by Anne Harper
When she finally met his eye, Brady had already gone from being amused to trying really hard not to do anything stupid.
Like admit he wanted to kiss her.
Or actually kiss her.
But a quip? Well, he was never smart enough to pass up one of those.
He shot a look down to her exposed chest and then back up. “Well, you did say being frugal was sexy.”
It was like putting a drop of red food dye into a glass of water. Sloane’s face turned red at an almost alarming speed. She threw her arms over her chest, finally realizing that taking off her shirt meant that her shirt was off, and then the mortification set in.
Then the desire Brady had been feeling was replaced by a feeling that he hadn’t had in a long, long time.
Protectiveness.
Not of the spider, but of Sloane—from Sloane.
Brady placed his hands on her bare upper arms and angled his head down to focus her attention on what he was saying.
“Hey, when I first moved to Arbor Bay, I had no idea what a cicada was. You know? Those big-ass bugs that are loud as hell and leave those empty husks lying around everywhere? No idea they were a thing…until Dixon thought it would be funny to catch one and put it under my covers while I was sleeping.” He shook his head at the memory, not bothering to hide how it still gave him the heebie-jeebies. “I woke up once it got to my neck, and, to this day, I still will fight tooth and nail to get as far away from those little demons as I can. Even the husks freak me the hell out. Found one in my truck last month and jumped out like it was on fire. And, between you and me, there was definitely some squalling on my part.”
He smiled.
“That said, there’s no shame in stripping, yelling like a banshee, and acting like the floor is lava when it comes to bugs. So don’t go getting all embarrassed with me, okay? Your total overreaction was actually pretty damn normal. I mean, that spider was freaking—”
Right then and there, shirtless in the kitchen, Sloane pressed her lips to Brady’s before he could form another word.
Which was good, because once she was against him, Brady didn’t give a rat’s backside about anything else.
Chapter Eleven
Sloane hadn’t meant to kiss Brady. Nope. Not one bit.
Sure, she’d thought about it a few times since he’d surprised her at the bar with his own impromptu lip-lock, and not to mention their pecks over the last two days, but thinking about Idris Elba naked in bed with you doesn’t actually mean that Idris Elba will be naked in bed with you. Lady parts weren’t a coven of witches who made every naughty thought a reality.
Yet, the evidence was fairly damning in this instance.
Sloane had been the one to kiss him, but now Brady made her gasp. His hands went from her arms to places of power. One to the small of her back, the other to the back of her neck. The former brought her closer to him; the latter anchored her lips firmly against his.
Then his tongue parted her lips, deepening the kiss, and she nearly moaned right then and there. Stars? Planets? Fireworks and chaos? Sloane wasn’t sure what she was seeing, but her body sure as hell wanted to keep the show going. Her hands didn’t go for power. They became adventurers instead. Roaming across his shoulders and back with their limited reach, searching for something new and more exciting.
He was so tall.
So solid.
So warm.
Sloane wanted more than a kiss. She wanted to keep exploring.
And, judging by the specific hardness she was feeling against her, she suspected the feeling was mutual.
So she decided to keep things moving along.
Sloane brought her hands down to the bottom of his shirt and slipped beneath it with speed. If Brady thought she threw her shirt off fast, he was going to be straight dazzled at her ability to rid him of his. Just wait until she got to his pants.
Homie was about to get whiplash.
“Jesus Christ, Sloane! What are you doing?”
Sloane gasped, and it was nowhere near the pleasurable kind.
She separated from Brady in a flash and felt a full-body cringe sweep over her as she realized the new voice in the kitchen was unmistakably that of her older brother.
Callum De Carlo had his hand over his eyes, but his scowl was easy to see.
“Your room is literally down the hall,” he continued. “It would take you maybe three seconds to get there!”
Sloane, still very shirtless, threw herself behind Brady and used him as a shield. She peeked around his arm, face in absolute flames.
“Callum, what are you doing here?” Even though she was obviously in the wrong, Sloane couldn’t help but be defensive.
“You mean in the kitchen of my home?”
“You’re supposed to be at work!”
“And you’re supposed to wear shirts in the kitchen, but look how that turned out!” Callum uncovered his eyes but kept them up on the ceiling.
“My shirt is in the garage,” Sloane tried. “There was a spider, and I—”
He waved his hands around and shook his head. “Please for the love of everything holy go to your room and get a new one, and then we can talk.” He moved over to the far side of the kitchen, giving them a wide berth.
Sloane planned to take advantage of that. She started to move, with every intention of continuing to use Brady as a shield, but the bartender didn’t budge. She gave him what was, she knew, a wild look.
His lips were red, but, other than that, he was acting like it was just another day at Cassidy’s.
Completely unaffected.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Make sure you grab something you can get paint on.”
