Page 20 of Winning Brynn

Maybe the boys are right.

Maybe I do need to get laid, after all.

"Could've fooled me." She winks as she stands then gestures at the mountain of luggage she's brought with her. "Where should I put these?"

"The guest room," I say simply.

Where Alex has a two-bedroom apartment, I've bagged myself a three. Of course, I never anticipated that I'd be lending out my spare room to my best friend's chaotic little sister, but I know all too well the curveballs life can throw at a man.

"Yup." She nods thoughtfully. "And where might I find that?"

I point down the hallway at the door leading to the room adjacent to mine. Directly opposite is Salem's nursery. Already, I'm regretting my decision to put her there. Now I know I'll be sharing a wall with my nemesis. That was a gross oversight on my part.

Not that I’ve had much time to adjust to the idea of her sharing my space or really consider the logistics. And now that she’s here, the reality of my situation sinks into me like an anchor in the North Sea.

Because my home has felt different since the instant she stepped through the door. Not bad different, not good different, justdifferent.

The air grows thicker with her presence, misty with the scent of her perfume—a sort of milky rose, which smells a lot better than it sounds. So much better, in fact, that I find myself leaning into it, only to realize what I’m doing and snapping the fuck out of it.

Of course Brynn would wear a magic perfume that bewitches men. It’s probably one of those incredibly overpriced perfumes that are injected with pheromones and smell like pussy for the purpose of speaking to my inner caveman and make me want to procreate.

Who the fuck knows?

"Great, thanks."

Cracking the door open, she struggles with her luggage for a while before shooting me a pointed look. With a sigh, I reluctantly grab some of her shit and follow her into the bedroom.

I watch her as she takes in the room. The way her eyes widen in surprise at the soft, green décor, the plush white bedspread, and cream carpet. Her lips part with a gasp, and though the noise is so gentle, so quiet, it stirs up something inside of me that I'd rather ignore.

It's dangerous, that sound.

It makes me imagine all the ways I could get her to make it again.

And that is something that can never happen.

Not only because she annoys me like no other but because her brother would hang me by the balls for even breathing in her direction. And I like my balls. I want to keep them.

"Damn," Brynn whispers.

I shove my hands into my pockets and rock back and forth on my heels. "Not what you expected?"

"It's..."—she looks to me with a small smile—"nice. Really nice."

I hate how her praise makes my chest puff with pride.

"Did you do this?" she asks, her delicately manicured hands gesturing at the space.

My shoulders deflate an inch at the truth. "I had an interior designer fix the place after Salem came along."

"Why then and not when you first moved in? She's one. It's not like she cares."

"I wanted her to have a proper home." The words tumble from my mouth, vulnerable and unrestrained. I don't know why I told her that. The last thing I want to do is bare my soul to anyone, least of all her.

And though the words are simple, I’m scared that she’ll hear what I’m not saying.

That I want to give my daughter the safety and comfort that I lost when my mom died. Dad was too lost in grief to take care of his ten-year-old son. Sure, he kept me fed and warm, but the security of a loving and attentive family home died with my mother.

Our relationship has never been the same, despite how good he is with Salem on the rare opportunities we see each other. Since he still lives in London, it’s maybe twice a year at best.

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