Page 11 of Sticking Around

He shakes his head. “No, because then I’d want you to try it and I need to ease you into being a Newfoundlander. We’re a lot to take at once.”

I swallow at that. Yeah, I did take a lot of him at once and he had a lot to give. I toss a fry into my mouth and stare at the television, not really focused on the sitcom. My mind is too busy, my body keyed up, even though I should be lethargic after sex—and I know why I’m not. Okay, time to address the elephant in the room, and no, I’m not talking about the trunk he’s working with between his legs.

“Brady?”

I lift my head and when I catch the way his eyes are narrowing in on me, my stomach tightens. Damn, he’s been waiting for this conversation. I take a breath and stare at some distant point behind his shoulder as I work to form a coherent thought, and not cause tension between us. Heck, we see a lot of each other now that he’s living here and I don’t want to walk around avoiding him.

“What’s on your mind, Lanie?”

My gaze drops to my plate and even though my appetite is dwindling, I dip a French fry into the ketchup, but I don’t eat it. I just play with it. “I’m sorry you thought I hated you. I guess I can understand why. But I don’t hate you. I think you’re a nice guy.”

“Good to know. I’d hate for you to sleep with a guy you didn’t like.” I angle my head, my gaze moving over the shadows on his face. When my eyes meet his, there’s something very serious about him. “But I get the feeling there’s something else you’re trying to tell me.”

I chuckle quietly and pretend to throw the fry at him. “Hey, I’m the psychologist. Stop reading into things and stay out of my head.”

“Oh, so you’re the only one allowed to read into things because you’re doing your master’s degree in psychology?” I grin at him and play coy, like I haven’t been reading into what we’ve been doing all night. “Wait, have you been trying to get into my head?” he asks.

“No.” I shrug. “You’re a pretty easy read, Brady.”

He nods as I eye him. Wait, what the hell just flashed in his eyes before he blinked it away? Was it hurt? Am I missing something here? God, if I am, I worry about my career choice. I’m trained to see beneath the layers.

Before I can examine that hurt deeper, Brady turns things back to me. “I’m not wrong though, am I?”

“Right, you’re not wrong. What we did was fun. There’s no denying that.” I crinkle my nose up and even though I know he’s a guy with a revolving door, and almost never sleeps with the same woman twice, for some reason I feel like I need to be gentle with him. “We just probably shouldn’t do it again.” I glance at my stack of books on the coffee table. “I have school and work, and I’ve been bussing back and forth from my apartment for a month now because my car broke down and I need to find another place to live. Plus…I mean, you have a lot of girls waiting their turn.” Shoot, why did I add that? Was it to remind him, or me? Honestly, I don’t know. I think those orgasms are messing with my brain. I am not looking for anything from this man.

He nods and shrugs it off like it’s nothing. “Yeah, sure. I totally understand.” A smile stretches his lips but doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, you know me.” He kicks his legs out, looking relaxed, but there’s a tightness in his shoulders. Maybe it wouldn’t be visible to most, but I see the tenseness. “I’m here for a bucking good time, and nothing more.”

My chest tightens, a trickle of unease skating down my spine as I examine that quick flash of pain that disappears as quickly as it appeared. Have I been reading this man all wrong? Is there more to him?

He winks at me, his deep laugh curling around me as he says, “As far as I know, I’m the only Newfoundlander around here, so if you ever get ‘hungry’ again, and want to kiss a cod…” He pokes his thumb into his chest. “I’m your guy.” His deep laugh curls around me. “Something you need to see, just knock on my door. I keep boxes of condoms at my place.”

Okay, I guess not, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

He bites into his fish and goes quiet. Once done, he glances at me. “Did you grow up wanting to be a psychologist?”

“Did you grow up wanting to be a hockey player?”

His shoulders tighten. “Right.”

Shoot, that wasn’t nice. I just don’t like talking about my past, because it was pretty damn shitty. “I’m sorry, Brady.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t grow up wanting to be a psychologist. I wanted to be a painter, actually.”

He smiles. “Really.” I nod. “Why the change of heart?”

He goes completely serious, like he really wants to hear my story. As his hand lightly touches mine, the small sweep of his thumb over my wrist is tender, comforting, like a warm familiar sweater keeping me warm and perhaps it’s that that has me blurting out, “I want to help others—especially children—and be there for them because there was no one there for me.”

5

Brady

My heart jumps into my throat and for a quick minute I can’t even fill my lungs. My thoughts race back to my childhood, to the small town I grew up in, and how my life changed drastically after my father died. I became the man of the house, immediately charged with taking care of my mother, who was debilitated with…well, she never did get a proper diagnosis. Or if she did, it was not my business. I was there for her always, and I still am. What must it have been like for Melanie to have no one to rely on?

I set my fork down and it clinks against my plate. “I’m sorry.”

Eyes wide, horror crosses her face, and she gives a fast shake of her head as she sets her fork down too. “I’m sorry,” she begins, shaking her head hard as she clasps her hands together. “I’m not looking for sympathy.” Her voice is rushed, hurried as she continues with, “I don’t even know why I told you that.”

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