Sloane couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that he didn’t want to go to her room and at least attempt to do anything else, but she wasn’t about to stand around and talk about it. She nodded and then continued her speedy ways, running out of the room and not stopping until she was pressed up against the other side of her closed bedroom door. Early-2000s Tom Welling looked back at her from across the room. Her worn Smallville poster was an instant reminder that she had just been caught making out with a boy in the kitchen of her childhood home.
By her brother.
Shirtless.
Sloane groaned. This was blog post–worthy.
She took a few beats to cool down before going to her dresser. She rummaged around looking for an old shirt that could get messy, all the while feeling slightly overwhelmed by what had just happened.
Why had she kissed Brady?
Well, dagnabbit, she didn’t know.
It had just felt right.
There he was, trying to make her feel better about being a total flailing fool, and then, suddenly, she was pressed against the poor man with a hunger that had burned hotter than any embarrassment ever had.
But he kissed you back. And not just a peck, either.
Sloane pulled out a shirt she’d left behind after a visit from college. It was peach-colored, baggy, and had a weird stain under one armpit. It was perfect for painting in but in no way did any favors when it came to looks. Then again, maybe that was the reason she grabbed it.
The kiss was good—okay, great—but it wasn’t smart.
She and Brady were a lie.
One with an expiration date.
Almost two weeks’ time.
After that lie served its time, Sloane would be back in Nashville—fingers crossed—way closer to realizing her dream, while Brady would still be at the bar, still living his. He would, hopefully, have more customers, and she, hopefully, would have a book deal.
That was it.
There were no other lies, plans, or festivals between them once she left.
Definitely no kissing in private.
Sloane decided to cut herself some slack that it had hap
pened at all. Post-spider adrenaline. That’s what got me.
She rooted around in her partially unpacked suitcase to look for another hair tie and ignored the several other reasons she could have possibly wanted to kiss Brady. Reasons that had nothing to do with a spider. It wasn’t until she found the tie and flung her hair up into a messy ponytail that she remembered she hadn’t just left Brady back alone in the kitchen.
She’d left him with her older brother.
“Crap on a spatula!”
Sloane hurried back into the kitchen, unsure of what she’d find.
What she did caught her off guard.
Callum was the spitting image of their father, Art. Just as she had an uncanny resemblance to their mother, Stella. It had felt cruel for a year or two after the accident. In just the right light or when they weren’t fully paying attention, sometimes their brains would see one of their parents just standing or sitting around the house like nothing had happened. But then, as the years went on and they’d both accepted, subconsciously and otherwise, that their parents were truly gone, the uncanny resemblances had become more of a blessing.
Seeing Callum leaning against the kitchen counter, cup that was undeniably coffee in his hand, talking to Brady, Sloane couldn’t help but take a moment. It was like seeing her father again and, in a small way, like seeing her father meeting Brady. It made her feel warm, torn, and confused.
Would he have liked the brooding bartender? Sloane couldn’t help but wonder.
Just as she couldn’t help but wonder why she was wondering in the first place.
Callum turned to her and paused. She knew it in her bones that he’d had a flash of nostalgia, too. He gave her a small, small smile. The same one he’d given her on her sixteenth birthday, while taking pictures of her and her date right before prom, and when she had been standing in her graduation gown one room away, ready to find a place in the world outside of Arbor Bay. The I’m sorry they’re not here, but I am and I love you smile.
All at once, Sloane felt horrible.
She shouldn’t have hidden the truth from Callum about Marcus, and she shouldn’t be lying to him about Brady now.
Not after everything they’d been through.
Not after how he’d helped to get her through the worst years of her life.
Sloane opened her mouth to say something—what, she wasn’t sure—but Callum recovered before she could say a word.
“Everyone had a bet going on if Roger was going to paint the nursery or if Zelda was going to hire someone to do it. I bet that Roger would cave and outsource. I guess I was right.” He grinned. “What’s he paying you?”
“A boat.” Brady had his arms over his chest. Her shirt was in his hand. How long had she been in her room?
“You mean he’s giving you Roboata?” Callum’s eyes had widened at that. It was enough to temporarily pull Sloane out of her guilt.
“Roboata?”
“Yeah. You know like ‘Roberta’ but, well, put ‘boat’ in there instead. Row-boat-ah.”
Sloane couldn’t help it. She laughed.
“We’re borrowing her,” Brady added on, clearly also amused. He might be a bit of a brooder, but it was nice to know he could find humor outside of sarcasm. “In return for painting the nursery, we can use it in the parade.”
Callum nodded, looking impressed. “Easier to pull and decorate a small boat than make a small parade float,” he reasoned. “Smart.”
“And Ms. Peggy’s idea. We got as many decorations as we needed for the parade and the party today from her. All Brady had to do was tackle some yard work.”
“While slowly sweating to death,” he interjected.
“While slowly sweating to death,” Sloane repeated. She gave him a quick eye roll. “Then she sent us to Roger, who asked for the nursery to be painted, but he didn’t have everything we needed, so I thought I’d save everyone a little money by raiding your old paint supply stash.”
