Page 10 of Falling into Place

Seeing her drop all her crap to cuddle his cat might have improved his mood if (1) he wasn’t pissed at Oreo and (2) it weren’t for the next words out of her mouth.

“For God’s sake, Brooks.”

“What?”

“Do you ever make your bed?”

“No.” There were two sides to the age-old argument, and he was firmly in the there’s-no-point camp.

“I can’t work like this.”

“Guess we’ll have to cancel, then.” He tried to mask his annoyance with humor but wasn’t sure if it panned out.

He was tired, undercaffeinated, and had very few fucks left, which he was saving for the unsuspecting photographer Sasha would be bringing.

Carly deserved respect, and kindness, too, but if she could handle Sasha on a regular basis, one bad mood of his wouldn’t faze her.

Carly pursed her lips and deposited Oreo on the floor. She didn’t spare Brooks a single glance and went for his bed, tossing his pillows into a pile and pulling his top sheet toward the head of the bed.

“Carly, stop .”

“I need somewhere to lay this stuff out,” she clipped.

He nudged her aside. “I’ll do it. You’re not making my bed for me. Move.”

She gave him the side-eye but backed away. After a few long seconds of silence, he sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m tired.” He looked over and her face softened.

“Me too. I barely slept last night because of that damn shirt.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. Got any coffee?”

“I did but it’s all over my driveway.”

A tiny grin cracked her lips. “No wonder you’re in a bad mood. Have some in the kitchen? I can make a pot while you finish that.”

He nodded. “Make it extra strong.”

She didn’t bat an eye. Was she also a freak who could drink coffee and go straight to bed, like him? Sasha insisted he was some sort of robot every time they were out for dinner and he ordered full-caffeine coffee with dessert.

Five minutes later, his bed was made, and she returned with two steaming cups of coffee in University Hospital mugs.

He’d resisted the temptation to peek in the bags she’d brought and watched apprehensively as she pulled each item out and laid it carefully on the bed.

Yes, she’d sent him pictures, but it wasn’t all that easy to see the clothes on his phone and he wouldn’t put it past her to throw in something unapproved.

This is for Sasha. This is for Macy. This is for Mom.

When she finished arranging and smoothing everything out, she stepped back and held the coffee mug in front of her face, peeking over the top. “Well? What do you think?”

He sucked down the dark liquid and approached with caution. Three outfits stared back at him.

A pair of khaki pants that looked way too narrow for his legs with a brown leather belt and white polo shirt.

Navy shorts (shit, would they even go to his knees?) and a gray shirt that looked like a polo but had no collar—he remembered approving that one.

And light-blue-striped (at least, he thought they were; they looked weird) shorts with a plain white T-shirt and a green sweater.

“A sweater?” was the first thing he said. “It’s supposed to be eighty-five degrees today.”

“It’s just for the picture. The green will go great with your eyes, and women can’t resist a man in a cozy-looking sweater.”

“What the hell are those shorts?”

“Which ones? The seersucker?”

He’d never heard that word before in his life.

She didn’t provide additional information and instead suggested, “Why don’t you try the chinos and polo first?”

It did seem the least offensive of the three.

“Okay.” Maybe the pants wouldn’t be as tight as they looked.

With his coffee in one hand and the clothes in the other, he disappeared into the bathroom. He checked his watch as he shucked off his blue scrubs—they had fifteen minutes before the others would arrive.

“Wait, shouldn’t I have an undershirt?” he called through the door.

He heard what sounded suspiciously like laughter covered by a cough. “No.”

He frowned at himself in the mirror. No undershirt with a polo? With a sigh he did as directed and put it on, and damn, that was soft against his skin. He pulled on the pants, which fit perfect in the waist, at least, and walked back out with the belt in hand.

“I know skinny’s the style, or whatever, but I just don’t feel comfortable—”

Carly hushed him with a finger to her lips and immediately circled him, eyes traveling up and down his person critically. “They’re slim fit, not skinny.” She stepped back with a fist pressed to her chin. “Tuck it in and put the belt on.”

“Are these a little short?”

“No.”

