Page 6 of Sticking Around

“Then why not rip into that man’s boxers and have a bang and a poke?”

I am going to kill Brady for joking around with Noah like that, but hey, I was the one who brought up bang. Ugh. “I’m dressed in an old pair of pajama shorts and a T-shirt and they’re both frayed. That does not scream seduce me.”

“Seduce him then, and I’m sure he doesn’t care what you’re wearing. Better yet, be naked when he gets back.” I open my mouth to protest and I’m sure she senses a rant coming, but I close it again when she adds, “Hey, I have some sexy, new lingerie in my second from the top drawer. I never got a chance to use it before getting pregnant. The tags are still on them. They’re all yours. Besides it would look better on you than me. You have the right curves.”

Heat gathers between my legs, and I think it’s my neglected sex telling me to listen to my friend. “I am not?—”

“Brady is young and enjoying life. He might be just what you need right now.” Before I can protest, she adds, “I bet he knows all kinds of ways to have fun and take your mind off school, work, and finding a new place to live.”

“I’m not kissing a damn cod,” I mumble, as I think about other things that I can kiss.

“What?” she asks laughing.

“Nothing.” A whine I have no control over what squeaks out of my throat because everything Brighton is saying sounds just about awesome right now. “You’re killing me, Brighton.” I glance up and check the time. Honestly, I should be digging out my books, not thinking about a hot Newfie coming back with fish and chips and then jumping his body. Key word there, should be…

“Listen, I really appreciate you letting me stay here this weekend. I just couldn’t take one more night of my roomie and her man.” Maybe part of the reason is all their sex sounds were driving me crazy was because I wanted a little of what they had. “I’m going to start searching for my own place first thing tomorrow. They’re banging like bunnies.”

There’s that word again.

“You know you can stay for as long as you like. The downstairs of the house has bedrooms we’re not using, and a full kitchen and living room. This is more of a house than we need.”

The downstairs is huge, she’s right about that. It’s equipped with a kitchen, living room and plenty of sleeping quarters. When you walk in the estate’s front door, there’s a grand staircase leading to a landing with two fully equipped wings on either side. The downstairs used to be used for staff, but Noah had reassigned them all when he bought the resort. He wanted his privacy.

“Thanks, I appreciate that, but I don’t want to put anyone out.”

She snickers. “I know someone who wants to be put out.”

“Are you still on that?” I shake my head. What is happening in my life and when did Brighton decide to play matchmaker?

“If you play your cards right, you could be on that, too.”

3

Brady

As I consider Melanie’s predicament and the reason she too is staying at our friends’ place, I can’t help but chuckle. Here I thought we didn’t have anything in common, and it turns out we do. We both have noisy roommates and we both love cod—when it’s cooked.

The delicious smells of the food in the brown paper bag in the back seat make my stomach grumble as I pull up in front of my buddy’s giant estate and kill the ignition. I shake my head and grin as I look up at the living room window. Who would have thought I’d be sharing a late-night meal with a woman who always shoots me down, but says she doesn’t hate me. I get it, though. She’s working hard to get her master’s degree and why would she want to get messed up with a guy like me? Nothing good can come from that.

That thought brings a pang to my stomach, and as it curls into a tight, near-debilitating knot, I swallow against the bile punching into my throat. Working to settle my stomach, I jump from the front seat and grab the bag of food from the back seat. I hit the fob, and when I’m able to get control of that unwanted rush of emotions, I start toward the front door.

I make it only one step when my phone pings and I stop to pull it from my pocket, somehow hoping it’s Melanie, but knowing that’s impossible. We haven’t exchanged numbers. Although, maybe Brighton gave her mine when she called. Then another thought hits. What if she’s messaging to say she’s changed her mind?

Why does the idea of that bug me so much? I can have my pick of any girl I want, and I’m not trying to sound like an asshole here. It’s just that lately all that partying, with girls who only want me for a good time, has lost its appeal.

I check my phone to see that it’s my mother, and my heart thumps. I won’t take her call now. She’ll be half asleep from her meds, and it’s hard to understand her when she’s slurring, especially when she swallows them down with alcohol. Besides, I already made a big deposit into her account earlier today. She’ll find it in the morning when she’s clear headed. Although, I’m not so sure she’s ever clear headed anymore.

I tuck my phone away and start toward the house again, only to come to a resounding halt when I’m suddenly hit with an epiphany. Melanie thinks I’m a player—a fucking joker. Why wouldn’t she? After my father died and I’d become ‘the man of the house’ I was told to stop acting like a whiny eight-year-old. I never thought I was whiny, or overly emotional. Christ, I was close to my dad and his death nearly destroyed me. But no tears were allowed to be shed in my mother’s household.

Maybe if Melanie knew who I really was, things would be different. If I was myself with her, maybe she’d like that guy. My chest deflates. Or maybe she wouldn’t. But what the hell do I have to lose? Honestly, I’ve been hiding my emotions for so long, I’m not even sure I know how to be real in the face of others.

I use my key and let myself into the massive estate, and I glance up the big staircase and take a couple of deep breaths before I dart up the stairs. I force one foot in front of the other, and find the door to Melanie’s side of the house cracked open. Didn’t I close that when I left? Now I really am worried about an intruder. I push it open and hope to find a serious Melanie on the sofa studying—or simply waiting for me—but the room is empty. A measure of panic hits.

Maybe she just went to bed.

I head to the kitchen and drop the food on the counter, then tiptoe down the hall to find the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever set eyes on laid out on the bed in the spare room. Jesus. She’s no longer dressed in her frayed shorts and T-shirt, which I happened to find real, and sexy and perfect on her. Now she’s dressed in some sexy number, and while I like it—damn, who am I kidding, I kind of love it—it’s not what drew me to her in the first place.

“Hey.” I swallow. What the hell is going on? She can’t be dressed like this for me, right? She sits up, and smooths her hand over her stomach, and I take in the way the lacy lingerie hugs her breasts. Because I’m a damn idiot and completely off my game, I ask, “Were you expecting company? I thought we were eating?”

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