Forever (This #5) (5 page)

I laugh. “Well, technically you texted me this morning. So, this is three times in one day. Two of which are in the last hour.”

“You don’t like my texts?”

“I didn’t say that.” Since the wedding, I get random conversation starter texts from Joe. Something like, “Did you know people who easily blush are more likely to be good lovers?” Most of the time they are worded so they are innocent because he could send them to anyone, but they always make me do just that. Blush. It’s like it’s his way of letting me know he’s thinking about me. And I can never ignore them. “They’re always interesting facts. Most of which I’ll never use again unless I plan to audition for Jeopardy.”

“I bet you could rock Jeopardy.” He grunts. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about you dressed up, standing in front of that podium with a clicker in your hand and your chin high, giving answers in the form of a question.”

“And…”

Silence.

“Joe…”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Since when do you ask if you can ask? One of the things I love about you is you speak your mind. Sometimes to an uncomfortable point, but still…” My blood rushes to my brain, making me light-headed, then heats and radiates through my body like I’m a heating coil that’s been plugged into an electrical socket. The surge is almost too much—almost enough to flip the breaker.

“I don’t want to beat a dead horse.”

“Okay…” I glance at the clock. Time is ticking, and I compute the amount of time I can sacrifice from getting ready to stay on the phone with him.

“Do you really see my brother being the one for the rest of your life?”

“Um.” Yes. This is the dead horse.

“Like right now. You’re at his house. Let’s pretend you’re married.” He huffs. “And you’ve had a child. That thought alone fucks with my head, but this is all hypothetical, right?”

“Right.”

“And you have a shift, and Ryan gets called in.”

“So.”

“So, who takes care of your child?”

“Doctors marry doctors all the time. They figure it out. What’s your point?”

“You’ve said before you want your kids to be with their parents as much as possible.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m thinking of going into pedatrics. I’ll work during the day, some nights on call, but my husband would be there for that.”

“Not if your husband is Ryan, who gets called in at all hours. What if you’re both called in?”

I start to pace. “I have to get ready for work.”

“Look at how much he already misses. He couldn’t even help you move. Not that I’m complaining he missed that.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Is there some point in this?”

“Yeah. I think you’re with the wrong guy. I think you need to be with someone who would want to be a stay-at-home dad, so you can have the career you want. That you’re working so hard for.”

My laughter echoes through the apartment. “You go find me a guy who’d be fine to be a stay-at-home father and let me know. One who’s not a deadbeat drunk, that is.”

“You’re talking to one.”

“You can’t be serious.” I guffaw.

“I, personally, think I’d make an excellent father.” He pauses, and I can’t form words. “I’ve had my career. I’ve made a lot of money. I’m ready to settle down. Anyway, the thought of giving my children a home free of dysfunction delights me.”

“Does that even exist? I wouldn’t know.”

“I would hope so, Sam. I sure hope so.” There’s another pause. “Can you really see a life with my brother?”

“Why do you think so poorly of him? Y’all have always seemed to get along well.”

“We do get along fine, and I don’t think that poorly of him.” He hesitates. “Except where you’re concerned. I’m certainly not one to judge a lifestyle. But Bradley’s not the best match-maker.”

“C’mon. That’s not fair.”

“He picked the wrong brother, Sam.”

“Joe…” My cheeks redden, and the hairs rise all over my body. “You can’t keep saying stuff like this to me.”

“What’s said is said. It can’t be erased. That day you pulled up in front of my bar and denied you were outside while I was staring right at you…I knew Bradley had picked the wrong brother for you.”

“You just want what you can’t have. I think they call it sibling rivalry.”

“That’s not true. I can have you. I will have you. I’m just trying to figure out how long you’re going to deny it.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Change the subject.”

“To what? The way you blushed the entire time we were dancing at the wedding? The way your hand trembles when it’s in mine? The way I bet your face is on fire right now just hearing these words?”

“I have to go.”

“Don’t.”

Silence.

“Goodbye, Joe.”

My last exam didn’t start until late afternoon. It’s already dark, and while I know we’re in a safe community, I hate pulling into our driveway alone. I push the button on the garage door opener, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see Bradley’s car parked in his spot. Pulling in beside his, I can’t wait to get inside, shed all these excess layers of warm clothes, and start making our holiday traditions. It’s the weekend, but it’s also the start of my winter break.

Even though we were together last year for Christmas, that was different. We’d not even made love. I turn the key, then open the door. Immediately, I inhale the aromas of garlic, tomato, and oregano. “Mmm. Smells like Italy in here.”

