The momma bear was already on the move.
“Shit,” Brady said, scrambling back as he finally caught sight of the two cubs and their enraged mother. We hurriedly slammed the glass door as she charged across the yard.
The two little cubs kept up their perusal, totally oblivious. And I breathed a sigh of relief when the momma bear veered in their direction, pace slowing.
Brady and I retreated further into the room as we watched the bear family through the glass doors of the sunroom. Eventually, the babies made it over to the birdfeeder, and then all three bears went to work dismantling it and eating the contents.
“Damn,” I muttered. “That’s the fourth feeder she’s busted this year.”
Then I snapped a picture for my grandmother.
“They are really cute,” Brady said with a big smile on his face, like a four-hundred-pound bear hadn’t just herded him back indoors.
Eventually, we cleaned up and made our way to my bedroom, where Brady peeled off my clothes and gave me another present for my birthday. He was focused only on me and my pleasure until we collapsed boneless and spent. He asked if he could stay the night, and while it wasn’t something I ever let myself do at his place, I found myself saying yes easily enough.
Brady borrowed some toothpaste and climbed under the covers naked, making himself right at home.
It wasn’t until later, when Brady was wrapped around me like a weed, that I wondered about him showing up here tonight, eager to spend my birthday with me—something a boyfriend might do.
He hadn’t asked why I was home tonight or why I wasn’t out celebrating with Larry or Becca or anyone else. Truth be told, there was going to be a party for me tomorrow at my parents’ house, and most of my family would be there.
For a wild moment, I realized I wanted to invite him. I wanted him with me. In front of God and everyone.
But as he breathed evenly into the side of my neck and my fingers carded through the soft hair at his nape, I reminded myself that Brady wasn’t my boyfriend—he wasn’t mine in truth. And I should just keep my mouth shut and not get too comfortable.
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of the garage door opening and sat up in alarm.
Brady grumbled something and pressed his face into my pillow, one ass cheek hanging out from beneath the covers, a double cheeseburger on full display.
I stood, grabbing the first article of clothing I could find—Brady’s hoodie—and ran to the window. Shoving the curtains aside in a panic, I peered down to see my grandparents’ RV backing into the driveway. “Oh shit,” I breathed.
What were they doing here? I mean, technically, this was their house, but they were supposed to be in Florida until Easter. I grabbed my phone off my bedside table and checked the time—7:02 a.m.—and then cursed when my calendar app didn’t reveal the answer to my question. Easter was still a week away.
Why were they here early?
With frantic movements, I grabbed the closest pair of pants—Brady’s joggers—and sat down on the edge of the bed to slide them on. A tanned forearm snagged me around the waist and attempted to drag me back to bed.
“No,” I whispered. “We can’t go back to sleep. You have to get up.”
Brady tugged me closer, his face burrowing into my messy hair. “Uh-uh,” he complained.
“My grandparents are here,” I hissed, trying to free myself from his hold so I could go downstairs and run some interference.
A door slammed somewhere, and I froze.
Brady’s eyes popped open. “Okay, I’m up.”
I wriggled out of bed. “Stay here. I’ll go distract them.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but I was already rushing out my bedroom door and closing it gently behind me.
I reached the kitchen just as my grandparents came through the front door with what looked like their second load of luggage.
“Mac!” they said in unison when I came into view.
“Hi, guys,” I returned.
“Sorry if we woke you, honey,” Grandma offered.
