by Anne Harper
Sloane had only stood her ground behind that bar and managed to keep her tears in because of the soothing voices of Emma and Santana at her sides. Calm, smooth, strong voices that had threatened violence and extreme bodily harm to Derrick all the way up until Brady had come back inside.
The mortification had gone bone-deep as the bartender had walked past Sloane without one glance her way.
But then something amazing had happened.
Brady Knox had gone from being a somewhat-surly bartender with a grin that excited to a humble man wearing glitter and filled with compassion.
He’d gone from Sloane’s pretend boyfriend to one she wished was real.
It was a startling revelation and one that had her giggle when she told the man good night at close. Even Callum was Team Brady on the drive home.
“You two are good for each other. I really like him, Sloane,” he’d said. “I’m going to have to start going to the bar more now.”
Sloane had ridden that giddy mood all the way through sleep and was still riding dirty with it as the clock hit ten. It was only getting better, since that meant Brady would be showing up soon. They had a date to get Roger Norman’s boat, haul it back to the house, and come up with a game plan for decorating it.
“It’s not a date date,” Sloane had to remind herself, side-eyeing the current House Hunters couple, who were bickering over mudrooms.
But you want it to be.
A low rumble of thunder sounded outside. Sloane shook her head. Just because Brady had become a hero to her in a weird time—okay, times—of need didn’t mean he was anywhere near feeling what she was. They had made an arrangement. One that ended when she went back to Nashville and started her new life.
But you could still have fun while you’re here.
Sloane gathered up the outfits and walked back to her room. She mentally swatted at the devil on her shoulder. The angel had been suspiciously absent since she’d made the blog public.
Rude.
The doorbell rang soon after, and, devil or not, Sloane’s adrenaline spiked. She ran a hand through her hair, patted down the only summer dress she’d packed, and was pinching at her cheeks like they weren’t going to go red the moment she saw him. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden?
Because now you know that you want him.
“Play it cool, Sloane,” she said, talking out loud to herself again. “Play it cool.”
She did not, in fact, play it cool.
“Hi there, Brady,” she all but yelled the moment the front door was open. She even threw in a wave.
Thankfully, he was staring down at his phone.
“Hey, I know we’re supposed to go get the boat, but do you mind if we wait a minute?” He held out his phone. Radar was on the screen, but for the life of her, Sloane couldn’t focus on it. She was already trying really hard not to wave again. “There’s a storm about to pass over us, and I’d like to not wreck the boat we’re borrowing. Roger already has a lot on his plate, and I really don’t want to paint any more rooms in his house.”
It was like Sloane was having an out-of-body experience, watching herself in mute horror.
“Oh, yeah, that’s absolutely no problem,” she squeaked out, words slamming into one another. She overcompensated for the obvious nerves by becoming Vanna White walking to touch the lit-up letter. “Come on in.” She kept her arm and hand extended out and walked across the foyer, chin up and smile stuck.
“Okay.” There was a hint of laughter in the two syllables, so Sloane powered through to the living room, careful not to look at him. If he had a smirk on, things would only get worse for her.
“Why don’t we watch some House Hunters? A new episode just started.”
Sloane did another wave of her arm, like she was some damn witch trying to cast a spell, and settled onto the edge of the couch. Half of her expected Brady to take the chair next to it, but instead he plopped down on the center cushion.
It made the meltdown of her trying to play it cool final.
“So, how’s your day been going? Did you have anything good for breakfast? Or are you one of those people who don’t eat breakfast but, like, love coffee? Because if so, I can make us another pot if you want? I’ve had a few myself already, to be honest.”
Brady arched his eyebrow high and slung his voice low. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t have any more.”
Instant. Blush.
“You’re probably right about that. You know, I could use some water. Want anything?” Sloane proceeded to list off every damn liquid and crumb in Callum’s fridge…while slowly walking backward to the kitchen. Brady decided on a water, too, and, apparently, not asking why she was acting like a chicken with its head cut off.
Keep it the heck together, Sloane!
She shook her head as she grabbed two waters and paused to take in the chill from the open fridge.
Brady just had to go ahead and tell his ass-king story and save the freaking day.
What a dick.
Sloane inhaled and exhaled several times and then became a quirky version of a Stepford wife. She even did a little flourish with her dress when she sat down.
Brady took his water but didn’t take his eyes off the TV. His brow was scrunched together. Focused. When he spoke, it was at one of the home buyers on the show.
“You can’t get that house next to the hella busy street, Karen. You have small children.” Brady shook his head. He motioned to the screen. “Get this. The husband immediately points out that their kids are wild and love running around outside and the house is a no for him before he even got out of the car, but his wife just wants a damn craftsman, kids’ safety be damned!”
Sloane busted out laughing.
Brady met her stare. He shrugged. “What? You think you’re the only one who watches shows like this and yells at the dumbasses?” He shook his head. “Sometimes this is better than football.”