I hang my keychain in the designated spot on the wall. Bradley had been quick to install a hook for them after several scavenger hunts trying to trace their last location. He’d always say, “If you put them where they belong, you wouldn’t lose them.”

Of course, my retort was perfect. “If they had a place, I’d put them there. But where exactly is their home anyway?”

The last time he pushed me against the wall, thrusting his narrow hips into mine, then kissed me as if his life depended on it. Bradley pulled away, gasping for air in the best of ways. He smirked. “They’ll have a home tomorrow, smarty-pants.”

The next day, when I walked in from the garage, as promised, there were two beautiful, ornate pewter hooks that said
His
and
Hers
by the door.

I’m brought back to reality by his deep, sexy voice. “How was your exam?”

My lips curve into a smile. It’s the little things: the hooks and the cooking. My heart has been in this perpetual state of bliss, and I hope it never ends. “Feel pretty good about it.” I kick my shoes off into the corner of the mudroom, toss my scarf, coat, and gloves into one of the cubbies under the white bench against the wall, and walk through to the kitchen. He’s only wearing a pair of sweats. As I push my front to his back, I squeeze his waist. I stand on my tippy toes to reach the nape of his neck and plant a delicate kiss. “Finals are finished.” Another kiss. “I’m officially on winter break.” Longer kiss. “You’re home early…
and
cooking.” Moving my attention to that spot behind his ear he likes so much, I begin to swirl my tongue. “Could the day get any better?”

In an instant, he turns around and walks me backward. “Yeah, you could keep taking your clothes off, only wear
this
, then help me in the kitchen. Nothing like a sexy sous-chef.”

I grab the apron, fluffing the layers of black and white zebra print and hot pink damask ruffles. “You do know I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, right?” Our eyes meet. His blue orbs sparkle as he nods, raising his eyebrows, as if challenging me. “I do love the colors and the frills. It doesn’t look like an apron, more like a dress.” I turn it around and untie the fabric. My pulse starts to race. My entire body sizzles like the food on the stove. “Except it’s missing the back.” My body shudders as I continue to think about this game he wants to play with me in our kitchen. It’s naughty and sweet all at the same time.

“I think that was the idea. I got it from this place that specializes in flirty aprons. When I saw it, all I could think of was you in it naked.” He picks up the wooden spoon and gives the chunky marinara sauce a stir before turning the knob on the stove, reducing the temperature to low. One look and I can tell it’s the recipe we got while on our honeymoon. The jarred stuff I grew up eating has nothing on this sauce. It’s not hard to prepare, either—more patience than skills. My mouth waters thinking of the sweet, less acidic taste of the San Marzano tomatoes. Nostalgia settles in as I have a flashback of a naked Bradley feeding me leftover pasta with this exact sauce in our villa. It was the middle of the night when we’d made up for every day we’d been together without having made love in only a matter of hours. Being in Italy for those two weeks taught me so much. Everyone here is on the go, in such a hurry, and trying to eat food as quickly as they can. If we can even call it food. It’s junk. This…this is food. “Did you see what it says on the front?”

See what on the front of what
?

“The apron.” He’s always understood me, but the more we’re together, the better we fit, the more we’re able to read each other’s minds. Or maybe the more he’s able to read mine.

“Right. The apron.” I straighten the top so I can see the glittery text. “Candy Cane Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses. Aw. You’re just all in the Christmas spirit tonight, huh?”

In an instant, Bradley empties his hands and wraps his arms around my waist, dips me back, and then claims my lips. It reminds me of that first kiss. I’d been wound up so tight I couldn’t fully enjoy it, but not this time. I inhale his scent, a combination of woodsy citrus as our tongues dance and twirl like ballerinas dancing The Waltz of the Snowflakes in The Nutcracker. Chills go from the top of my head all the way to my toes, causing them to curl before the heat envelops me all over again.

Bradley pulls back and points to the green leaves hanging from the doorframe. Straightening me, he tugs the hem of my top over my head and tosses it to the floor. “Damn. I’ve missed you these last couple of weeks while you’ve been studying.” He brushes that stray piece of hair behind my ear as his lips curve into a smile. “I can’t wait to start and continue Christmas traditions with you. For instance, that stuff on the stove needs to simmer for a minute…or ten. So, there’s this one memory I’d like to make with you while we wait.”

“Is that right? And what did you have in mind, exactly?”