I’ll admit, it’s kinda cute.
So is the way he opens the door for me and helps me up into the passenger seat.
“I love that you know how to treat a lady,” I say as I duck inside.
“I’d better. The helping hand is part of the experience after I ruined you last night.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. Mostly because it’s true, and he’s such a cocky prick. But Brady knows that I know he has the package to back up his talk.
I’m trying so hard not to look like the dumb girl with fluttery eyelashes watching her first crush as he climbs in behind the wheel.
His sleeves are rolled up, and he’s sporting that Apple Watch with the opulent gold wristband, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it did before.
His money isn’t everything. He’s a good man, and good people are entitled to a few luxuries. It’s a gorgeous watch too.
As queasy as I feel over the gaping difference in assets sometimes, I can’t imagine him using his money in a controlling way.
Unlike some people I could mention. Brady isn’t another demon in a skin suit possessed by pure greed.
He looks at me as he pulls out of the underground garage into the sunlight. “You’re staring, Lena. Everything okay?”
“I just ... I like you this way.” I reach over and rub my knuckles across the scruff on his chin.
He smirks. “You haven’t seen me any other way. Watch out.”
“I internet stalked you, though. You were clean shaven back when you were busy breaking hearts.”
“Mm, yeah. Guilty.” He rubs his chin, his brow creasing when I mention his past.
“I prefer this look. Huge glow-up.”
“I was planning on keeping the beard.” He runs a hand over his jaw like he’s considering how it would feel to not have it there. I don’t think it’s just the lack of facial hair that might bother him.
“You could always grow it longer, Viking boy,” I tease. “I had a huge lady boner for Jason Momoa when I was in high school. Only reason why I could speak fluent nerd with theStargategeeks.”
“Loved that show. You had me sold before that, Sass.” He grins. “I’m not about to crawl through portals to other galaxies, but I think I’d take dealing with aliens over my mother’s shit if I walk in straight out of medieval Norway. Don’t think she’d appreciate it if I tell her I’m living out the Scandinavian side of the family tree.”
I smile.
“So, who’s hotter now? Do I have a shot against Momoa?”
“As long as you keep the beard, it’s a maybe,” I tease.
“You’re blushing, Sass.”
“No.” I scowl at him. “It’s a warm morning, dude. That’s it.”
“Liar.” He reaches over and pinches my chin, so effortlessly affectionate it makes my heart sputter. “I like turning you red, woman. Get used to it.”
“Fair, I guess, when you’re good at that.” I look pointedly at his lap, where I can see the outline of a hard-on stirring.
His laugh bellows out, loud and unrestrained, the way I’ve only heard it when we’re alone. None of his many social media clips ever show him laughing like this—free and unfiltered.
It’s a shame.
In my opinion, this is his best look, even if I don’t mind his darker face one bit when he turns growly and protective.
But as he cracks his window for fresh air as we hit the highway, I’m all butterflies.
