Page 13

12

April

“ Y our hair.” Carse stops when he sees me in the kitchen. He just got dropped off after a home game, but he still couldn’t play due to his concussion. He’ll be out for another week or two, depending on his symptoms.

Feeling self-conscious, I wipe my hands on my apron, then smooth my hair down and tuck the shortened strands behind my ear. “Yeah, I cut it. Felt like I needed a change.” I haven’t cut my signature long locks short since middle school.

“You didn’t. But I like it. A lot. The shorter hair suits you.”

I can feel my cheeks flush. I’ve never been good at taking compliments, and Carson gives them so freely I never know how to respond. So I just reply with, “Thank you.”

Sensing I need a pivot, he asks, “What are you making? It smells amazing in here.”

“I was feeling a little homesick after speaking to my mama, so I’m making her famous pecan pie,” I explain.

“How famous are we talking? Is her pecan pie as famous as your brother?”

“Nope. It’s even more famous. More grown men have cried after eating the last bite of my mama’s pie than they have after watching the great Brody Meyer win the Superbowl.”

Carson grabs a candied pecan from the counter, throws it in the air, and catches it with his mouth. The combination of him doing something so simple all while watching his broad body move in his navy game-day suit has me nearly coming undone. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this about me or not, but I’ve got no self-control when it comes to sweets.”

“Oh, Golden Boy, I’ve known for a while that you’ve got a sweet tooth bigger than Texas.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Here I thought I was doing a good job keeping it under wraps around you. What gave me away?”

“Well, let’s see . . . it could’ve been the fact that you order a caramel macchiato with three extra pumps of caramel syrup and extra whipped cream. Or the fact that you add honey to just about everything that isn’t already sweet. Or maybe it was how I’ve seen you take down an entire bag of saltwater taffy while we watched an episode of Bridgerton .”

“Guilty. I’m just ashamed you caught me. Speaking of shame—have you been keeping something from me?”

My heart rate spikes at his question, even though his tone is teasing. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Have you been show-cheating on me while I’m gone?” I can see his cheek twitching as he holds back a smile.

“No, I only watch Bridgerton with you.”

He lets out an exaggerated big breath of relief as if he’d been holding it. “Good answer,” he says as he rubs his hands together. “Alright, let me taste test this bad boy, and then we can watch the first episode of season two.”

I cut and plate each of us a slice of pie and top it off with a spoonful of my homemade whipped cream.

“Fuuuuckkk, Austin,” Carson moans, and I pause my spoon midway to my mouth. That may be one of the hottest sounds I’ve ever heard leave a man’s lips, and I suddenly want to hear more. “This is definitely better than watching your brother throw touchdowns.”

Just as Carson shovels the last bite of pie into his mouth, his phone vibrates with an incoming call, and the most adorable photo of McKenna and Cadence lights up his screen.

“Dearest sister, you must come over for tea and a bite of Dakota’s famous pecan pie,” he tells McKenna as he accepts her call.

“Carse, why are you speaking with a British accent?” McKenna asks.

Carson puts the phone on mute and asks, “Do you think we’ve watched too much Bridgerton ? Blimey, I am speaking with an accent, aren’t I?”

“You certainly are, my lord,” I reply, biting my lip to fight the laughter attempting to slip out.

“Damn, Austin. Don’t call me that unless you want me to get bricked up.”

“What in the world does bricked up mean?”

“You know . . . worked up. Excited .”

My eyes widen, and I pretend to clutch my pearls as if I were shocked. “Don’t scandalize me with your rakish ways, my lord.”

“Would you consider this role-playing, my lady ?” Carson’s aqua eyes shimmer with amusement, and his voice drips with flirtation.

Holy shit. Are we flirting? What would it be like to role-play with Carson?

“Carse? Hello? Are you there?” McKenna, thankfully, snaps me out of my delirium spiral.

Carson unmutes his phone and continues his conversation while I get up to clear our plates. When I go to reach for his, he places his hand on mine to stop me. “I may not be a Southern gentleman, but my mama raised me with manners. You baked. Let me clean up.”

“Are you sure? You don’t need to do that. You just got home after a long day,” I point out.

“I’m very sure. Go take a bath while I start a fire and make some popcorn.”

“Okay, if you’re sure?” I question.

“Positive. Now go.” He quirks his eyebrow at me and nods his head toward the stairs. “You can use my soaking tub if you’d like. There are bath oils and salts on the shelf beside it.”

“Thank you, Carson.”

“I think I liked it better when you referred to me as ‘my lord,’” he says before biting down on his plush bottom lip.

