Page 36 of Any Cowboy of Mine
He wanted so badly to ignore them, but curiosity got the better of him and he signed into his phone, hesitating just a fraction of a second before he clicked on the first text Julia sent. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to see what she had to say, but by then it was too late. They started innocuous enough.
Chris still isn’t back. Is he with you?
No, he certainly wasn’t. She couldn’t possibly think he and Chris would have anything to say to each other at all, let alone enough to spend Chris’s entire wedding night together. He wanted to write back that she should check with the old college buddies he’d been three sheets to the damn wind with last night, but he didn’t want to get involved.
This wasn’t his circus anymore. Certainly not his monkeys.
He continued to read the rest of the texts in order, growing more and more frustrated with each one.
Can I come over? Heard from Chris. He’s staying with Rich. They are going bar hopping. Ugh.
I need to talk. Are you around?
Don’t tell me you’re already asleep. It’s still early. I need you, Bradley. Please.
She’d really gone all out on that last one, using his full name like she’d done the whole previous night. Of course she’d forget that he hated being called Bradley—it made him feel older than he was and at the same time like a child whose mother was mad at him. Or she hadn’t forgotten and was doing whatever the hell she wanted, everyone else be damned.
Thank God he hadn’t checked these last night—his time was much better spent the way it had been. He wasn’t sure in his drunken state he wouldn’t have gone to see Julia, and no matter what, that would have been a worse idea than Steve and Jackie’s engagement.
The last text was a doozy.
Brad, I am sorry, for everything. I love you. I always have. I’m sorry I screwed it all up. You know where to find me if you want to talk.
Why in the hell would he want to talk to her, especially less than twelve hours after she’d married his ex-best friend? She was as unaware as she’d ever been, and he was never happier to be past their relationship. This was the drama he hadn’t realized until hindsight—it really was 20/20, wasn’t it?—that had infiltrated his life when she’d been in it.
He tucked his phone in his pocket, shook Julia’s mere existence from his cobwebbed brain, and went to grab a pen and sheet of paper to leave Sophie a note. He figured she wouldn’t mind waking up to a full breakfast, and the mom and pop place, Jules and Verne’s, down the street was just the ticket. As he got near the door, however, he saw something had been slipped under it. Probably the bill for the room.
Right away he recognized the hotel stationary, but this wasn’t a printed page of anything. It was a note, handwritten.
Picking it up, his heart raced as he saw the all-too-familiar scrawl across the otherwise blank page.
My room. Now. We need to talk. Love Always, Jules
No fucking way. Because he hadn’t responded, she’d somehow found out where he was staying? That crossed a damn line. He tried to relax his shoulders, to unclench his teeth and breathe deep, but he was pissed. She was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and didn’t know when to let good enough alone.
Well, screw her.
He crumpled up the letter and tossed it in the trash can.Good riddance.He grabbed a fresh piece of the hotel stationary and accompanying pen to jot something quick for Sophie about going to grab them some food. At the bottom, he wrote,P.S. I hope you got everything you wanted for Christmas… If not, I’ll be back in a few to try again. XOXO, Brad
He left it on the table by the door, hoping it would be one of the first things she saw when she woke up, that is,ifshe woke up by the time he walked down the street, ordered them breakfast, and walked back. After the night they’d had—the indescribable lovemaking notwithstanding—he wouldn’t be surprised if she slept through the morning. He shut the blinds so she could rest.
He couldn’t wait to come back to her. As the door shut softly behind him, an emptiness washed over him that he hadn’t even felt when Julia had left him for good. He missed Sophie’s laugh, her head thrown back in joy, and was already planning on how to elicit that sound from her again as he walked down the stairs and outside to the now-bright day. After he woke her up with more of the fun they’d shared at the end of the night, of course.
He was half-hard thinking about it.
It was biting cold outside, the air damp and heavy like a blanket just out of the wash, a layer of frost covering the evergreens and sidewalk that lined the empty streets. It wasn’t exactly a white Christmas, but damn if it didn’t feel like it. Brad pulled his jacket around him tighter, wanting now more than ever to abandon his plan for breakfast and curl up in bed next to Sophie until someone kicked them out of their room. Even then, he could afford to keep them there as long as they both wanted to stay.
The chill took the edge off the nausea building in the back of his throat and cooled his too-warm flesh. Plus, in only twenty minutes he’d be back with her. Hopefully she’d be as up to recreating parts of last night as he was.
The muscles in his abdomen tightened, and a rush of heat spread from his cheeks to his groin.
That girl will be the death of me.But the smile on his face betrayed the motivation behind his comment. This time, he wouldn’t mind a woman like Sophie being the end of him. It would be a helluva fun way to go. Before he could travel too far down that rabbit hole though, he arrived at Jules and Verne’s and walked inside.
It was like the North Pole exploded inside, a ridiculous amount of Christmas spirit dripping from every inch of the small restaurant like pine sap. To that end, it smelled like the inside of a forest met an IHOP, the pine intermingling with the delectable aroma of bacon and eggs. Banberry could always be counted on to rise to the occasion, and then some.
Strands of pine branches braided with lights were tied with holly and berries every few feet, and Mannheim Steamroller played on the speakers. It reminded him of his mom, of holidays with his family that she’d made so special. She’d play Steamroller’s albums every Christmas in the same order from a six-disc changer she never emptied, just put aside when the holidays were over. A song would end, and Brad would instinctively know what was coming up next.
He couldn’t believe Christmas was already there again. What a damn year it had been. The highs and lows were so severe, he had whiplash recalling each of them.
