He shakes his head. His mouth opens as if he's going to speak, only to clamp it shut. He does this a few times, then grunts in frustration. “No.” He just stares at me but I can tell by the way he’s clenching his teeth, the tiny muscles in his jaw contracting, that he has more to say. It’s like he’s taking his time to select the words. “It’s complicated. We’ve been together for a while and I’ve been the one giving up pieces of me, changing myself so that we can be together. He has his reasons for being reserved with our relationship, and I get that. But at some point, he needs to face them. If I continued the way we were, I knew he wouldn’t.”
He’s being careful with his words. Not wanting to give away too many details about his ex. I respect that. It speaks to how great of a person he is that he wants to protect his privacy while still exposing what he can.
“I know we haven’t known each other long, but you deserve to be happy.”
There’s nothing I want more than to be the one who helps him heal, to fill the space his ex carved out and left behind. But it’s clear he’s not ready for any of that.
“You made me very happy tonight, Bradley.”
My fucking heart begins to pound in my chest. Beating against my ribcage with such intensity that I fear it’ll break a bone.
“Really?” I gulp.
“So much so I can’t wait to take you out again. Maybe our next date could be something you love to do.”
If he weren’t right beside me in this bed, I’d be jumping on it like I used to when I was a kid, until Nana caught me. She always said hotel beds were the only ones meant for jumping. Never told me why, and now it’s too late to ask. Even though I know she’d approve of this one, the fear she drilled into me still lingers.
“Anything?” I ask cheekily.
“As long as it won’t kill me. But now it’s time to cuddle and get some sleep. Maybe we can see each other again this weekend. Stay here and not bother checking out. I can extend the reservation.”
God, I’d love to do that. But I can’t.
“I can’t this weekend. But can I get a raincheck?”
“Definitely.” He rolls over toward me, his hand slipping through my hair until his hand cradles my skull and kisses me. Deep and full of desire as he scoots closer to me. “Now roll over and let’s spoon,” he mumbles through the kiss.
Chapter 19
Malcolm
Ipullupinfrontof Bradley’s home, and I can’t help but be a little shocked. I know he told me it was his grandmother's home, but it’s the picture I see every little girl imagining. Two story Victorian, white picket fence, swing hanging from the tree in the front yard, with a gazebo off to the side.
It is perfect, and I can see why he’d want to live here.
Bradley didn’t want to give me his address at first. But after almost forty-five minutes of convincing him that it was insane for him to park his car in a parking garage the whole weekend, he relented. Once he came to terms with me on that, he switched to paying for a ride. Again, I debated with him that it was an unnecessary cost, and when he tried to tell me he’d just walk there with his luggage, I wanted to scream.
“Bradley, you've been to my house already. I haven’t tied you up, stuck you in a hole, and rubbed lotion all over you. What makes you think that having your home address would make that happen now?” I asked him.
Shifting the car into park, I turn it off and open my door, planning to walk up the sidewalk and knock on his door. Itmakes it seem almost like I’m picking up a real date. That’s some progress if you ask me.
But I don't get the chance. I barely make it to the gate, my hand on the wood, ready to push it open, when he steps out the door, bag in hand.
“Hey,” he calls to me as he turns, locking the door behind him.
Opening the gate, I head up to the porch, meeting him just as he steps down to the ground. “Let me take that.” I hold out my hand, waiting for him to give me his bag.
He just laughs, pushing my hand away. “I got it. I’m not so weak that I can’t carry it from here to your car. What is it, like fifteen or twenty feet?” He scrunches his face, and I bet he’s trying to estimate the distance.
“Something like that,” I chime in while shaking my head.
He heads straight to the passenger backdoor, but I step in and take the bag from his hand before he can reach for the handle.
"I’ve got it," I say, my voice low but firm.
He pauses, like he isn't sure what to make of the gesture, but then he lets me.
I open the door for him and glance over. His eyes meet mine, and something unspoken passes between us.
