I shove against his chest but he doesn’t budge, not even a sway.

My hands drop to my sides, pumping in and out of fists. Not because I plan to throw a punch; I’ve never been one to hit, but I use this to channel the rage that’s about to burst from my pursed lips. And when the hell did Brady’s chest get so hard?

Focus!

Unaffected, he continues as though my hands had never attacked him. “Me and you, we’re gonna fight occasionally, it happens betweenfriends. But you gotta answer thefuckingphone to let a guy apologize, got it?”

“Fine. You’re here now, so would you like to sit down?” I let the sarcasm drip off my words, snide smile inplace over my tight lips.

“Sure, join me.” He grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room and down onto the couch beside him. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said, Moe, okay? I was too…harsh.”

He shakes his head, his features softening on his sigh. When he looks back up, my anger melts into hurt, reopening the wound I suffered from his callous words. But also at the regret I hold for mentioning his bastard father. I wait nervously through the silence for him to say more.

“I don’t wanna fight with you, ever. You know I didn’t mean a word of it. You’re smart and capable and always make the best fucking decisions. I was just mad; you’re kinda rough on Dylan.”

I rest back against the sofa pillow, tucking one leg under me. “I seem too rough because it’s always in direct comparison to you beingtooeasy,” I say softer, his apology already accepted. “But I agree, he needs support, so I’ll be there for him. No more naysayer here.”

His shoulders deflate. “Come here.” He embraces me in a hug and kisses the top of my head. “Love you, Moe, sosorry. Forgive me?”

“You know I do.” My head pulls back just enough to see his face. “I’m sorry I brought up your father. That was a bitch move. I didn’t—”

“Stop, I’m over it. You were just angry. You and that temper of yours.” A chuckle catches in his throat and I yank myself from his arms.

“I do not have a temper! I’m passionate is all!” I screech out just as Brady’s arm encircles my waist and drags me down in a fighting move, pinning me underneath him.

“Passionate, huh?”

His heady scent overwhelms my frazzled senses, as does the firmness in his arms, and I’m jolted back to my dream. I can’t think, can’t breathe. My stomach is a swirl of butterflies and rational concerns tangled in a nasty brawl. My core’s weeping, saturated with desire as his fingers dig into my hips.

“Yes, passionate, and incredibly stubborn,” he murmurs, lips hovering over my ear, the weight of his chest crushing against mine.

Does he feel it too—the heat? The cruel, undeniablelink pulsing between us? Or is this just a playful match that my body is reading further into? I’m unsure, only one thought clear—get away.

With a scorching blush, I shove at him in an awkward display of gangly arms and legs, ready to start screeching, but he’s already gone. He sits across from me, scrubbing his hand across his face, contemplation evident.

Keep it casual.As though I can ignore that our worlds have been totally thrown off kilter.

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