Revealing someone else’s sexuality wasn’t something she would normally do—even knowing Jeremy was open about it. But something about the thought of that woman digging her claws into her new friend had made Trina see red. If she couldn’t have him, no other woman would have him either. Of course, now she knew she could have him, she’d been forced to spend an inordinate amount of time reminding herself why that would be a bad idea.
“Thanks for the tip,” Brady said, recalling her to the present.
“You’re welcome.” A comfortable silence fell as they continued to hang their washing. Trina noticed Brady hung only casual clothes, mainly jeans, shorts and t-shirts. No obvious work clothes. It made her wonder what he did for a living. Managing the apartment building couldn’t possibly take up all his time.
A full two weeks had past since the night they’d met, and she’d barely caught sight of him in that time. The odd noise could be heard on his side of the living room wall now and then, but that was about it. She’d been disappointed when he didn’t make any effort to continue their fledgling friendship, concluding maybe he hadn’t enjoyed her and Jeremy’s company as much as they’d enjoyed his.
She smiled as she remembered the first words out of Jeremy’s mouth after Brady had left that night. “You take the front,” he’d suggested, “and I’ll cover the back. Because sharing is caring.” They’d both laughed themselves silly, before heading off to bed—separately.
“What made you decide to live in the building when you took ownership?” she asked, eager to get to know Brady a little better now she had the chance.
He glanced her way before returning to his task. “I wanted a fresh start.”
“I get that.” She was all about fresh starts lately. If she could go back ten years and start over, ignore her dodgy instincts and make more conscious, logical decisions about her life, there were only about a thousand things she would do differently. “Where are you from?”
He didn’t answer and she got the feeling he didn’t like this line of questioning. Whatever had made him move to this place, where he never seemed to get visitors and rarely left his apartment, he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she said as she hung her bras two metres away from his boxers. If only sharing secrets was as easy as sharing a washing line, maybe this man wouldn’t seem so alone.
He shook his head, dismissing her apology as unnecessary.
Trina hung the last piece of washing and picked up her empty basket. She should probably leave, but the pull she felt toward Brady kept her from walking away. “I grew up near here,” she told him as a way of making conversation. “My whole family lives within about a half hour radius. We’re ridiculously interdependent.”
“Interdependent?” Brady looked at her questioningly.
“Yeah. As in we’re independent people, but we take care of each other and rely on each other when we need to.”
He nodded in understanding. “Sounds nice.”
After hanging his final sock, Brady put the muffin container into his basket and picked it up. Together, they climbed the stairs to the top floor of the building. She tried to think of something else to say the whole way up, but nothing came to mind and before long they stood in front their respective doors. “I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, forcing a friendly smile before she turned away.
“Trina, wait.” She looked around and saw him swallow heavily, as if he was unsure why he’d stopped her. Then, finally, “Join me for a muffin?”
Her heart didn’t care that his question sounded reluctant. It didn’t care that he never met her gaze as he spoke. Instead, it took the invitation and launched into a full-blown happy dance. She tried to keep the brightness of her smile to dwarf-star status. “I’d love to.”
Chapter 8
Trina dropped her laundry basket off inside her own apartment before following Brady through his front door. She looked around, curious as to the secrets his living space would reveal. She almost laughed out loud at the sight. “I take it you like to read.”
His apartment was full of books. They were piled on the tables, against the wall beside the couch, even on the kitchen counter. The door to the second bedroom was open, revealing a large desk covered in more books and stacks of paper.
“I read anything and everything.” Brady headed straight for the fridge, where his rummaging was interspersed with minor swearing before he straightened. “I can offer coffee, but only if it’s black, the milk has gone off. Or I have beer.”
Trina smiled at his vain attempt at hospitality. “It’s Saturday afternoon. I’ll take the beer.”
“My kind of woman,” he murmured, pulling two bottles from the bottom shelf. “Sorry about the mess,” he said as he popped the tops off. “I don’t get a lot of visitors.”
“So I gathered.” She accepted the beer and they chinked the bottles together before taking a long sip. “Why is that?”
He cleared a space for them to sit at a small dining table, before grabbing a couple of plates and serving the muffins. “I’ve been working a lot since I moved here. And I’m not what you’d call a people person. Never have been.”
“Sounds lonely.” Trina had spent her whole life surrounded by people who loved her, no matter how many times she screwed up. She couldn’t imagine her life without them.
Brady shrugged as he plucked at the label on his bottle. “Alone and lonely aren’t always synonymous.”
“I suppose,” she agreed. “Although, given enough time they may as well be.” Trina broke her muffin apart and took a bite. An explosion of blueberry goodness burst in her mouth. “That is good.”
Brady nodded in agreement as he chewed and swallowed. “Overly friendly she may be, but Belinda Adams is a damn fine cook.”
Trina groaned in foodie pleasure as she took another bite, then washed it down with a long sip of her beer. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said so when I return the container.”
