Page 90 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 7

CHARLIE

As I settle in at my new job, everything is perfect. Almost perfect. The job is going great. Brad and I have managed to keep our relationship a secret at work. Demo days are the hardest. Watching Brad swing a sledgehammer in a tank with sweat dripping everywhere. Well, it might not sound sexy, but it is.

Our families still don’t know. It’s not easy to hide since we’re so close, and I know we can’t hide forever. I’ve avoided the topic when Brad brings it up. I want to wait until after their anniversary party. Valentine’s Day. I don’t want to spoil their day. That’s the unselfish reason. The selfish reason is I want a valentine. Not the card but the man. And if he has to choose between me or his best friend of thirty years, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t blame him for choosing my dad.

Between work, getting my apartment unboxed, and planning the anniversary party, we’ve been very busy. And then the nights with Brad have been amazing. He’s patient and kind, and sometimes I have to remind him I won’t break. When he lets himself go, it’s more than I could ever want.

We also discovered we share a love of thrift stores. I save every penny I can. Unlike me, Brad isn’t particularly thrifty.

There are several stores in the area, from the usual ones to more offbeat shops filled with antiques and junk. As we wander through a store on the outskirts of Dundy County, Brad checks out an old sewing machine but eventually decides he needs a couple of rusted saws.

“What are these for?”

His only answer is a smile as he tugs me into the next aisle. This one is filled with old vinyl records in milk crates.

He thumbs through several, pulling out albums and slipping them back in. He laughs and holds up The Slim Shady LP. “I loved this album. I listened to Eminem all through college, believe it or not, while my friends were into Garth Brooks and Tim McGraw.”

“You rebel.” I knock my shoulder against his. “When was this album released?”

“1999.” He studies it, getting lost in some memory.

I tug on his hand. “That was a good year.”

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

I smile innocently. “That’s the year I learned to walk.”

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “God, I’m old.”

Laughing, I squeeze his hand. “Come on, old man. Let’s get you home before you get too tired out.”

“I’m fine.”

I wiggle my brows. “I was thinking a nap is in order.”

We check out and make it to his house in record time. I’ve been to his house before, but this time, Brad takes me out to the garage. He’s turned it into a shop with a workbench and everything. Tools of all kinds line the wall, along with various things he’s made. Including several old saws that he’s painted or repurposed. It’s not just one type of thing either. Shelves are filled with things he’s made or recovered. Carved signs. Old railroad ties. Brass school bells.

I trace my fingers over the shelves. “Did you make these too?”

“Some I made. Others I found and refinished. I love working with my hands.”

“You’re good at it.” I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. “So hot.”

He laughs and wraps me in his arms. This kiss promises more. I cup his face and trace the lines around his eyes. “I love a man who knows how to use his hands.”

“Tour’s over.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the house. “I have another room to show you.”

“Better than the shop?” Once we’re inside, he guides me through his living room and hallway. “I think I’ve seen this room.”

He pulls me into his bedroom, closes the door, and presses me against it so I can feel his erection poking my hip. “It might be worth your time to see it again.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure.” I wrap my hand around his huge cock, loving the sounds spilling from his mouth. “But you have all night to convince me.”

And I’m not surprised at all that Brad is up to the task.

Mom and Dad always have a big Super Bowl party. I’m not much for football, but I love how passionate they get about it. Especially Brad. His team—the New Orleans Saints—made it. You’d think he’d be happy about that, but no. The man is a nervous wreck. Kansas City is my dad’s team, and they’re favored to win—by a lot.

I’m sitting on the floor with my head against the couch. Brad offered me the couch, but I’m fine here. Would I rather be scrunched next to him, giving him kisses when the other team scores? Yes. But that will have to wait. Valentine’s Day is less than a week away. After that, we can tell everyone.

Brad’s hand runs through my hair. And I’m thankful no one is focused on us. This man is so sweet and good. And hot and sexy. How did I ever exist without him? Not happily.

In the fourth quarter, the game gets exciting, and I can’t help but get swept up in the moment.

“Yes!” The Saints score with only three minutes to go. You’d think the game would be over soon, but I’ve been waiting for football games to end all my life. Three minutes could take hours.

After the other team gets the ball, it’s back and forth. Make five yards. Lose ten. And then the ref blows the whistle and stops the clock when the guy is clearly still in bounds.

“Get your eyes checked, Ref,” I yell at the television.

Everyone stares at me, but Brad stares the hardest, and for a heart-stopping second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he clears his throat and turns away.

When the game is over, everyone cheers and hugs each other. The relief of having Brad’s arms around me after being unable to touch him for the last five hours is instant. I squeeze him so hard that he’s probably still struggling to breathe.

As I clean away empty plates, Brad asks to talk to me. “In the study.”

“Sure.” I throw the plates away, and when I get to the study, he closes the door, pushes me against it, and kisses me hard. I get with the program pretty quickly, and soon, we’re both breathless and hard.

“You are so getting laid tonight,” he says with a final kiss before strolling out the door.

I soak up all the feelings. And it’s probably a good thing I do. Because Brad’s statement proves to be wrong.

How could a night that started so well end so horribly?