“Wow. That’s a bold claim for a southern man.”
“This combines my love of disliking people and making fun of dumbasses.” He gave a mock sigh of pleasure. “Makes the soul happy.”
Sloane laughed again and eased back into the rhythm they’d created over the course of their short engagement. Darkness fell like it was night outside, the rain came, and Brady Knox continued to dislike how little the mother on the show seemed to care for her children.
It was nice.
It was cozy.
It could have lasted much, much longer.
But then thunder exploded so loud and violent that Sloane levitated off the couch in terror. On the way back down, she clawed out for stability in the form of half of Brady’s lap.
He laughed just as the power cut out and the house dropped into absolute darkness.
Sloane didn’t move an inch.
“I hate the dark,” she said, all humor gone.
An uneasy feeling she hadn’t dealt with in a long time crawled into her chest.
Darkness was one of her absolute no-nos. Combine that with a storm, and cozy went to fear and heavy, awful feelings. It didn’t help that she was in her childhood home.
“A little rain and darkness never hurt anyone,” Brady said, lightly laughing.
Sloane knew he didn’t mean any harm in his words, but they stabbed. Suddenly she felt small and defensive.
“No, but if it gets bad enough, it can kill.”
She felt him stiffen through where their thighs were touching. When Brady spoke again, there was no more laughter.
“Well, I can’t do anything about the rain, but I can find us some better lighting than our phones.”
It took some coaxing, but Brady finally managed to convince Sloane to let him walk them to the kitchen to look for a flashlight or candles. They found neither. Brady wanted to go to the garage next, but Sloane shot that down really quick.
/> She imagined that spider out there. Laughing that the stupid humans couldn’t see in the dark.
“When I was sixteen, the power went out when I was in my room and I totally lost my mind. The next day, Callum brought home one of those big Maglites and put it under my bed. He gave me one when I went to college, but maybe the other is still there?”
Brady scooped her hand back up, and together they went to her bedroom. A quick search with his phone’s light beneath the bed showed nothing. Sloane sighed, resigned to the fact that she’d have to relearn how to not freak out at the dark again. Brady said he wasn’t ready to give up, though. With permission, he went into the closet and started moving boxes around. After a minute or two, he emerged with a weird-looking rectangular box.
“Looks like Callum upgraded your room while you were gone.” He clicked something, and soft yellow light bathed the room. “It’s a battery-powered lantern. We have two at the bar. They last forever.”
He moved over to the nightstand next to where she was sitting on the bed and placed it on its top. Sloane’s chest unclenched a little. Brady searched her face. She smiled.
“Thanks and sorry,” she said, voice no longer filled with nerves or giddiness. “I’m usually okay with storms and even some darkness, but I haven’t quite gotten used to when it happens together. And here, in this house? It’s just a bit harder is all.”
The bed sank a little as Brady sat next to her.
Seconds later, he surprised her, again, by falling backward, arms spread out like he was about to make a duvet angel.
“No need to apologize to me, sweet cakes. And if you want to talk to me about it or anything, you can. I don’t know if you know this or not, but us bartenders are excellent listeners.”
Sloane snorted at that and followed his move. She lay back on the bed with a sigh. It trapped Brady’s arm behind her shoulders, but he didn’t complain.
“This kind of feels like we’re camping,” Sloane said after a minute. “You know, just pretend you’re looking at the stars in the night sky instead of aged popcorn ceiling.”
“Ahh, yes. The beautiful aurora popcorn ceiling.” Brady snorted. “I bet that House Hunters wife would hate it.”
“‘We can’t buy this house, Rodney. One of the rooms is painted brown.’”
Brady let out a hoot of laughter.
“You sounded just like her.” He cleared his throat and changed its tenor a little. “‘Yes, dear. We’ll just get the house that was over our budget with the two-hour commute for me. Anything to keep you from yelling at me on national TV again.’”
They devolved into a fit of laughter. When it was done and they had lapsed back into silence, that warm and cozy feeling started to come back in.
It felt so right being there with him.
So Sloane did something she had never done before. She took a deep breath and opened up.
“My mom loved ice cream. I mean, really loved it. Couldn’t go a day without at least a spoonful. My dad wasn’t as much of a fan, but he once told me the reason he loved it so much was because of how happy it made her. So every day or night, when she sat down to have that spoonful or bowl, Dad made it a point to sit with her.” Sloane smiled up at her ceiling. “It was cute and annoying to Callum and me. We’d be trying to go out to the movies or watch something, and there they’d be, standing next to the kitchen sink, eating ice cream, and giggling like lovesick teens.”
Sloane let out a slow breath.
“That day, there was no ice cream in the house, and there was no question about it—they had to go to the store and get more. They were extra lovey-dovey about the whole thing, so Callum and I stayed home. The rain picked up when they were out, and with how dark it was, they never saw the truck, driving without its lights, going the wrong way.”
