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“But my mouth is my best feature,” she responded, muffled.
I pushed her away from me at arm’s length to give her a shrewd, questioning glance.
She winked.
And that was the moment I realized I wasn’t getting out of this thing with June intact. Either I was going to unravel myself and attach every nerve ending to her existence, or she was going to leave me in tatters on the floor. The question was—did I let it happen, or did I try to mitigate the damage and back out before the shredding caused permanent damage?
I’d rather triage a room full of hypochondriac Larseys than answer that question.
Nineteen
June
If there was one thing I could get used to, it was having Amos Brady as a sleepover buddy. For one thing, his apartment looked like an HGTV special, and for another thing, he was nice to look at. Like, seriously, could he get any sexier? I barely remembered falling asleep in his bed after he’d given me the world’s best back massage. But when I’d woken up, it was to find Dr. Brady showered, dressed in gray scrubs, and glaring down at me with his huge arms straining against the hems on his short sleeves.
I peered up at him through several coils of my springy hair. “What?”
He checked his watch without unfolding his arms. “Work starts in an hour.”
I groaned. “Then why did you wake me up so early?”
“Either you get your butt in the shower, or I’m going to repeat Wild School Dirties night with the water.”
I snorted, letting my head fall onto his crisp, downy pillow as I laughed. I ended it on another groan. “Fine. I’m getting up. Wait,” I looked down at myself as I realized I was wearing my underwear. I gave him a groggy blink. “I don’t have clothes.”
“Yes, you do. They’re in the bathroom.” He unfolded his arms and crossed the wide-plank, walnut floors to the doorway. “You have twenty minutes before I drag you to the car naked.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Hold on, what clothes?”
But he was already gone, and I was left in his minimalistic, modern bedroom by myself. I sat up, stretched, and took a minute to admire how beautiful the view was outside the wall of windows to my right. I had expected there to be windows everywhere—the Regent towered over the city like a solid glass monument. But I hadn’t expected Amos to have a sense of artistic flair. The apartment wasn’t just immaculate; it was carefully decorated with art pieces I recognized. Greg Copeland, Hunt Slonem, Alex Katz…
I wondered, as I meandered into his open concept bathroom, if he’d found those on his own or if he had hired someone to find them for him. His bathroom was just as ornate as the rest of the house with understated luxury that somehow managed to be minimalistic and still awe-inspiring with its attention to detail. The entire wall behind the porcelain tub had been made of black marble with white veins drizzled through the sparkling texture like icing on a Bundt cake.
On a chair in the corner of the room, Amos had placed a set of new clothing on a padded chair. They still had the tags on them, and my mouth dropped open as I picked them up and studied them. Underwear, bra, and a yellow sundress that were all precisely the right size. I shot him a look over my shoulder like he could see my incredulity.How did he know my clothing size? What kind of guy pays attention to those details?But even as I thought it, I knew the answer. Meticulous Dr. Brady did. Naturally.
I glanced at the numberless clock on the wall, and rolling my eyes at the uselessness of it, I still managed to glean that I had maybe fifteen minutes of my twenty left, so I hopped in the shower and tried to wash off fast without gawking too much at everything. The open shower had five heads that each turned on with different handles. I adjusted them each to avoid getting my hair wet—the drying process alone would take an hour if I tried—and pilfered his soap.
When I emerged from the shower feeling like I’d been steamed and pressed in a laundromat, I smelled like Amos, and I found that outrageously delightful. With one minute to spare, I swished out of his bedroom in the floor-length sundress that matched my sandals perfectly. I found Amos in the kitchen pouring coffee into disposable coffee cups. He looked up, his dark features lit by the morning light that filled the room from the wall of windows behind me. The sunlight turned his eyes a sparkling brown like iced cola on a hot day. His gray scrubs pulled against his wide shoulders, and as he gave me half a smile, his features went from gruff and surly to heartbreakingly gentle.
My heart leaped into my throat.Oh no,I thought with a dawning realization.Don’t you dare fall for him, June. He’s not attachable. He’s mercury in your hands. He’s pretty, but you can’t hold onto him.
Amos slid a coffee cup toward me. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I said faintly. “Oh, hey, thank you for the clothes. Where did you get these?”
“Shopping app,” he said absently as he checked something on his phone.
How was this guy real? No wonder I was getting all twisted up over him. And then, suddenly, the idea that I’d already let myself become too attached to him hit me like a sledgehammer to my gut.June, you softie. Detach. Pull back. You’re going to end up depressed and jobless if you can’t.
“Avocado toast is in the bag,” he said, motioning with his head toward a brown paper bag next to my coffee.
I took the warm cup, inhaling the rich brew. “Avocado toast, huh?”
He leaned his hip against the counter and gave me a perturbed look. “I don’t have Sugar-O’s or whatever.”
“Did I say that?” I asked, feigning offense. “How dare you make assumptions about my diet, Amos Brady.” I snatched the bag off the counter. “As it happens, avocado is my second favorite green food.”
He smiled faintly as he grabbed his crossbody bag off the barstool chair and shouldered it. “What’s the first one?”
