“Does this man ever drive himself?” I mutter to Trish, the receptionist.
“Who cares? He’s cute. And rich.” She taps the keyboard and cackles loudly as she stares out at Brady and the young Latino man climbing out of the car.
“Seriously, Trish?”
“What? I ain’t as young as you, but my eyes still work just fine,” she drawls in her East Tennessee accent.
She must have brought a Southern appetite for men too. I definitely can’t understand it.
“Well, don’t get too attached. He’s a total piece of work. I wonder if he would’ve picked up that corgi at all if he didn’t have social media brownie points to gain.”
I purse my lips sourly, hating that I regret those words.
The fluffy dog looks happy.
Charlie bounces out the second Brady opens the passenger door, a ball of energetic fluff who delights in pulling on his leash.
Brady almost loses his grip and catches it again with a grin. His shirt strains across his shoulders.
Seriously, this man is built like a statue come to life.
He drags a hand through his thick dark hair as he gives his chauffeur slash babysitter a wry look.
Another car pulls up then, a Volkswagen, and a little old lady jumps out of the driver’s seat, practically screaming.
Charlie yips with sheer excitement, barking loudly even through the glass. He almost goes airborne as he leaps, testing Brady’s leash grip all over again.
I’mnotsmiling.
I promise you I’m not.
“Look at you! All smiles,” Trish says like an annoying mind reader.
“He’s a cutie—the dog, I mean. Look how happy he is to see his mom.”
“Adorable,” she declares, but her tone leaves it ambiguous who she’s describing.
I huff a breath.
Whatever.
Yes, Brady Pruitt is fine in that hypermasculine, hyperaware way guys are when they know they’re attractive and they have the resources to strut around like gods among us mere mortals.
But that’s not something that turns my crank.
Not even a little.
And little old Mrs. Hernandez lowers herself to the ground to greet Charlie properly, rubbing his back as he licks her face.
Adorable is right.
Brady turns and reaches into his vehicle—is it even his car if the other man drives?—and pulls out a heaping basket of treats and dog toys.
Oh my God.
I wrinkle my nose.
Why does he have to do it? Blow all my ugly expectations to pieces by being so nice?
