Page 9 of Sticking Around

I don’t ask her how many men she’s been with, but I’m so curious about her. She said she doesn’t date, but has she ever been in a serious relationship? If so, how long ago and is that the reason she doesn’t date anymore? But those are questions for people trying to get to know each other and that’s not really what’s happening here. I might have thought about letting her see the real me earlier, but that would have been a mistake. I must have been concussing our something. When it comes right down to it, I can’t offer her anything. I can’t commit. Jesus, I have enough responsibility on my shoulders as it is; it’s weighing on me so heavily, it’s a surprise I can breathe sometimes.

Yeah, I just can’t take on anymore, because fuck, what if she needed me and I couldn’t be there? What if I failed her, like I failed others? My mind goes back to the accident I had at sixteen, and I push it back fast. Now is not the time to let painful thoughts rise to the surface. Now is the time to flee from the bed like I always do.

Okay, so why the hell aren’t I moving?

4

Melanie

I stare at Brady’s broad back and admire the way his muscles ripple as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands. He glances at his clothes on the floor and I fully expect him to pull them on and go back to his wing of the house. After all, that’s his move. Yeah, Brady Fisher doesn’t stick around after sex, and it shouldn’t be any different with me. In fact, I don’t want it to be.

I open my mouth about to say something, anything, but he speaks first. “Be right back.” My heart jumps into my throat as he walks to the door and steps into the hall, still naked. What the heck is he doing? Across the hall, I hear water running in the sink and I grab the blankets to pull them up, wanting to get into the bathroom myself to wash up.

He comes back into the room, a warm, satisfied look on his face, as he gives me his famous bad boy grin. “Why are you covered up? I’ve already seen everything, Lanie, and I’ve been inside you.” Heat rushes to my face. “Can you please take the blankets off?”

I swallow. “Since you’re asking so nicely.”

Unsure of what’s going on here, I slowly slide the blankets off, feeling a little exposed and vulnerable beneath his intense gaze, but I also feel admired and maybe cherished, not that I would really know what it’s like to feel those things. The truth is, I’ve always wanted to feel special, but I know that comes with a price and broken promises.

“Spread your legs,” he commands in a soft voice, and that’s when I see the washcloth in his hands. No freaking way. My heart pounds against my chest as I slowly inch my legs open. Brady sits on the bed, and the second he puts the warm cloth on my sex to wash me up, my throat tightens with emotions I really don’t want to feel. What is going on here? This isn’t the Brady I know, and while I liked that Brady—accepting him for who he is, because hey, we all have flaws—I like this man before me, too.

“Doing okay?” he asks, probably because I’ve gone as still as a stealth soldier. Dark, questioning eyes meet mine and I give a tight nod.

“You?”

“I’m doing great, Lanie.” He moves on the bed, and bends to give me a soft, easy kiss. The kind of kiss familiar lovers give one another and it messes with my brain and body.

Before I can think better of it, I blurt out, “Kiss me like that again, and I’ll never let you out of this bed.”

He chuckles. “While I’m up for that, I’m not quite up for that.” He gestures with a nod to his soft cock, and I laugh with him. “Besides, we have fish and chips in the kitchen and I want to feed you.” His lids fall, veiling his eyes as he removes the cloth from between my legs, and there’s a different kind of seriousness about him when he adds, “You worked all night, and then exerted yourself with me, and I want you to have your strength tomorrow for studying.” At the mention of food, my stomach grumbles. He puts his hand on my belly. “See. Come on. Let’s get dressed and I’ll heat the food up.”

He stands and tugs on his jeans and T-shirt, and I climb back into my frayed pajama shorts and T-shirt. I lift my arms and let them fall to my sides. “All ready.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs and gazes at me, his eyes holding the same amount of desire as they did when he found me in the lingerie. Maybe a little more, which is kind of strange.

He puts his hand on the small of my back and it sends warm shivers through my body as he guides me to the door. We go down the hall and into the kitchen and the delicious scent of French fries reaches my nostrils.

“Mmm, grease and carbs before bed.”

“I start hard training and restrictive dieting soon, so I’m going to eat everything I want…” His gaze drops to my body. “…all I want, before that.”

I gulp at the heat in his eyes and something in the way he says, ‘eat everything I want’ makes me think he’s talking about me. We can’t fall into bed together ever again, though. That first time was a little intense—maybe because it’s been so long for me, or maybe not—but nevertheless, I can’t let myself feel anything for Brady. Love, lust and even like comes with conditions, and I will not ever put myself out there again. No one, and I mean no one in this world is going to dupe me…not again.

He turns the oven on and starts opening cupboards. “It’s best to heat this in the oven. The microwave will make it soggy, and that’s just nasty.”

“Smart.” I grab a sheet pan for him, and he goes to work on opening the boxes. I line the pan with parchment paper and he carefully places the fish and chips on it with big hands—hands that I crave to feel on my body again. Once he has the fish pieces and fries arranged the way he wants, he slides the pan into the oven. Funny, he’s delicate about it, and it seems so contrary to his personality, and the way he plays hockey.

“Did you spend a lot of time in a kitchen?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Thirsty?” I ask, and open the fridge. Catching me by surprise, he steps up behind me, slides his arms around my body and pulls me against his chest. I gasp as he puts his mouth near my ear, his breath hot on the outer shell.

“I was, but you helped me quench it.”

I gulp at his dirty words, yet I like them a lot. I don’t tell him that. I don’t need to. The quiver that raced through my body, and no doubt reverberated through his, told him everything he needs to know. Jeez, I think I might be an easy read for him.

“But I’ll have a glass of pop.”

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