He brought me a glass of water without asking, which I appreciated because I was definitely thirsty after that workout. Even though I hadn’t technically done much of the work.
When I finished the glass, I set it on the coffee table and asked him, “So did you actually hide condoms in the couch cushions? Because that’s one conversation with Jacks I definitely want to miss.”
Brody winced at my question. “Uh, no. But I did stick a couple in my pocket earlier.”
I snatched his shorts off the floor, stuck my hand in one pocket, and pulled out a strip of three condoms. I dropped them on the coffee table next to my glass and reached into the other pocket. There were two more.
“A couple, huh?” I asked.
Brody took the shorts out of my hand and slipped them on. I watched with interest because even though it was like a strip show in reverse, it was still hot to watch.
Then he snatched the condoms out of my hand and tucked them back into his pocket, followed by the packets from the coffee table.
“It pays to be prepared,” he replied as he flopped down on the couch next to me.
I didn’t have the energy to dress nor did I have the energy to move when Brody tried to tug me closer. He grunted as he hauled my limp body into his lap.
I ended up naked and straddling his lap, my chest against his and my forehead tucked against his neck.
He ran a hand down my spine and I moaned a little. It felt so nice to be touched. Not just sexually, but stroked. Cuddled. It was more than desire, it was affection, and I hadn’t realized how starved I was for it until now.
I relaxed against Brody and sighed again.
“Going to sleep on me?” he asked.
“Thinking about it.”
“Then we should do this in bed. I don’t think I have the strength left to carry you back in the bedroom.”
“That sucks,” I muttered. “Because I think my legs are broken. Or at least useless for the next few hours.”
“Think we can prop each other up and stumble down the hall?”
“I guess I’m willing to try if you are.”
Brody scooped up the t-shirt and handed it to me. I didn’t bother trying to put it on, only clutched it to my chest. Then he helped me stand up.
As I suspected, my knees buckled a bit, but Brody put his arm around my waist and helped me balance. I managed to put mine around his shoulders when he tripped a bit.
Together, we staggered from the living room toward his bedroom. We shambled and swayed like two drunks at closing time, but we made it to the bed. Brody stripped the comforter and top sheet down and I crawled beneath them. I barely got out of the way before he joined me on the mattress.
I rolled into him, resting my head in his shoulder, and threw an arm over his waist. Then I lifted my knee and draped my leg across his upper thigh. It took me a second to realize he was as naked as I was and that his shirt had disappeared from my hands somewhere between the living room and bedroom.
I stroked his waist and kissed his sternum right above his heart.
“Night, Brody,” I whispered as I settled my head back on his shoulders.
“Night, Cam.”
He reached over and turned off the lamp. And that was the last thing I remembered.
22
The weekend was amazing. And not just because of all the sex.
Though we did spend hours in bed. I discovered that Brody liked it when I traced the tip of my tongue over his nipples and the line of muscle that extended from his hipbone to his groin.
I also learned that I liked nearly everything that Brody did to me.
But there was so much more.
We talked about everything. What he'd been up to the last seven years. What I'd been up to. Our favorite movies. What kind of music we listened to. I teased him relentlessly about the Taylor Swift songs I found on his playlist when we turned on some music while we cooked dinner Saturday night.
He claimed that Jacks was the TayTay fan, but I heard him sing along with more than one song.
It was comfortable, as though we'd been together for years, but also new. We laughed and joked about things we shared in the past, yet I got the tingles every time he touched me or looked at me a certain way.
The feeling was both strange and welcome. I knew the past version of Brody. The sweet and funny boy who'd been in my life between the ages of eight and fourteen. The arrogant and sometimes downright mean guy who'd broken my heart my freshman year of high school.
Now, I was learning about the grown-up version of Brody. He was still arrogant and funny, but that sweetness had returned. Just a little. He was considerate, generous, and kind.
It was almost as if I was getting to know an entirely different person.
Sunday afternoon, I sighed and slipped back into the clothes I'd worn to Brody's house on Friday night. I had to go to work on Monday and I couldn't walk in without make-up and wearing the clothes I'd had on the last time Sierra had seen me.
Then again, it probably wouldn't matter because Sierra intended to take the day off and the shop was closed.
No. I had a home. I needed to get back to it. While I enjoyed my mostly naked weekend with Brody, I still had my own life and just because something felt good...no, great, didn't mean that it was smart for me to dive right in.
"Are you sure you have to go home?" Brody asked, tugging on a lock of my hair.
"Yes, I'm sure. I need to take care of some things before I start work tomorrow. Like cleaning up the messes that Sierra probably left all over my house. And doing laundry."
He leaned into me, our faces nearly touching. "When can I see you again?"
"When would you like to see me?" I asked.
"Tonight."
I grinned at him. "I think I need a break for tonight if I have any hope of walking tomorrow."
"We could just—"
I gave him a look that said it all. There was no way he could stay the night with me and that we would both keep our hands to ourselves.
"Tomorrow night?" he asked. "Otherwise, I'll just sit in my house, lonely and alone."
"Isn't that redundant?" I asked.
Brody's face changed. "You can be with someone and still be lonely," he answered.
I hated that he experienced that with Monica, but I was also glad because it meant he was here with me rather than still married to her.
Which was probably petty of me, but it was true.
I closed the scant inch between us and gave him a soft kiss. Just when I was ready to give in and rip my clothes off and spend one more night with him, he broke the kiss.
"You'd better go or I can't be held responsible for my actions," he said.
I backed up and grabbed my purse off the island. "Talk tonight?"
He tucked his hands in his pockets and grinned at me. I took that as a yes. I also memorized the sight of him standing in his kitchen in a blue t-shirt and faded jeans with his hands tucked in his pockets and his feet bare.
It was an image I wouldn't mind seeing regularly for the next forty or fifty years. Or maybe forever.
"Thanks for an amazing weekend, Brody," I said, still backing toward the front door.
"I thank that's my line," he replied.
"You talk about yourself in the third person?" I asked. "That's kind of weird."