I brush a kiss onto his cheek and when my lips touch his skin, a jolt of electricity shoots down my body, making everything inside me stand at attention.
“Have fun,” he says, backing away. “Try not to attract any more assholes.”
“I promise not to leave this table alone again.”
He turns, and I watch him go back to his table. I sit back down and am enfolded into the conversation as if I never left.
And even though I’m surrounded by interesting, funny women, I feel a pang in my heart.
I miss Brady.
17
Addison
I’mglad I told Brady nine-ish. Wiggle room is needed whensomeonehad three glasses of wine the night before.
I feel okay, not great. I made sure to drink lots of water while I was there and when I got home. Still, I have a niggling, dull headache.
Hopefully the breakfast and run will banish it. I’ve packed ham, egg and cheese croissants, fruit, and coffee.
My grandma gives me a curious stare on my way out of the house, but since she’s engaged in conversation with a guest, I don’t have to answer any questions about where I’m going or who I’m going to see.
I still can’t believe Brady hit that drunk guy last night. He seemed so calm and collected, so level-headed. Maybe it wasn’t out of character for him. Maybe it was another facet to him, one that is adjacent to his extreme dislike for injustice. I can add it to what I already know about him, like a brightly colored stone being placed in a mosaic.
When I get to cabin seven, I find the front door propped open.
“Brady?” I stay on the threshold and peek my head in, peering around.
“Just a sec,” he yells from the bedroom. He comes out wearing running shorts, pulling a shirt over his head as he walks. For the two seconds of time it takes for the shirt to clear his face, I get to appreciate his midsection without getting caught.
Without the interference of a porch screen, I can see clearly what a drool-worthy midsection it is. Defined muscles, even all the way down to the lower portion, and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. He’s lean but not skinny, muscular but not bulky. In a word, perfect.
If I were better at checking out guys, I’d have gotten away with my gawking, but I’m substandard in that area. That particular skill isn’t one I practice, and Brady catches me. Big time.
“If you want me to run shirtless, I can,” he offers, lifting up the bottom of his shirt just enough to reveal a thin line of smooth skin. He breaks into a grin, enjoying the look on my face. If I’m reflecting in my expression what I’m feeling on the inside, it’s complete mortification.
“I brought breakfast,” I announce, ignoring him and walking inside.
“Let’s eat on the back porch. The air smells so good right now.”
“Is that why your front door was open?” I walk past the little living room and kitchenette and through to the back porch. “It’s pre-rain air.” I unpack the food and pour coffee into paper cups.
Brady grabs a croissant sandwich and takes a bite. “You’re always hungry,” I tell him, grabbing the second sandwich. Today, I’m probably as hungry as him.
Brady nods at me while he chews, agreeing with my observation.
We finish off the food and coffee and Brady leads us both through some pre-run stretches. I don’t usually stretch before a run, even though I know I should, but I follow along.
Brady locks the front door on our way out, and we start off. We run at a slow jog so we can chat. He tells me about his night with Ralph and Paul, skirting around the whole rescuing me from the drunk guy incident, and I tell him about Charlie’s friends.
“Apparently no matter how old women are, they still go to the bathroom together,” Brady comments. He’s only slightly winded, even though we’ve been jogging without a break for fifteen minutes.
Remembering the fauxbs, I laugh as best I can while being short of breath. “They went to the bathroom so Amanda could show them her breast implants.”
Brady stops short. By the time I’ve slowed, I’m a few feet in front of him.
“Seriously?”