He eyed her over the rim of his bottle. “It almost sounds like you’re staking your own claim on the men in this building.”
“Not all of them.” She wasn’t sure why she said that out loud. She knew she was insanely attracted to both men, but they didn’t have to know. Or at least, she didn’t need to confirm it for them.
“How long have you and Jeremy been friends?” Brady asked, sidestepping her statement of ownership.
“Actually, we only met a little over a month ago. I needed a flatmate, he applied, the rest is history.” She wasn’t about to admit she ‘picked him up in a coffee shop and took him home with her’ as Jake had put it. But it was essentially true and, as the first logic-based choice she’d ever made, it had worked out in her favour. Which was evidence she was on the right track. All she had to do now was apply the same kind of simple logic to the other areas of her life and she’d be deliriously happy in no time.
“I thought you must have been friends for years,” Brady said, his brows raised in surprise. “You seem so comfortable with each other.”
Trina thought about how to reply for a moment. “Have you ever met someone and you sort of instantly fit together? Like maybe you’ve known each other for a thousand lifetimes, and your soul is happy you’ve found each other again in this one?”
Brady fiddled with the label on his bottle again, his gaze fixed on his fingers. “I can’t say I have.”
“Well, that’s how it feels between Jeremy and me. We fit.”
The smile he gave her was forced and there was a sadness in his eyes that tugged at her heart. She got the feeling this man was nursing a broken heart—and he was doing it all alone.
“You know, if Mrs Adams hasn’t already filled the friends vacancy you seem to have, Jeremy and I would be happy to try out for the position.”
A half-dozen expressions flitted across his face as he processed her words, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of them. “You and Jeremy.”
“Sure. Why not?” Brady didn’t need to kno
w about the comments that had past between the two of them about how hot he was, or the casual way Jeremy had suggested they share him. “Anyway, you think about it. No pressure.”
Rising from the table, she headed for the sink where she busied herself rinsing her plate while she waited for her pulse to slow down. “What do you do anyway?” she asked. “Are you a writer or something?”
“Or something.” Trina jumped at the closeness of Brady’s voice and she turned on the spot to see him standing behind her, his own plate in hand. “Other people write. I edit. Come on, I’ll show you.”
She followed him into the second bedroom where his battered, old desk was covered in paperwork, an enormous monitor and keyboard set up in the centre of it all. A large white board leaned against one wall. Orderly task lists, complete with due dates and check boxes, covered the whole thing. “You work from home full-time?”
“Yeah. That’s why everything is still a mess. I’m waiting for new office furniture to be delivered. Bookshelves, a new desk.”
“What kind of editing do you do?”
“It used to be textbooks mostly. An abundance of boring, dry textbooks. Until I quit, last month.” He picked up a single sheet of paper. It was a print out of an advertisement for his editing services. “Now, I’m doing freelance work. Indie authors mostly. Science fiction, fantasy, mysteries, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, Jeremy’s gonna love you.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she gave him the rundown on Jeremy’s pop culture store. She’d popped in a few times since meeting him and she’d had heaps of fun digging through his merchandise. Plus, she knew how happy the business made her friend. “I guess you’re both entrepreneurial types.”
“I’m trying,” Brady said, as if quitting his job to take a chance on himself was no big deal. “Let’s hope I’m as successful as Jeremy.”
“I have no doubt.” She picked up a document from the top of one of the piles, her eyes drawn to the book cover on the first page. “What’s this about?”
“Take a look.” He gestured for her to turn to the next page, where she found a blurb.
After reading the few paragraphs, she flipped back to the cover art. “Hmm, interesting choices.”
“What do you mean?” He stepped forward to look at the cover over her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body behind her and it made her tingle in all sorts of pleasant ways.
“Did you make this cover?” she asked, not wanting to criticise his work.
Brady shook his head. “Words are my thing, not graphics. I think the author did this one herself.”
“No offence to Mary,” she said, glancing at the name in small print at the bottom of the cover, “but this is all wrong.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“The blurb is about a woman who’s got superpowers and is off on a great adventure. So why is there a half-naked man on the cover? He’s not mentioned in the blurb at all. The description is straight science fiction, but it looks like a romance novel. Her cover is promising sex scenes and her book had better deliver.”
“There is a guy in it, but the relationship is platonic.”
“Then her readers are going to be disappointed. Plus, this sepia tone is all wrong. It’s screaming old world, not modern adventure. And don’t even get me started on this tiny font. No one will be able to read it in a thumbnail.” She stopped talking long enough to look up and saw Brady watching her, though his gaze fell away rather than meeting hers. Snapping her mouth shut, she handed him the document. “I’m sure it’s a lovely story.”
Brady shook his head. “Oh no, don’t back down on me now. You’ve got a good eye.” He rotated the pages so he could view the cover once more. “I wasn’t keen on the cover either but I didn’t take much notice of it.” He dropped the pages back onto the desk. “How do you know so much about this stuff?” he asked. “Are you a graphic artist?”
