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WELL, THAT DIDN’T GO so well. Understatement du jour. Brady shook his head and chuckled to himself as he stood on the stoop, wondering what force of nature had just plowed into him. That was one seriously ticked-off woman and he’d have to figure out a Plan B for this one.
Meanwhile, how had he never before realized what a turn-on a pissed-off woman was? ’Cause damn, her standing there all enraged at him in her flimsy little nightgown (which was not nearly as opaque as she might have believed but he’d never point it out) had gotten him all sorts of hot and bothered. Especially at the ass crack of dawn with the first glimmer of sunlight illuminating those stiff nipples. Yeah, her words greeted him one way, but those nips welcomed him the way a man wanted to be greeted in the morning. Hello, sailor. Maybe that was why he couldn’t seem to focus on whatever it was she was ranting about. He could only think about how much he’d like to get his lips fastened to those things. Then maybe she’d stop the tirade and go with the flow. Surely a little male-induced pleasure would overcome her ire.
Although he could hardly blame her for thinking he was a dick. He had been a dick. A calculated one at that, if he were honest with himself. Had he been thinking about her, he’d never have bailed the way he did. But he was a dumb college guy and he wanted put his feet on the pavement and go, wherever, whenever, however. If he seriously thought about it, maybe he’d admit that he’d gotten spooked by whatever was going on between them. They had clicked so easily. The short time they’d dated seemed a lifetime, in a good way. But that had scared him—the last thing he wanted straight out of college was a relationship to anchor him.
For too long he’d been chomping at the bit to go, and he hadn’t figured out how to enunciate that to her while they were dating. He’d mentioned his plans a few times, and she dismissed them. She was so convinced he’d stop with those fantasies about wandering and find a “real job.” But the last thing he, of all people, wanted was to be tethered to a desk somewhere. He didn’t know how to stay put, and he wasn’t going to have some woman change that, even if he did have feelings for her. He figured she’d catch on at some point but she didn’t. She’d even made some peripheral references to “love” and that made him even more squeamish. Love? Hell no. He was most definitely not getting roped into changing his dreams because she had the erroneous belief they were in love. They’d been in lust, in the best of ways. And they’d had lots of fun together, but love? That would have suggested he was willing to settle down for a woman, and that would have been impossible.
In fact, Brady truly had no appreciation for the power of romantic love and a life partnership until he lost his parents and realized how much their relationship rooted him, despite himself. They’d packed up and moved so regularly that Brady never did learn how to attach himself to anyone for long. Yet he realized too late what his mother had sacrificed to let his father have a career that required them to pick up and go at a moment’s notice. The experience had given him an appreciation for love and sacrifice that he’d never quite paid attention to or appreciated when they were alive.
But a whole lot of good that was going to do him now. He needed to come to a meeting of the minds with this chick, and fast. The last thing he wanted was to have to stick around now. Clearly she wasn’t the forgiving kind, and shacking up side by side with Daphne Sweeney would be a serious slice of hell.
~*~
TAKING A PAGE FROM Daphne’s plan, Brady headed back to sleep. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. He’d intentionally chosen to sleep on the sofa rather than in what he had pegged as the master bedroom in case his aunt—or whatever she was to him—had keeled over there. Bad juju to sleep in a death bed like that.
But that meant lying on an overly soft piece of furniture that was probably built during the Eisenhower administration and trying hard to ignore the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock. Not to mention the damned hourly announcements the thing made. Whoever thought a grandfather clock was a good idea? Ridiculous. Sleep would forever be elusive with that thing spouting off. He was sorely tempted to disassemble the damned clock so it would shut up, but God forbid he do that and Cranky McCrankypants next door got wind of it. She’d lop off his balls.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and started rifling through some chest of drawers in the dining room until he found a cache of tablecloths. He grabbed about ten of them and started tossing them atop the clock, one after the other, in the hopes of at least muffling the noise. There was a special place in hell for the dude who invented those damned clocks. He bet the inventor’s grandfather never spoke to him again. Standing in the living room, he admired his handiwork: the thing looked like a ghost looming in the corner. Brady hoped that at least the ghost would be a little more subdued.
~*~
BRADY FINALLY WOKE around four, his stomach growling. If he didn’t figure out a car sitch ASAP, or he’d end up gnawing on his hand. In the meantime, he went online to find something Uber Eats would deliver. He’d take a chance and order something for the surly one next door, hoping that food would be the way to her heart. More like to her soul, ’cause it wasn’t like her heart was his problem. What would an irritable woman like her want for dinner, though? He didn’t want to risk making her angry that he got something she hated. But he didn’t dare ask in advance, for fear she’d shut him down. He wanted to try to bond over shared plates. History was rife with situations where food had helped to settle differences, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to go with something as mundane as pizza, which felt a little cheap. Chinese delivery seemed cliché. He decided to flip the carryout idea on its head and order Afghani food. If she’d ever eaten it, no doubt she loved it. And if she hadn’t, well, it was high time she gave it a try.