He set the belt on the dresser and went to work stuffing the polo into his waistband, cocking an eyebrow at her tone.

“You’re bossy when you’re styling.” As he slid the leather through the belt loops, he caught her eye, and she looked away.

He avoided her gaze while he finished, too, because there was something strangely intimate about doing anything with a belt, even if he was putting it on rather than taking it off.

When he finished, he held out his arms. “Well?”

She looked him over again and stepped right up to his front, smoothing her hands along his shoulders and chest, surprising him with how easily she put her hands on him. “This looks pretty good,” she murmured, twisting around to look behind him. “I knew there was a butt in there.”

“Carly Porter.”

“What?”

He just blinked at her.

“Sorry, did I embarrass you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

She shrugged. “It’s my job to make your assets stand out here, Brooks. Pun intended. How do you feel in this? Good? Want to try something else?”

“I don’t know.” The fabric hugged his thighs when he moved, which felt weird.

Things just felt ... tight and on display.

A terrifying thought suddenly occurred to him: What was going on in the groin area?

The polo had been untucked and covering him when he walked out .

.. Shit. He quickly turned back around to stand in the doorway of the bathroom as if he was looking at the whole thing together in the mirror while surreptitiously making sure his junk wasn’t, like, on exhibit without the extra breathing room.

Carly’s head popped over his shoulder as if she stood on tiptoes. “I like this,” she said. “You look hot. But I want to see the gray Henley before we decide for sure.”

A pleasant warmth settled beneath his rib cage. Hot? He hadn’t been called that in years.

She gave him a smile and an eyebrow wag before turning on her heel.

He watched her through the mirror, a small smile on his face, considering this new Carly. One that poked fun at his clothes, wagged her eyebrows at him, and looked at his butt and called it part of her job.

She seemed to love it. The job, that is, not his ass.

Which is how I want it, I think.

“I’m surprised you don’t do this full time,” he said. “You’re in the zone right now, I can tell. I can’t imagine putting numbers into a spreadsheet gives you the same feeling.”

“It doesn’t,” she agreed. “And I’m working on it. I’m actually hoping this whole project with Sasha will impress my boss enough to make that happen.”

“Really?” Damn, Carly’s job was riding on this, too? That might be too much pressure.

“Yep.” She handed him the shorts and shirt with a meaningful glance toward the bathroom. “Which is why I’m determined to make you look as good as possible every chance I get.”

Definitely too much pressure.

“These are too short,” he said once he was dressed.

“Unlikely.”

“They are.”

“I got a nine-inch inseam. I could have gone with seven.”

The hell did that mean?

“Just let me see,” she demanded.

He swung open the door and halted in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The feminine appreciation in her gaze nearly stopped him from complaining further, but then he felt the draft of the air conditioning all the way up his legs. “They’re, like, midthigh!”

Her eyes tracked back and forth between his for a moment, as if trying to assess how distressed he really was.

“Hey. I know this isn’t what you’re used to, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.

But I dress a lot of men, and I promise they’re not too short.

This is very much the style right now. I’m picturing close-up photos for the post anyway, so you don’t have to show any leg if you don’t want to.

” She beckoned him forward so she could circle him once more.

“This is good. You have great arms. Those forearms could bring in a lot of attention.”

They could?

“We need to unbutton these two, though.” She reached up to slip the top two buttons out. “There.”

A whiff of vanilla and the coffee she’d made flooded his senses as she moved. He stood like a statue, feeling like a Ken doll with the way she poked and smoothed and tugged at his shirt.

“Let’s try a French tuck.”

“A what?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tuck in just the front.”

“Shouldn’t I put the belt back on?”

“No.”

Man, his instincts were pure shit.

The front door opened and Sasha’s voice floated in from the entryway.

“You know what,” Carly said quickly, “Never mind, I like it like that.” She whipped around and grabbed a pair of white sneakers. “Put these on.”

He opened his mouth, but she quickly added, “No socks,” and he snapped it shut.

In less than thirty minutes he believed everything his sisters had said. He knew nothing about fashion. No undershirt, no socks, more fitted, shorter. Sweaters in summer and whatever the fuck a seersucker was.

