I forced myself to check my watch. “We need to get out there before someone notices. I’m supposed to go round up any tourists and clear the property before the party. You could head down to the gazebo to help Bonnie and Danny with the tables. Our paths won’t cross, and no one should suspect anything.”
Brady nodded, still looking a little dazed. Twisting at the hips, he leaned back to reach for the shirt he’d flung onto the desk behind him.
I was still eye-level with his middle, and when he turned, I could see part of his backside where his lowered jeans didn’t cover. A shocked gasp left my mouth, and I grabbed his ass to keep him from pivoting back.
“What the hell is that?!”
He froze and then sighed. “Fuck.”
Unrepentant glee threatened to unhinge me. My eyes traced the lines of the small tattoo—my fingers too. “Do you have a Big Mac tattooed on your ass, Brayden Howell Judd?”
“Jesus,” he groaned, trying to dislodge my hold and pull up his pants at the same time. He eventually wrestled them away from me amid much squealing and squawking on my behalf. “Stop it. I’ll tell you.” Then he tugged me to my feet.
With a serious expression, he regarded me as his hands quickly buttoned up his shirt. I could hardly keep my smile from cracking my face wide open so that satisfied delight could spill out.
“My sophomore year at UT, I got shit-faced at some party. There may have been a bet, but I was drunk enough that it seemed like a good idea to go and get a tattoo from some disreputable place that would tattoo a wasted nineteen-year-old.”
When he didn’t say more, I prompted giddily, “And it’s a Big Mac because ...?”
Another sigh escaped, but I could see the curl of his lips and the threat of his dimple when he said, “You know why. Abby gave me shit constantly about you. He was just as drunk as I was and thought it would be a great idea to immortalize our rivalry with your name tattooed on my ass. Something got mixed up in my inebriated communication with the artist, and when I woke up the next morning, sore and hungover and confused, I had two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, and onions on a sesame-seed bun ... on my ass.”
I giggled like a schoolgirl, and I wasn’t even embarrassed. “This is the best day of my life.”
Brady shook his head ruefully but was still smiling. “Mine too, Big Mac.”
My stomach pitched like I was driving and had hit a dip in the road. The amusement I’d gotten over the secret tattoo discovery morphed into something else—sudden awareness and bone-deep affection. Realization elbowed its way in, letting me know that even with so much history between us, this man could still surprise me.
To ease the pressure building in my chest, I teased, “Of course it’s the best day of your life. That was a top-notch blow job.”
Brady laughed and hugged me to him, pressing a kiss to my temple. His cologne, body spray, whatever, wrapped me up in warm sunshine and salt air. “Come over tonight.”
I leaned back so I could see his face. “You want more?”
“Yes,” he replied earnestly before giving me a devious grin. “And I want to return the favor.”
“Okay,” I agreed, easily for once. Unable to deny that I wanted him too.
Later that night, after an eventful Christmas party, Brady did return the favor. Twice.
But when I woke up at 3:22 a.m., warm and confused with his body wrapped around mine like a vine, it was easier to tell myself this was just a fling, a temporary physical relationship that would burn itself out—the way all my relationships did.
Brady didn’t wake when I extracted myself from his sleepy hold. He just grumbled softly and pushed the side of his face into the pillow where my hair had been.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watched as he relaxed into a contented sleep once more. The corner of his mouth twisted up into a wry smile, and I wondered what he was dreaming about. Though, that was more than likely just Brady, so friendly and affable, he even smiled in his sleep.
With my cell phone, I snapped a quick picture of his face and then stood on unsteady legs and made my way home.
thirteen
BRADY
The holidays put my secret meetups with Mac on hold for a little while.
She’d only managed to sneak over twice in the last two weeks. I knew her grandparents were in town and she lived with them. So I told myself that was why she’d yet to stay the night at my apartment.
Abby and I were at the gym early one cold January morning when a text came through from Mac. Given the time, I figured she’d just woken up to get ready for work, and I liked the idea that she’d reached for her phone with me on her mind.
I paused the music streaming through my earbuds so I could focus on her message. The clink of weights and the hum of cardio machines faded into the background as I read.
