“I could tell,” she finished with a dreamy sigh.
“Sounds like she’s a lucky girl, the love of his life. Whoever she is,” the other woman commented, sounding equally swoony.
I breathed deliberately through my nose in case I was about to puke, but the feeling in my stomach was not nausea. It was something else.
The blond finally noticed me in the mirror, brows creased in concern. “You okay, girl?”
“Yep,” I lied quickly. “Uh-huh.”
But my belly was still swirling, and my heart was beating fast. There was no way that had been Brady. But her description . . . the gray henley. He wouldn’t just call me?—
The blond hugged me one more time and thanked me again for the hairband. Then the women finally left.
I stayed in front of the mirror alone, trying to catch my breath.
I couldn’t even think the words in my internal screeching panic, so I whispered them to myself instead. “The love of his life.”
Why would he say that? Was he drunker than I thought? Could he have been lying to get that girl to leave him alone?
I knew he was attracted to me, and we had fun together. But Brady had asked—no, demanded—to keep our relationship a secret. And, sure, we’d been seeing one another for months now. But did he really feel that way?
When my thoughts had run themselves ragged, my vision refocused, and I looked at myself in the mirror, sure I’d see pale, wild-eyed horror—a cornered animal on the verge of fight or flight.
So imagine my surprise when the face staring back at me was flushed and smiling softly.
Suddenly feeling much more sober than when I entered, I gathered my courage and stepped out into the darkness and the vibration of the club. Brady immediately pushed off the opposite wall and came to me, worry etched into every line of his features.
“Are you sick?” He passed me a bottle of water. “You were gone so long, I got worried.”
I searched his face, looking for the truth like I might find it in his eyes or his dimple or the strong line of his jaw.
When I failed to answer, Brady cupped my cheeks. “Mac, honey, are you okay?”
No, I thought desperately.How could I be?I’m the love of your life.
Instead, I nodded quickly, reaching up to clasp one hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, feeling soft over his concern. “Let’s go listen.”
The band had already started, the drumbeat pounding in my chest. Or maybe that was my heart. I couldn’t separate the two.
Brady still looked worried, so I gave him a smile and then took a long drink from the water bottle to soothe him.
We moved toward the back of the crowd and listened to the music.
I ignored the steadfast warmth of Brady at my back. I ignored how he wasn’t drunk at all and how I knew he wouldn’t be since he was driving us home. I ignored how everything felt so right, like stars aligning.
Without meaning to, I fell asleep on the drive home, Brady’s sweatshirt balled beneath my face as my forehead pressed soothingly against the cool glass. I came awake when he shifted into park behind his building.
“I’ll drive you home if you want,” he said quietly. “But will you stay?”
“Yeah,” I croaked, warm and drowsy.
I hadn’t stayed overnight at Brady’s apartment yet. It felt a little like crossing a line and probably why I’d avoided it all this time. From that very first night together back in October when he’d wanted to make me breakfast the next morning, I’d been uneasy about staying. It seemed like an admission of something I hadn’t been ready to hear at the time.
But, now, looking at him in the pale glow of the dashboard, the tentative slouch of his shoulders, the way his hand lay in his lap, open and waiting for me ... I couldn’t remember why I’d wanted to deny myself so badly.
Once inside the apartment—still as fastidiously tidy as every other time I’d seen it—I drank another glass of water over the kitchen sink. Brady gave me a spare toothbrush, a tee shirt, and a washcloth, then steered me into the bathroom.
I washed my face and got ready for bed, sliding his shirt over my skin, liking how it skimmed my bare thighs.