“Brooks?”

“Back here,” Carly called at the same time Sasha entered his bedroom with a small woman carrying a massive camera.

Oreo, who he’d forgotten about once they started with the clothes, shot across the room and leaped into Carly’s arms.

“Whoa,” she said, barely getting ahold of him.

He eyed his cat curiously. “Nice catch.”

Sasha approached him with a smile. “Wow, brother. You look great.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Carly was talking softly to his cat. “Nice job.”

“Why are you so sure I didn’t pick this out?” he asked.

His sister just laughed. “The clothes are great, but what’s going on with your hair?”

He blinked and reached up to slide his fingers through it. He hadn’t even looked at it since he got out of the shower before heading to work early this morning.

“I say we leave it as is,” Carly said. “It’s kind of messy but in that casual, tousled way. Some men spend a lot of time trying to make their hair behave like that.”

Sasha squinted and looked again, then nodded. “Yes. Good. Brooks, this is Cam, the photographer. Cam, this is your handsome subject.”

Cam, a woman with long dark hair and blue glasses, stepped forward, and Brooks held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She met his gaze with a huge smile and shook his hand. “Likewise.”

Sasha had suggested they do the photos at his home, either in the sparsely furnished living room or in the backyard, which boasted several large oaks like the one in the front.

“So where do you want me?” he asked.

The way Carly looked at him in that moment had him second-guessing his choice of words, but no one else seemed to notice.

“Lighting outside is perfect right now.” Cam peered through his bedroom window. “Can we go out back?”

They filed through the house to the back door, where Carly caught his arm. “Can Oreo go outside? He doesn’t seem to want me to put him down.”

Brooks ran a soft hand down Oreo’s back, accidentally brushing Carly’s fingers. “He doesn’t go outside much. I think he’ll be fine once the other two are out of the house. He just doesn’t like a lot of people around, but apparently he already considers you a friend.”

She did a cute little thing where she pursed her lips and lifted her brows. “Oreo, you flatter me.”

“Brooks!” Sasha yelled. Startled, he looked up to find Cam holding the door open, watching them, and Sasha glaring at him through the window.

He grunted and took Oreo from Carly, depositing him on the couch before ushering her outside.

Sasha pointed. “Go stand over there.”

“Careful to keep those shoes clean,” Carly added. “It rained last night.”

“Two more steps back,” Cam said. “A little more. Stop.”

Brooks swung his gaze between the three of them, a little taken aback at being simultaneously ordered around by three women.

No wonder his mom had been so ruffled before her own cover photo shoot—a morning he remembered like it was yesterday.

She’d been so nervous about her makeup and what to wear that Macy and Sasha had stepped up to help her get ready while he and his dad had offered to make breakfast. They made a huge mess in the kitchen, attempting to make Belgian waffles from scratch, and hadn’t produced anything edible.

His mom had said she was too nervous to eat anyway, so they all packed up for the photo shoot and went out for brunch after.

The cover had turned out perfect, of course, and was one of the three displays at Macy’s house.

Cam approached him and turned his body this way and that, taking a few test shots, instructing him to relax a little more, lean on his back foot, and smile as if he wasn’t in hell right now.

She took several photos and immediately lowered the camera to review the images.

As Sasha crowded next to her to look and give her input, Brooks leaned back against the tree and noticed Carly bending over his garden a few yards away.

She had her phone out and it looked as if she was taking pictures.

Just as he was about to ask what she was doing, Cam was there, walking him to a different location and taking more pictures.

“Brooks!” Sasha wasted no time redirecting his attention. “Smile!”

He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to throw in the towel and cancel this whole thing here and now.

“Not like that, you’re forcing it. You’re supposed to look happy to be Oklahoma City’s most eligible bachelor!”

It’s just four months. A few meals and a few articles. You know how to place an intraosseous IV line, surely you can do this.

“Seriously,” Sasha said after he tried again. “You’re killing me.”

“God, Sasha,” Carly called from her spot by the garden. “ I’m about to slap you and I’m not even the one you’re yelling at.”

The expression on Sasha’s face was so comical, he looked straight at Carly.

And he smiled.