Sloane took a moment. She knew she wasn’t going to cry, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.
“They died instantly, we were told. Same as the truck driver. The sheriff came and told us in person, but, to this day, I can’t remember what he said. Then Ms. Peggy came over and stayed with us for the next month, until Callum legally became my guardian. I was fifteen, he was eighteen, but life insurance paid off this house and covered the bills. When I got a scholarship to go off to college, I told Callum he could do the same. Sell the house if he needed, but, as you can see, he didn’t.” She sighed again. “Which, I hate to admit, I’m grateful for. This was the last place we ever saw our parents, and I know it might sound silly, but sometimes I can walk by the kitchen sink and still hear them giggling.”
“That’s not silly. It’s nice.”
Sloane’s smile came back.
“I’ve never told anyone that before,” she admitted. “At least not the specifics.”
Brady turned his head over to look at her. She did the same and met his gaze.
“You never wrote about it in the blog?” he asked.
“No. I just kind of omitted anything about them. I guess it was easier that way. Or, at least, felt easier at the time. Now, I wonder if saying something would have helped ease the ache a bit instead.”
“Then why tell me? Why now?”
Sloane, who normally could have championed gold at overthinking, said the first thing that came to mind.
“You just feel right.”
She didn’t get a chance to smile again or to explain or to even blush at how vulnerable she felt.
Brady rolled over, cupped her cheek, and, beneath aurora popcorn ceiling, kissed her one more time without a soul in sight.
Well, I fucking declare.
The mood in the room went from warm and intimate to downright shawty fire burning on the dance floor.
This wasn’t some quick pity kiss.
No, this was more. This was all about connecting.
And Sloane was ready to completely connect with the surly, compassionate, grumpy bartender who tasted a lot like peppermint.
She moaned against his lips as his tongue broke through in time with his hand running down her side. He gripped her hip. Hard. Then he pulled his arm out from under enough to prop himself up and trapped her beneath him.
It was the best trap Sloane had ever been caught in.
She ringed his neck with both arms and pulled him down, flush against her. The move seemed to excite the man even more. He dropped his hand to the top of her bare thigh and then ran it right back up beneath her dress.
And right on beneath the strap of her panties.
It was all too much.
And still Sloane wanted more.
She bucked up against him, hungry. Her hands went from astronomers to astronauts, the difference between playing it safe and ready to reach for the freaking stars. They grabbed the brim of Brady’s T-shirt and tugged up.
“I want this off.”
Brady’s lips were swollen, his eyes were hooded, and his voice ground against her lady bits just as much as his hard-on did through his jeans.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He threw his shirt somewhere off in the distance.
The floor? The closet? Antarctica? Who fucking cared.
Sloane was bathing in the absolute masterpiece that was Brady Knox shirtless. She didn’t want him against her. She needed it.
Brady took his own moment to slow things down. He brushed past her lips and instead skimmed along her jaw. Heat and pleasure and the best kind of tingling followed those lips to her neck. Along with a tongue that knew exactly what it was doing.
He never stayed in one place too long.
It was maddening. And it was nothing compared to what he was about to do.
“You want my shirt off; I want this off.” He kissed the skin just above the fabric of her dress. “Now.”
Sloane didn’t need to be told twice.
Because she’d had no idea that she’d be doing anything
that required her naked body with Brady that day, she had to stand up to take the damn sundress off.
Thankfully, Brady didn’t complain about the new orientation. He was towering over her in a flash. Their height difference wasn’t intimidating like it used to be. In fact, it only turned her on more.
Together, they pulled the dress up and over her head.
Cold air pushed against Sloane’s bare chest and stomach. This time, Brady was the one to pause and stare.
Then there was that smirk.
Height difference be damned.
Sloane jumped the distance between them, crashing her lips back to his. This time there was no pausing. Brady took them both to the bed.
Then, everything felt like it was happening at once.
Brady taking her nipple into his mouth while twisting the other between his finger and thumb, sucking and biting until she cried out.
Sloane unbuttoning his pants and helping to push them off so she could run her hand along his considerable length.
The fact that he was so hard, and that she had made him that way, pushing Sloane into a higher tier of pleasure. Brady dropping down to drag her panties off with his teeth sure as hell didn’t hurt.
When he came back up, sans his boxers, Sloane was wet and ready to be wild, opening her legs to show how eager she was to take him in.
Yet Brady had his own agenda. He brushed a kiss against her lips and then got back off the bed to stand. Sloane was two seconds from scolding him for the move when Brady grabbed her legs and pulled her in one swift movement to the edge. He was lightning after that, returning to tease her with a kiss before throwing any expectations out the window. His voice was dripping sex as he hovered over her lips and whispered.