You know the one, where the jaded woman who’s been beat around before by love falls for the jock, and everything is perfect—right before the world comes crashing down.
Brady glances at me and reaches over, resting his hand lightly on my thigh. His long fingers curve along my inner thigh, and—
I’m blushing.
Even though we’re in public, at a stoplight in thick evening traffic, with a rescued dog in the back seat, I’m swooning.
Flipping swooning.
And I don’t swoon.
Honestly, it’s embarrassing he has that power. But the giddy buzz in my veins tells me I want him to keep touching me.
Keep the illusion alive just a little while longer.
His fingers press lightly against my skin until I can feel his pressure.
He glances in the rearview mirror, out the window, and then at me, mouthing along to the song I’ve put on—Sabrina Carpenter.
I didn’t even know he was a fan.
But there’s a fire in his eyes, the same way the sun gleams off the mountains as it slips toward the horizon. There’s also an ache between my thighs.
Then he gives me that lazy, heart-shredding smile and moves his hand down to my knee, only releasing me when I’m nearly biting my lip through.
He puts his hand on the wheel again.
And I’m left wondering how the hell any girl can ever resist this without losing her mind.
It’s only Queenie’s first night in Brady’s penthouse, and they’re already inseparable.
She has her bed set up in his room, slumped across it with her head up, looking at us. Every time we look at her, the dog’s tail thumps for attention, but otherwise she’s content.
That makes two of us.
I’m perfectly happy to stay where I am, nestled in Brady’s arms.
He drops a kiss on the end of my nose, which shouldn’t make me want to giggle and squeal the way it does.
Thank God my filter is titanium.
“I’m glad you’re off tomorrow,” he says.
“I know this is a foreign concept to you, but I get days off.”
“Brat, that’s not what I mean. Tomorrow’s important.” He smacks my butt, looking briefly distracted before returning his gaze to my face again.
“Is it?” I frown, trying to remember why it’s so big.
“The charity event I told you about.” He takes a lock of my hair in his fingers and flicks it back and forward.
“Oh, right. Sorry, nurse brain. What’s this thing again?”
“An excuse to meet my father.”
Queenie looks at us curiously, wagging her tail. She must notice the way my body tenses.
“It’s okay, girl,” I say.