With that, I spin on my heel and practically sprint up the steps, but not before I hear McKenna begin assaulting him with questions. Questions that include my name at least twice before I disappear down the hallway and into his room.

Placing one hand on my chest and the other on my stomach, I try to calm my racing heart and the butterflies erupting in my stomach.

Carson Wilder could set my world ablaze, and I think I’d happily dance through the flames if it meant I got to be with him on the other side.

After my bath, I head downstairs wearing oversized sweatpants and one of my favorite new shirts, which reads “I closed my book, this better be worth it.”

The smell of popcorn hits me even before I enter the living room, where a fire is roaring and Carson is playing a video game on the large TV.

I sit beside him on his sectional—it’s the largest, deepest, and comfiest couch I’ve ever sat on. It’s the kind of couch you want to veg out on for days on end. Only as I reach across Carson to grab the bowl of popcorn, does he notice me.

He takes off his noise-canceling headset and gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

“You’ve been cleared to watch TV and play video games now, right? I don’t want to break any of the rules and set you back.”

Setting aside the controller and headset, he sits back and pulls my legs over his lap. “Yeah, I was earlier this week. We’ve just been so busy I haven’t had a chance to tell you.”

“That’s exciting. How much longer until you can play?”

“Still out for another week at least. But I did get cleared for light activity today, so that’s progress.” He squints as he takes me in. “I like your shirt. I’m glad I was worth putting your book down for.”

I give him a soft smirk. “Well, that’s only because I finished my book while I was in the bath, and I didn’t want to start a new one, or I’d probably stay up all night to finish it.”

“No self-control with you bookworms,” he teases, eyes narrowing as he looks at my legs. “Hey, are those my sweatpants?”

My cheeks heat and I bite my lip. “Oh, these? Are they? Hmm, I must have mixed them up in the wash.”

They are most definitely his. I did accidentally find them in the wash, but once I put them on, I realized I was not going to be returning them.

Carson sends me a knowing wink. Nodding my head toward the TV, I ask, “What game were you playing?”

“COD.”

When I stare back at him blankly, he says, “ Call of Duty .”

“Haven’t heard of that one,” I tell him.

“Are you telling me Brody Meyer never played COD growing up?”

“We weren’t too big into video games as kids. Our mama raised us on her own after my daddy passed when I was twelve. The only video games I’ve ever played are The Sims and Madden , but that wasn’t really until Brody went to college, and I visited him there.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad. How far apart are you in age from Brody?”

“He’s three years older than me.”

“Oh, I bet he loved having his jailbait sister come visit him at college.”

I smack Carson’s chest at that. “You’re one to talk. I could probably go to jail just from living with you. I’m old enough to have been your babysitter.”

“Age is just a number, Austin. You’re barely older than me. Though, if you would’ve been my babysitter growing up, I would’ve begged my parents to go on date nights. Think of all the late nights we could’ve shared staying up late making our pretend family on The Sims . Whenever I used to play, I’d max out the number of kids you could have per family. My fake wife and I were ‘woo-hooing’ like rabbits.”

Shaking my head at him, I try and fail to hold back my laughter. “You’re something else, Golden Boy. I think your concussion is making you talk crazy.”

Carson just shrugs in response as he reaches for a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over my legs and his lap, leaving my bare feet exposed. Before I can ask him to cover them up, he begins massaging the arch of my left foot, and the moan I let out has us both freezing.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I clear my throat before I respond. “It’s perfect. I’m sorry, it’s just I couldn’t tell you the last time I got a foot rub. It feels really good.”

That makes a smile spread across Carson’s face. “How about this—I’ll give you a foot rub each time we sit down to watch Bridgerton together.”

“But there’s only eight episodes in season two,” I pout.

Carson throws his head back, laughing at me. “Doesn’t season three come out next month?”

I roll my eyes at that. “Yes, but it’s in two parts. So there’s only a few episodes coming out in May, and then we have to wait like a whole month before part two comes out.”

“Greedy girl,” he rasps.

Holy. Hell. That sounded far too attractive coming from his lips.

“Why are they trying to do us dirty like that? Fine, I’ll amend my proposal to be a foot rub for each time we sit down to watch a movie or a show together.”

“Deal,” I practically squeak out as I struggle to press play on the remote.

The first scene of season two plays, and I can’t help the overwhelming sense of comfort and security that floods me. I’m sitting on the comfiest couch with a man who has quickly become a person I lean on, and he’s rubbing my feet as he goes on about how badass Eloise Bridgerton is.

Carson catches me smiling to myself and returns it with one of his own dazzling smiles before squeezing my foot three times.