Page 52 of New Hope, Old Grudges

Then there was Brody. Me and Brody.

And there was definitely a me and Brody.

I’d stopped fighting it.

Sure, I foughtwithhim plenty. About being too overbearing, too worried about how many clothes I wore, when I was driving, and generally being an overprotective male.

We also fucked plenty.

The best sex of my life.

And it was no longer hate sex.

It was like sex. At the least.

Ilikedhim.

Hence why I’d been behind the wheel of my father’s truck, driving up to his house with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof, traditions on my mind.

“What thefuck?” Brody was out the door, still in his socks, the words muttered in an angry tone as I hauled the tree across his driveway. He’d gotten rid of the snow, so my boots crunched against the icy concrete as I balanced the weight of the tree I’d taken from the back of the truck.

“Willow, give me that,” Brody demanded, appearing in front of me, brows knitted.

“I got it.” I stepped back as he tried to take the tree. “I’m not some fragile flower that can’t lift and carry heavy objects. I get you’re a mountain man, but you forget my father was one too, and he taught me his ways. Step aside.” Despite my bravado, my arms were starting to burn.

I was telling the truth; my father didn’t raise a demure little girl who didn’t know how to handle herself on the mountain. But I hadn’t been on the mountain in years.

“I’m well aware you’re not a fragile flower,” Brody bit out. “But you’re my woman, and I will not have you carry that shit while I’m watching.”

I gritted my teeth against the weight of the tree and his alpha male masculinity. I wanted to hate it. But I liked it. Just a little.

Okay, a lot.

But I had appearances to maintain.

“You’re not watching,” I struggled to keep my voice even. “There’s a box of decorations in the car. You can grab those. I don’t want to argue. I’m cold, and once the tree is decorated, I’m planning on you fucking me in front of it.”

If there was a sure-fire way to get a man to do what you wanted, it was the promise of sex. Brody’s eyes awakened with hunger, but he still stood in my way, his jaw tight.

I stared-off with him, shoulders burning. But at that point, I would’ve collapsed in the snow before letting him take over.

I didn’t know if Brody realized that or just decided to let me have a win. Either way, he stepped aside. My muscles thanked him, and I gave him a scowl as I walked past.

“I’ll be tanning that ass bare before I fuck you.” He swatted my butt.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t totally win.

Then again, I thought of Brody ‘tanning my ass’ naked, and my spine tingled.

I totally won.

* * *

A few hours later, Brody had a Christmas tree standing in his living room, the lights sparkling against the backdrop of the fireplace. I’d bought some decorations and stolen the rest from home. Though my mother was aware of my theft and fully in support of it. She’d been unusually tight-lipped about my relationship with Brody, but whenever he came to pick me up or came in for coffee and to talk with my mother, she grinned like the Cheshire cat.

The decorations were the perfect mix between pretty and tacky. My mother was of the firm belief a tree—or a home, for that matter—should never look perfectly curated and always just a little bit tacky.

Which I thought I’d achieved with Brody’s tree.

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