Page 37 of 10 Ways to Accidentally Fall in Love

Brad turns away as much as he can while sitting on my lap with his arm over my shoulder, and Alan gives me an unimpressed look.Yeah, no doubt he’s not a fan of Brad’s special brand of codependence.

I simply shrug. “If it’s a problem, that’s a problem.”

Alan appraises me for a long moment before nodding and slipping off his seat. Brad catches him walking away and gives me a frown. “Oh no. No luck?”

“Nah,” I tell him, wrapping an arm around Brad’s waist. “But that’s okay. I think I’m done here.”

“You sure?” he says. “It’s early still. I bet we could find some stud for you to sink your drill into. Get it? Astud?”

Brad’s waggling eyebrows have me laughing, despite his terrible attempt at construction-related dirty humor.

“I’m sure,” I say, tossing the rest of my whiskey back. “Besides, I had a thought.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

It’s a bad idea—the absolute worst, really. But knowing that doesn’t stop me. “You mentioned wanting someone to cuddle with.”

Brad goes still. “Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”

“Cuddle sesh?” I offer.

His responding smile has me feeling things I have no right to. “Dude, you’re not going to regret this,” he says, slipping off my lap. “I’m such a good cuddler—you have no idea. You’re goingdown.”

I banish that mental image immediately. “You realize it’s not a competition, right? We’re on the same side?”

Hepftsas we walk toward the door. “That’s what you think. But just wait until you feel what my hands are capable of. I’ll have you flat on your back in no time.”

I swallow thickly.

Brad and I hop in my truck and drive the short way to his apartment. He keeps up a companionable stream of chatter on the way, talking about the forestscape he’s designing for work and his other gym buddy Cas, who’s helping coordinate a 5k charity run.

He never seems to run out of words, and I find myself hoarding every scrap of information he gives me. Even if I refuse to acknowledge to myself why that is.

Once we reach his place, Brad unlocks the door and flicks on the light. “Bed or couch?” he asks, slipping off his shoes and setting down his bag. “Bed has more room if you’re good with it.”

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Bed,” I answer, too weak to stop myself.

Brad nods and heads down the hall, and I follow like the lovesick puppy I am.

Just like the rest of his place, his room is not what I expected. The walls are a dark slate, nearly black, the curtains the same color. In contrast, his headboard and sheets are white, and his comforter is a serene gray. He flicks on a lamp, bathing the room in a gentle glow.

“I have trouble sleeping sometimes,” he says, giving the curtains a little tug to make sure they’re blocking out the streetlights. “This helps.”

I assume he means the darkness. I get it. The whole effect makes me want to sink onto his bed and ignore the rest of the world for a while.

“So, uh,” he goes on, turning to me with a grin. “Top or bottom?”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Or sides,” he adds quickly. “I’m good any way.”

I’m sure he is, but I rein in my wayward thoughts. “Whatever you prefer, bub.”

His smile widens, and he jumps onto the bed. Literally jumps. The comforter gets skewed when he lands on it, but Brad doesn’t seem to care. He settles on his side and waves me in.

I feel like the character in every horror movie who walks into the darkened cave when they know danger is lurking. There’s a voice inside my head screaming, “What are you doing? Don’t go in there! Turn away! Run, you idiot!”

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