“That’s when the spider incident happened,” Brady added with what was becoming his trademark smirk. He was relaxing against the kitchen island and looked completely at ease, compared to his earlier run-ins with Ms. Peggy and Roger. Was it because he wasn’t being asked to do a chore, or was it because he liked Callum?
“Well, I’m glad there was actually a spider and that wasn’t some sex code for something,” Callum said. “I thought that was another bit of slang I’d have to look up like ‘yeet’ or ‘stan.’”
Sloane felt the blush before it reached her cheeks. She avoided Brady’s gaze. “What is it with you and Emma and codes? When have you ever heard me use a code for anything?”
Callum leveled a look at her. “Up until last week, I would have thought I knew the answer, but now I’m learning new things about you from the internet like everyone else.”
He meant it as a superficial joke, but Sloane could read him, just like he could read her. He was hurt, as Emma was, about being left in the dark.
That guilt came back in one swift movement.
Part of Sloane wished she’d stayed in her room. The other wished she’d stayed in Nashville.
“Well, spiders aside, I think we better get a move on if we want that boat.” Brady rocked forward on his heels and turned his smirk into a slightly frustrated but necessary smile. He reached his hand out to Callum. “Thanks again for letting us take the supplies. I can pay you back for whatever we end up using.”
Callum shook his hand and also put on a polite smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. If it helps Roger unclench a bit, then it’s a worthy cause.”
Brady went into the garage to, she guessed, get the box. There was no way she was ever going back in there again, so the move was a smart one, even if it left her and Callum alone with a lot of things unsaid between them.
The silence was deafening the moment he went through the doorway.
She couldn’t take it.
“Why are you home, by the way?” Sloane asked. “Is everything okay?” Callum worked as a bank manager at Willington Trust off Main Street. He rarely left before five on weekdays.
“Yeah. Melanie called and asked if I could pick up Justus from school. She has a lot of work and school stuff going on at the same time right now and really needed some help.” His smile became more genuine, and Sloane felt the same affection for the woman in question.
Melanie Teller was a friend who had had a long string of bad luck over the last few years. Callum had met her through her young son, Justus, as part of his volunteering at the Boys & Girls Club. Although he no longer volunteered, he still often watched Justus when Melanie was in a pinch. Both had also been somewhat absorbed into the family fold during the recent holidays. In fact, Sloane already had Justus’s Christmas present in her closet back in Nashville.
Brady walked back in, box in hand. Sloane eyed it with suspicion.
“Don’t worry,” he said, catching on to her concern. “I checked it for any crawling things. We’re clear.”
Sloane still wasn’t convinced. She kept her distance as she said bye to her brother and followed Brady out of the house. It wasn’t until the box was secured in the truck bed that she remembered what had happened before the whopping familial guilt.
The whopping hard-on.
Brady’s whopping hard-on.
Pressed against her.
Because she had kissed him.
A kiss they hadn’t been able to talk about yet, but now that they were getting into a truck and then going to paint a nursery together?
“No, this would be a great blog post,” she muttered to herself, completely unamused, before sliding into the passenger seat.
“What’s that?”
Flames, instant and searing, shot into her face.
Just like wanting Idris Elba in your bed didn’t actually mean he would be in you
r bed, not wanting someone to hear you wasn’t the same as them not being able to hear you.
“I hope we can do it fast,” she hurried to clarify. She kept her gaze out the windshield as they drove off. “Paint the room, I mean. I hope we can paint the room fast. I get kind of cranky when I have to paint things. Once I had to do this six-foot-tall heart for a wedding, and let’s just say it was an absolute disaster.”
“I can’t believe Roger is letting us do it at all. I mean, you aren’t close friends or anything, and yet he gave us a key to his house and doesn’t care if we come and go as we please? That’s taking southern hospitality a little too far, in my opinion.”
So they weren’t going to talk about the kiss?
Okay, Sloane could work with that. Bury it deep. Deny it ever happened. Blame the spider and hormones. That was the smart play.
Pretend to have lost it over each other. Not lose their good sense and their clothes.
Sloane could do that.
Done and done.
“I think it’s more stress than anything.” She actively rolled her shoulders back, trying to get rid of the tension. “He was always an anxious guy in school, and now he’s got a kid on the way. If Zelda was in town, though, probably not.”
“I’m just saying, it’s still weird.” Out of her periphery, she saw him shrug. “Though I guess I’d rather us be alone than have someone hovering over us while we work. At least this way we can’t get caught in another conversation that lasts an eternity.”
Sloane agreed, all mature, her mind not at all trying to pick her own adventure and continue what they’d been doing in the kitchen with a slew of imagined what-ifs.
“Yeah, it should make things go a lot faster for sure.”
Brady nodded.
Then she heard the smirk when he spoke again before she even had the time to whip her head around to see it.
“Just as long as you don’t throw yourself shirtless at me again, we should be fine.”
