Page 41 of Stepping Up to the Plate

“Good morning. Are you going to shower with me?” I ask.

“Nah, I think I’m going to make us some breakfast. If I get in there with you, I’m not sure I can stop myself from touching you and I know you have to be sore.”

“I’m fine,” I remark dismissively. The expression on his face says he is not buying what I’m selling. “I might be a little sore,” I concede. “It’s not my fault you’re packing a Louisville Slugger in your pants.”

He snickers.

“Since you’re up, do you mind if I take a shower at my place? I’ll come back down when I’m done.”

“Why can’t you shower here?” he questions.

“As much as I love the way you smell, I’m not sureeau de manis the right scent for me. It’s silly to not use my own stuff when it’s an elevator ride away.”

The man scoffs. Literally scoffs at my request.

“Hey, you may be fine using 5-in-1 to serve all your needs, but I am not. I need my girly shit.”

“You don’t need to go upstairs for ‘girly shit,’ doll. I’ve got everything you need down here. Did you even look in the shower?”

Peeking inside, I see one of his shelves is full of products for women. Not just women. Me. It’s the exact products I use. “Did you steal my stuff?” I accuse.

“No,” he laughs. “Why would I steal your toiletries?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. They’re all here.”

He gives me an exaggerated eye roll before responding. “I bought duplicates of your products. Now you have everything you need here and don’t have to go upstairs if you want to shower.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I mutter.

“I know I didn’t,” he replies. “But I wanted to. I want you to be at home here as much as upstairs and if buying froufrou smelling things does that then why wouldn’t I? Now, hop in. Coffee will be ready in fifteen.”

After rinsing off, I feel like a whole new woman. It probably helps that Brady has the fanciest shower I’ve ever seen. The rain shower head offers the perfect amount of pressure to rinse shampoo but is still luxuriously gentle.

When I walk into the kitchen, I see a shirtless Brady standing behind the island making omelets in low slung athletic shorts. He winks when he catches me checking him out.

“You gonna stand over there staring at the goods or are you going to drink your coffee before the ice melts?”

With the mention of coffee, I scurry over to the island and take a seat. He slides a glass my way and I take a sip. “Mmmmmm, this is delicious. What flavor is this?”

“Birthday cake,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Brady Miller. Did you buy fancy coffee syrup?”

“Of course, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you like it,” he states as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but you only drink your coffee with a splash of milk like a psychopath. This clearly has syrup AND cream in it.”

“That’s because it does.”

“You made me special coffee?”

“I made your coffee how you take it. As any partner would do.”

“Agree to disagree,” I grumble.

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