Page 4 of Desired By you (Always & Forever #3)

Chapter Three

Brad

Routine keeps me in check. It’s the only thing that does. Some people might call it obsessive, but for me, it’s survival.

Most of my days begin and end the same. I wake, I shower, I eat, I go to the gym, I go to work, I call my sister, I come home, shower, bed, and repeat.

I may squeeze in a random hook up and trips to the bars in between, but if I don’t follow those order of events every day and tick them off my mental to do list, then it all goes to hell.

When you have an addictive personality, you need to choose your addictions carefully.

The military helped with that. It kept my head straight and my hands busy. But when I got out, old habits came knocking, and it took everything to keep me from slipping. Now I stick to what works.

Hot water runs down my back as I drag a hand through my hair, forcing myself to focus.

Today is a break in routine, and I hate that. I’m moving out of my apartment once we get back from Jack’s bachelor weekend, and so I’ve had to push some meetings to the evenings. Not ideal.

I shut off the shower, step out, and wrap a towel around my waist. Breathe. Adapt. Get through the day.

I enter my now empty closet—only a few items of clothing remain on hangers, just enough to see me through till we head to Vegas. I slip on a pair of black jeans, black military style boots, and a black t-shirt. Like everything in my life, I keep my wardrobe easy, basic, and organized.

My phone buzzes on top of my dresser. I look and see a text from the group chat I have with Jack and Harry, my best friends and business partners.

Jack

Brad, you still on for the investor meeting at Diamonds?

Harry

I’ve heard ‘great’ things about Diamonds.

Brad

Yep, you put it in our diary.

Harry

What, you guys have a diary? I wanna be in the diary.

Jack

The shared diary is for grown-ups, Harry.

Harry

*middle finger emoji*

Jack

Brad, you still okay to drop my Amex off to Ali for the bachelorette weekend?

Harry

I’ll drop your Amex off. I bet Ali Cat would love to see me.

Jack

I don’t trust you with my Amex, and I think Ali would rather walk on broken glass than have you go to her apartment.

Harry

*middle finger emoji*

Brad

On my way now.

I put the phone down on my dresser next to the chain. Picking it up, I run my thumb over the familiar numbers etched on the silver tag.

I exhale, the ache still lingering, but I push on, fastening the chain around my neck. I grab my keys and phone, already mentally running through the night ahead. Stop by Ali and Gabriella’s. Stop by the club, then my meeting. Keep moving. Stick to the plan.

I park up outside their apartment building, punch in the security code, and head up to their floor. I knock twice on the white wooden door, and a few moments later, I’m greeted by Ali, blonde hair piled up on her head, and wearing a pink yoga set.

“Hey, you,” she greets warmly, a lot warmer than she greets Harry. They are forever going at each other. Personally, I think there’s something there between them, but I’ll let them figure that out.

“Hey,” I respond, stepping inside their apartment as she opens the door wider for me.

I’ve been here a few times. I’ve dropped them home after a night out because I am always the designated driver.

It’s what I would call a typical girl apartment.

Everything is pink, white, clean, and smells of something sweet.

I pass her the Amex card, and she brings it to her chest. “Ah, thank you. What a man Jack is. Can you believe he’s giving us a credit card for the weekend?”

“Love will make you do stupid things,” I say dryly as I follow her towards the kitchen.

She turns to face me and rolls her eyes. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Just a water, please.” She reaches inside the fridge and slides a bottle of water across the countertop towards me. Undoing the cap, I look around. “Is Gabriella here?”

She nods, taking a sip of her own bottle of water. “She’s getting ready for her date.”

I’m caught a little off guard and my stomach dips. “A date with who?” I ask curiously as she doesn’t often date. Gabriella is younger than all of us, and I’ll admit, I have a soft spot for her and feel protective of her in a different way than I do for Ali or Ria.

“Some guy her parents set her up with. She doesn’t seem very excited about it,” Ali says.

“So why is she going?”

“God only knows. You know what she’s like. She can’t say no.”

“Have you met him? What’s he like?” I ask a little more sternly than I intended.

“Chill, Papa Bear. She’s a big girl. She’ll be okay. Besides, if her parents set them up, I have every faith he will be dull and boring and she will be home by 9 pm.” I feel my jaw tensing, and I toss the bottle of water between my hands.

“I better head out. I’ll go say hi to her before I go.”

“Sure, I have a date with Channing Tatum anyway.” She grins, waving a bag of chips at me. Knowing she means a movie, I roll my eyes in a playful way and head towards Gabriella’s bedroom.

I hear a frustrated huff coming from there.

The door is open, and I tap it with my knuckles.

“Knock knock,” I say, scanning the room, but I can’t see her.

Her large white wooden bed takes center stage in the space.

A mound of clothing is piled up on her bed.

Her walls are a crisp white with framed photographs of our friends, some artwork of ballerinas, and her days as a dancer.

A desk with a lamp that’s lit sits in front of her picture window, and a light streams from the bathroom door where I can hear her rattling around.

“Hello,” I call.