“No. I work in admin at an advertising agency.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ve picked up a thing or two hanging around so many creative types.”
“Sounds to me like you’re one of those creative types.”
Trina shook her head. “Not so much. I have an arts degree, but I majored in philosophy and modern art. Try getting a decent job with those qualifications.” She’d allowed her instincts to dictate what course she chose at University, assuming the universe would take care of the rest. It hadn’t quite worked out the way she expected. While she’d been elbow deep in Descartes and Picasso, interests which turned out to be little more than a passing fancy, her brother had studied architecture. Now she had no real career to speak of, while Derek owned his own design firm. If she’d chosen something with a solid career behind it like he had, she’d probably be a lot happier today—not to mention wealthier.
“You should put your ideas to work,” Brady said, drawing her out of her funk. “Come up with a better cover. If you’d like I could show it to Mary and see if she’d like to buy it from you.”
The idea seemed ludicrous. She’d never designed anything in her life, even if she had enjoyed watching others go through the design process. “I don’t know. I don’t think I could do something like that.”
“You don’t know until you try,” he encouraged. “What have you got to lose?”
Not a great deal, she decided. Putting the cover together would cost her next to nothing, and she might even make a few bucks in the process. That seemed logical enough. If nothing else, she would be doing something different, and she was committed to changing her life, after all.
“Maybe I’ll give it a try,” she said with a nod. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Anything for a new friend.” He still stood beside her, his chest almost brushing her shoulder, and this time, when she looked up, his gaze locked with hers. The rarity of the action heightened its intensity, made her heart beat faster as she stared deep into his brown eyes.
“Anything?” she asked in a low voice. Her eyes dropped to his lips. They were so close, just centimetres away. She probably shouldn’t have done that. Friends didn’t stare at friend’s lips. Friends didn’t kiss each other either. She’d spent several minutes yelling at Jeremy about that very thing not so long ago—right before she kissed him again. Was she really going to do the same thing with Brady? For no other reason than because she really, really wanted to? Where was the logic in that?
“I should go.” She stepped away, then took a few more steps, until she was back in his living room and heading for the front door. With her hand on the knob, she turned back to see he’d followed her, though he kept more distance between them this time. “Thanks for the muffin and the beer,” she said, stretching her lips into a wide smile.
Brady focused on the wall somewhere over her left shoulder, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “No problem.” Their eyes met for a single heartbeat, before his dropped away again. “I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.” Trina pulled the door wide, felt the cool afternoon breeze on her heated skin as she stepped outside. “See ya.” She escaped into her own apartment, thankful Jeremy wasn’t home to see the way her face flamed with longing and shame.
Chapter 9
Trina had just arrived home from work a few days later, when she answered a knock on the door to find Brady standing on the other side. Her heart lurched in her chest at the sight of him and a smile rose to her lips. Then she saw the way his hands were jammed into his pockets, his body half-turned away from her, and she cringed. This was a man who expected a less than welcoming response. She knew she’d been somewhat ungracious in her departure on the weekend, but that had only happened because she’d been overwhelmed by her own desires, not because she didn’t want to be there. It hadn’t occurred to her Brady might think he’d done something wrong.
“Hey,” she greeted him, hoping to fix the situation. “How are you?”
“I’ve just finished preparing a big arse lasagne and all it needs is an hour in the oven to finish it off.” The words fell out of him in su
ch a rush she struggled to keep up. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him use so many in one sentence before.
“Um, okay.” Not that she wasn’t pleased to see him, but she was baffled as to why he was standing on her doorstop telling her about his lasagne.
He seemed to realise she wasn’t leaping to whatever conclusion he’d been hoping she’d leap to and tried again. “I haven’t tried to use my oven until today and there’s something wrong with it.”
Now they were getting somewhere. She gave him an encouraging nod. “Go on.”
He shook his head, a wry grin on his lips. “I was wondering if I could use your oven to…”
“Cook your lasagne,” she finished for him.
“And then, if you and Jeremy don’t already have plans, we could share.”
“Share?” Because sharing is caring. Jeremy’s words flitted through her brain like a tease, igniting warmth low in her belly.
“The lasagne,” Brady added, as if reading the direction of her thoughts. She really hoped he wasn’t doing that. “We could share the lasagne.”
“Yes, of course.” Her voice was husky and she felt her face flush in embarrassment. It’s a meal, Trina, not an invitation to boink. She pulled the door wider. “Sounds great. Jeremy should be home in a few minutes. You’ll stay and hang out with us while dinner is in the oven, of course.”
Brady seemed uncertain. “Are you sure it’s not an imposition? I don’t want to get in your way.”
“Of course not,” she said. “You can impose on us anytime.”
He breathed a laugh, his gaze dropping to his feet for a moment before he looked at her again. “All right, I’d love to.”
“Great.” She felt giddy with delight, though there was no reason to. This was just three friends sharing a meal. A pleasant prospect, yes, but nothing to squee about.
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