Brayden brushes my bare shoulder with his lips and then kisses his way down my body until he disappears underneath the blanket. His tongue touches that spot he’s clearly an expert with, and then it moves further south. When he explores inside me, I clutch at the blanket with both fists. His tongue and lips make love to every inch of me, and I shut my eyes in bliss. Brayden was right. I’ve never felt more beautiful. I’ve never felt more loved.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the morning, I drag myself out of Brayden’s bed and into my work clothes. He’s already up and has two bowls of cereal out for us. It’s not even seven o’clock, and I’ve had about two hours of sleep.
“I’m sorry about the timing,” Brayden says as we sit at his kitchen table and eat. “It’s your first day of work. You must be exhausted.”
I’m checking my texts. “My mom wants me to stop by. I haven’t told my parents about the wedding being cancelled yet. Phillip’s parents were on vacation until tonight, so we agreed to hold off on telling any family until everyone can be told. I know,” I say impulsively. “You and I can show up for coffee, and I’ll tell them about my change in career plans.”
“What? Do we ever do anything on a normal time frame?”
“Seems like no.” I jump up and bring my bowl to the sink. “Just throw on some jeans. You always look so handsome.”
But Brayden doesn’t move. “Leleila.”
I pour water into the bowl to rinse it. “What?” I say without turning around. “What’s wrong?”
“Honey, we look like we’ve slept together.”
I whip around to face him. “Are you serious? How can you tell?”
“It’s just…you can,” he insists. “We both look tired but flushed. Your lips are pink and swollen and…” He winks at me. “Trust me, we look like we just had incredible sex all night long, and we did.” He stands up. “I’ll go with you to see them. I’m just warning you—they’re going to know. It’s all over your face. And mine.”
* * *
Mom’s in her bathrobe and no makeup, and she’s not thrilled I’m surprising her with someone she barely knows at such an early hour, especially a man. I apologize and say I have job training at eight-thirty and Brayden and I just wanted to say hi.
She invites us in for a cup of tea just as Dad comes around the corner from his office. “Hello, Lei.” He looks at Brayden, then at me, and then Brayden again. “Brayden, right?” Dad extends his hand. “Good to see you again.”
As we wait for them in the living room on the plastic-covered couch that Mom, clearly flustered, insisted we sit on, Brayden whispers to me, “Did you see your dad’s expression? Definitely knows I just made love to his daughter.”
I swat at him playfully as Mom walks into the room with mugs of tea. She smiles at Brayden as she sits across from us in a hard-backed wooden chair, and Dad enters and sits in his decades-old armchair.
Dad starts talking quickly. “Lei, we heard that …” He looks at Brayden and starts to stammer: “Uh…um…Phillip said that you can give your defense in as early as a month.”
“Yes, isn’t that great news?” Mom gushes. Then she looks at Brayden awkwardly. “I mean, you deserve that opportunity, Leleila. You should have had it regardless. You know, regardless of Phillip’s connections.”
“Thank you, Mom,” I say. I look over at Brayden and then turn back to them. “The thing is, I’m quitting the program. I have to tell Gerry, so please keep it to yourselves for now. And I’m not going into another science program,” I add firmly. “It’s great for you,” I say to them. “But it’s just not me.”
They try to talk me out of it for a bit, but because there’s a guest in the room, they don’t press for long.
Finally, Mom shifts her attention to Brayden. “Brayden, you look like you’re in good shape.”
“Mom!” I say.
“Well, he does.” Her gaze travels to his arms. “You must have been an athlete. Were you?”
He nods. “I played wide receiver for Wilcox.”
“That’s a huge football program,” Dad says, his tone rising in admiration. “You must have been pretty good.”
“I was okay. It didn’t hurt to have Dylan Wild as my quarterback.”
“The Super Bowl guy?” Dad’s tone gets even higher. “I don’t watch sports much myself, and I disapprove of the extreme commercialism of professional sports.”
“Dad,” I say quietly. “Be nice. Dylan is Brayden’s cousin.”
“Wow. I didn’t know that.” Dad sits up straight. “What I was going to add was that I like that Dylan Wild guy. I saw him once in an interview when I was flipping through environmental videos online. He popped up as an ad, and for the heck of it, I clicked on it. Thought he’d come off as a smug know-it-all.”
