Page 112 of Crazy In Love
It was my favorite part.
I’d pulled dozens of boxes in from the garage that I’d been storing out there, filled with items I’d ordered over the last several weeks. I was most excited about the gorgeous mantel that had arrived today from Paris. The old fireplace had been removed, and the wall had already been repaired. I had two guys scheduled to come this week to get the new fireplace installed before the holidays.
Now it was all about me pulling everything together.
There were new chandeliers and sconces that needed to be hung. This home would look like it was meant to look in a coupleof weeks. The behind-the-scenes work was done, and now the magic would begin.
I heard the sound of the door opening, and my stomach fluttered.
So maybe I was happy to stay late, in hopes that I would see him.
A small part of me worried that he might go out after dinner at his parents’ house and bring a woman home. But I remembered him saying he never brought women back to his house. I hoped like hell that was true, because it would hurt me to see him with someone else. It made no sense. I had no claim on him.
And we’d gone back to normal since returning home from Paris, just as we’d planned.
We hadn’t talked about what happened while we were there, because that wasn’t how this worked.
So I’d tried hard to play it cool these last few weeks, but it was a challenge.
I’d forced myself to go on a date last night, and I’d had a miserable time.
But I was trying, and that’s all I could do.
Turns out that flings are fabulous while you’re in them, but for me personally, the longing that followed—one hundred percent don’t recommend.
I thought about him all the time.
And trying to act unfazed while I worked at his house every day was torture.
The worst kind of torture.
“Angel, are you here?” he called out from the entryway, his words slurring the slightest bit. He still used the nickname that he’d given me in Paris, and every single time it made me hopeful for more.
Like I said, this man was living rent-free in my head.
“Hey, I’m in the kitchen. I was just getting ready to leave,” I said, even though I’d basically been waiting for him to get here.
He walked into the kitchen, and I startled because his whole demeanor was… relaxed. Very un-Bridger-like. He had a huge smile on his face, and he looked quite pleased to see me.
“Don’t leave yet,” he said, moving right toward me and snaking an arm around my waist as he pulled me in for a hug. “Damn, you always smell so good.”
Well, this is unexpected.
“Happy birthday, Chadwick,” I said, my breaths coming faster now as he held me close.
Speaking of smelling good.
I was surrounded by the sexy mix of leather and sandalwood, and the added deliciousness of whiskey.
“I hate when you call me ‘Chadwick.’ I prefer ‘lover boy,’” he said, pulling back to look at me. “You look beautiful, angel.”
I glanced down at myself, and I had paint on my shirt because I’d gotten too close to the wall before it dried. My hair was tied up in a messy bun because I’d been in the garage organizing boxes. Needless to say, intoxicated Bridger was definitely wearing a pair of rose-colored glasses.
“That’s a stretch,” I said, my gaze locking with his.
He reached his hand forward and carefully removed the elastic from my hair as it fell all around my shoulders. “I love your hair.”
My brows rose with surprise. “Really?”
