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I really don’t want to walk the dog in the morning chill.

I really don’t want Braxton to move off me.

I really want to stay right where we are, doing something other than talking.

“Okay,” I mumble instead but I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice.

Braxton bites my shoulder playfully and grins against me. “I like where your mind is at though. But I’d prefer to take you when I know you won’t throw up all over me.”

Awesome thought.

“How are you feeling?” he says, as if we’re both thinking of the real reason I’m here.

It only takes me a second. “I need crackers and my meds.”

“I’ll get them for you.” He slides off me, rolling to his feet, and my hands drift away from him. “Then we’ll get Lucy.”

“How about I stay here, get some more sleep, and you wake me up when you get back from your walk?”

“I would, because I like that sexy tone in your voice,” he calls out, walking away from me. “But when I take you again it’s going to be in my bed where Lucy can’t bother us and like I said, when I know you aren’t going to puke. So get up and let’s get moving.”

My mind wanders to his bed. I haven’t seen it yet or his room. He’s only shown me the guest room where I slept before.

I don’t even know what’s gotten into me. Morning sex isn’t my thing—all that stale breath has always grossed me out.

“Fine.” I didn’t even brush my teeth last night before we passed out on the couch. I have to smell disgusting and if Braxton kisses me, I don’t want remnants of last night’s pepperoni and sausage on my breath.

“Gross,” I mutter and push to a sitting position as he walks back in and sets down my typical breakfast. Juice, crackers, and medicine. I nibble on some crackers while he watches, and when I feel steady on my feet, I stand.

“Good?”

“Not rushing to the toilet quite yet.” It’s so awesome that my vomit is such an important discussion topic. “But I do need to use the restroom.”

“Don’t take too long.”

“Whatever,” I grumble, slowly making my way down the hall to the guest room.

I’m just about to round the corner when I hear Braxton call out, “I take it you’re not a morning person.”

I give my answer in a one-fingered salute, to which he laughs.

Chapter 18

Braxton

The disdain of Cara’s parents’ disapproval from last night hangs over her through the morning, through our walk with Lucy and well past that until she pushes up off the couch and declares she’s going to go to work for a few hours.

We haven’t talked about their surprise arrival last night. I definitely didn’t want to push it after seeing her so shaken up, and I’m hesitant to do it later this afternoon after she returns from work.

Unfortunately, her parents being dicks isn’t something that’s going to disappear overnight either.

I can, though, find a way to bring her through this conversation in a way that might upset her, but can bring her relief afterward too, so while she’s at work, I make a phone call. Once that’s done and plans are confirmed, I haul my ass to a liquor store to pick up whatever empty boxes they have. Then I go back to her place and carefully pack up her remaining art supplies and canvases.

She’s fucking talented. I flip through her completed canvases, stopping every few moments when one of her urban pieces hits me in the gut. I don’t know if she’s traveled all over the country in order to paint some of these, if she looks at photos and imagines better or different lighting, or if her mind is just that beautiful of a fucking place to be, but none of her completed pieces belong stacked inside a shitty studio apartment.

They’re way better than Marco what’s-his-face’s psychedelic bullshit from the showing two weeks ago.

Which only leaves the question if she’s shown them to anyone, if Luca knows how talented of a painter he has working for him.