She walks from her bathroom wearing a white bathrobe, her long silky black hair hanging in loose waves around her face. She startles, clutching her hands to her chest. “Oh my god, Brad, I didn’t hear you.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Sorry, I just wanted to say hi before I left. I hear you have a date?” I tease.

“Uh, yeah,” she says, chewing on her bottom lip.

“You don’t sound very excited about it?”

“No, I am. I just don’t know what to wear, and he’s going to be here soon, and he texted me earlier saying he booked that new seafood restaurant near Times Square, and I said sounds great, and now I wanna throw up.”

I press my lips together. Gabriella rambling will never not be funny. She does it when she’s nervous, and I find it endearing.

“Why did you say that? You hate seafood,” I state.

“Because I clearly lack the ability to say no to people,” she says, rummaging through the pile of clothes, pulling out a black dress, holding it up, then tossing it behind her.

“You really need to work on that people pleasing thing you do,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll get right on that after this date, so pray that I can swallow and keep the fish down.” I almost choke at the idea of her swallowing.

She holds up a simple black dress with long sleeves and a high neckline, and length that falls just below her knee. “Does this dress say, I’m not really into this, so can we just be friends?” she asks, holding it against herself.

I eye the dress. “What shoes are you wearing?”

She bends down and picks up two different shoes. “Well, if I liked him, I’d wear my YSL heels.” She holds up a strappy sandal with a high stiletto. “But I’m thinking my Karen Millen pumps.” She holds up a black, flat ballet slipper shoe.

“Yeah, YSL screams ‘take me home and fuck me’, Karen Millen says ‘thanks for dinner, let’s be friends, I’ll see you Sunday at church’,” I say playfully.

She snaps her fingers and points at me, “Perfect, just the message I want. Karen Millen, it is.” I laugh, shaking my head as she goes into her bathroom, taking the dress with her.

I take a seat on the end of her bed, watching the shadows of her silhouette on the bedroom wall that shines through the bathroom door as she changes.

“So, what’s his name? What does he do?” I call.”

“Patrick. He works at a law firm or finance, I can’t remember. Likes to play golf,” she yells back.

“Hmmm, he sounds fun,” I say sarcastically.

“Doesn’t he?” she says, matching my tone as she reenters the room.

The black dress she’s now wearing is loose but still tight enough that you can make out her insane curves.

She’s my friend, but I can appreciate how beautiful she is, and she takes care of her body.

Much like me, she loves her fitness, and it shows.

Her long hair is now styled back in her staple high ponytail, and it’s only now I see the light dusting of make-up she has on.

She has these insane eyes. Brown with flecks of amber that catch the light.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on her in that club.

I was so enamored by her and how she carried herself.

She was stunning. The more I talked to her and got to know her, I knew I had to keep my distance and build that friendship wall quickly.

She was too good, too pure, too innocent for someone like me.

She was the type of woman you made your forever.

But I can’t do forever. I’d tarnish her.

And I can’t do that to her because she’s one of life’s good ones.

Gabriella was a breath of cool air in the middle of the desert.

Rare and hard to come by, but when you do, you soak up every second of it because you know it’s fleeting.

I know she could never be mine, I’d never allow it, because she was destined for things that I could never give her, so I embrace the parts I do get to have, because I’d rather have pieces of her than nothing at all.

“So, does this look okay?” She spins and puts her hands on her hips.

I look her up and down and nod. “Beautiful. If he’s a prick or you get in trouble, you call me, okay?”

“I will,” she says, walking towards me, pressing a feather-light kiss to my cheek. “Thank you for the help.”

I rise to my feet, towering over her, and wrap my arms around her. I’m not really a hugger, but with her, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to do.

“Gabs, your date is here,” Ali yells from the other room.

Gabriella visibly stiffens before she steps out of my hold, smooths her hands down her dress, and heads out of her bedroom. I follow, wanting to meet this man.

He smiles when he looks at Gabriella and then his face drops, and his eyes darken when he looks at me. I appreciate it didn’t look very good watching her leave her bedroom with me trialing behind, but it is what it is. I’m her friend, and I’m not going anywhere.

“Hey,” Gabriella says shyly, and Patrick hands her a bunch of red roses.

“Thank you. I’ll pop them in some water.” She turns to walk away, but quickly turns back.

“Sorry, Patrick, this is my friend Brad. Brad, Patrick.”

Patrick holds out his hand, and I reluctantly shake it, only doing it for Gabriella’s sake. He’s dressed like a typical rich preppy boy. Blue eyes, blond hair, and hands so soft it tells me he’s never done an honest hard day's work in his life.

“Good to meet you,” Patrick says, never breaking eye contact. I say nothing.

“I better head out. Have fun.” I wave to Gabriella and Ali, ignoring Patrick, and walk right by him.

There is a little niggle in my chest. It’s irritating and uncomfortable, but I can’t figure out why it’s there, so instead of trying to work it out, I ignore it, lock it away, and move my thoughts to my evening routine because letting myself feel never ends well.