He chuckles, and when the elevator doors open, gestures for me to go first. “C’mon sleepyhead.”
I hadn’t given any thought to what Brady’s apartment might be like, but the clean, warm, cozy-feeling room I step into a minute later is a welcome sight. And despite my exhaustion, curiosity wins out as I take a minute to look around.
There’s a big couch dominating the space, with a large TV hung on the wall. Windows let in plenty of natural light, and a tall plant is in the corner. Arealplant, not plastic. Photos are scattered across walls and surfaces, mostly of him and two younger people I recognize as his siblings, but there are some older ones, with adults I can only assume are his parents.
And there are books everywhere. A huge bookshelf lines one wall, packed full of books. On the coffee table, I see a stack of not one, not two, butthreepregnancy and baby care books, alongside a notepad and pen, the top page already half filled with scrawled notes.
Without realizing, I’ve drifted over to them, unaware that Brady’s followed me until he clears his throat.
“Uh, if you want to read any of those you can, not that I think you need to, but you can if you want to.”
I turn and look at him over my shoulder. “Can you fill me in on the important stuff you’ve learned?”
He nods quickly with a soft smile. “Yeah, of course.” Then, tilting his head toward a short hall, he says, “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”
First, he opens the door to a very clean-looking bathroom. “I’ve got an ensuite, so this bathroom is all yours.”
Then, he opens the door across from the bathroom.
“This is my room.”
I peek inside, spying a king-size bed with dark sheets and a blanket that looks incredibly cozy. And of course, more books. But these ones have something on top.
“Do you wear glasses?” I blurt out, staring at the small wire frames, suddenly picturing Brady shirtless in bed, wearing glasses, reading a book.
Good. Lord. I start to feel warm all over and discreetly take a breath in and out, trying to calm down.
“Yeah, just when I’m reading,” he mumbles.
As we turn to move on, I give in to temptation and murmur under my breath loud enough so he can hear me, “That’s really hot.”
At the last door, this one next to the bathroom, he opens it wide but stands in the doorway so I have to brush against his body as I walk past.
“This is yours.” His voice is gruff and low.
I walk to the bed and sit down on the edge of it before popping the tension that’s building with yet another embarrassingly large yawn.
“Hold on.” Brady disappears before I can sayanything, only to reappear with what looks like a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Here, in case you want to change into something else to sleep in.”
I glance down at my jeans, then back up at him. “Thank you. I’ll try to line up some appointments to look at other places tomorrow. There were a few I found on my lunch break last night.”
Not great ones, but at least there are options now.
I thought Brady would be relieved or even happy to hear that, but instead, his expression goes flat.
“No rush.” He steps forward quickly and hands me the clothes, then steps back to the doorway, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll, ah, go get your stuff and let you rest.”
Pivoting on one foot, he’s gone again, leaving me alone in his apartment holding the clothes that are soft and smell like him.
My eyes are starting to droop as I change quickly, forgoing the shorts and simply putting on his large T-shirt. As I pull back the blankets and climb into the very comfortable bed, my last thought is one I never expected to have—at least not without a healthy dose of denial and resistance.
It would be very easy to get used to being taken care of by Brady Dixon.
17
BRADY
It doesn’t take longfor me to get Sage’s stuff out of my car. Two trips, that’s all. But when I re-enter the apartment with the final two bags, it’s quiet. I walk down the hall, and when I see she’s left her bedroom door open slightly I peek through the crack, only to find her fast asleep.
