Page 14 of The Breaking Point

After I set the table, I took out my phone and googled Brady. It was rather masochistic but a good reminder of why we’d never work out. The top pages were all posts and photos of Brady out with various gorgeous women. There were multiple photos of his arms around two women, with other women following him like starry-eyed ducklings.

If ducklings had huge boobs, huge lips, and wore basically scraps of fabric that somehow equaled an outfit.

I scowled and returned my phone to my pocket.Brady will never change. So you might as well get over him.

I busied myself with finishing up dinner preparation, although Mom got annoyed when I nearly let the bread burn in the oven. She gave me a look that she’d perfected over the years, one of exasperation mixed with affection.

“Get out of here,” she said, hitting me lightly with a dish towel.

Will arrived promptly at six o’clock. Brady, who’d told Mom he’d be there at six as well, was late. As per usual. Brady had never been one for punctuality.

“Hi there,” Will said, forcing me to stop thinking about Brady.

Will was in IT, and he looked like it. He wore glasses, along with a button-down that was two sizes too big. He’d recently shaved, and I had to pick off a piece of toilet paper he’d left on his jaw.

“Don’t be nervous,” I said, taking him by the hand.

Will laughed awkwardly. “I might not be a sports guy, but even I know who Coach Dallas is.”

When I’d first told Will who my dad was, he’d looked at me like I was an alien. I’d been surprised—and a little annoyed at myself for revealing my dad’s identity.

I usually kept that a secret for a while longer. I’d been on too many dates with hockey bros who thought getting close to Coach Dallas’s daughter would get them close to the hockey coach legend himself.

I’d never understood it. It wasn’t like Dad would add a guy to the team because he’d bought me a drink. But when I’d pointed that out once, my date had gotten so defensive that he’d ended the date early.

I introduced Will to Mom first because she was nicer. Mom smiled kindly at Will and shook his hand. She asked him the usual questions that moms loved to ask: Where do you work? Did you grow up in the area? Is your family nearby? Will answered them all without breaking a sweat.

But when Dad finally came inside after mowing the lawn—because of course he had to mow the lawn before dinner—Will’s calm exterior didn’t last long.

“What are your plans with my daughter?” Dad asked after perfunctory introductions were done.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Mike. Don’t scare the poor guy away.”

“I’m not scaring him.” Dad’s intense gaze narrowed as he looked Will up and down. “Am I, son?”

Will swallowed. I was about to take Will into the living room for a reprieve when the doorbell rang.

“That must be Brady,” Mom chirped.

I made a face, which Dad saw. He just raised an eyebrow at me.

And then Brady Carmichael, the man I couldn’t escape, was in my parents’ house again, taking up every bit of space he could.

Brady wore jeans and a black fitted tee, his hair was damp, and sexiness dripped from every pore. He didn’t have any bits of toilet paper on his face, and his clothes fit perfectly.

Don’t compare him to Will.It wasn’t fair. Brady was on another level from any man I’d ever met. Poor Will could never compete with a man like Brady.

“Grace,” Brady murmured before pulling me into a brief hug. “Nice to see you again.”

I inhaled the scent of his cologne, my heart pounding, which only made me feel horribly guilty.

“Brady,” I said hoarsely.

“I’m so glad you could join us,” Mom said. “It’s been too long since you’ve joined us for family dinner.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Dallas. It’s nice to see you,” said Brady.

Mom waved a hand. “Call us Mike and Elise, won’t you?”

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