Playing Mr. Perfect (The Bradens at Ridgeport #1)

Pepper

I wake before the sun, in the same favorite position in which I’d fallen asleep. Being spooned by Clay. His arm is heavy around me, his big hand palming my breast. His erection rests against my butt, and his thick thighs cradle the backs of mine. I lie still, reveling in the gentle puffs of his warm breath on my shoulder and neck, the way his chest and stomach press against me with every inhalation. I want to melt into him and stay in his arms forever. But time is moving quickly, and before long he’ll be reporting to his team. I’m still trying to work out what that will mean for us. I’ve never considered myself needy, but I’ve gotten used to spending so much time with him, I hate the idea of us being apart. And his family? I’m falling just as hard for them as I have for Clay. They’re warm, loving, and kind, and they value the things I treasure most. Family and helping others.

Last night when we headed downstairs to watch Heart Stories , a truly incredible documentary about our fragmented world, I expected to find a posh media room. Because who has a media room in their home? But it was just a big room with a projection TV and several worn leather love seats, with butt indentations from years of use, blankets draped over the backs, and throw pillows with kids’ names scrawled in permanent marker on them. The walls were covered with dozens of photos of Clay and his family throughout the years, but none of them as adults. There were pictures of him as a little boy sitting high up in a tree he’d climbed and arm in arm with his siblings, all of them covered in mud. There were pictures of Clay huddled in the grass with dark-skinned kids, holding a football, and of his family around bonfires and dinner tables with dozens of people of varying nationalities. I realized there were no pictures anywhere in the house of Clay playing professional ball or of his siblings in their careers, and I asked his parents why. His mother said, Because at home we’re not a producer, a football champ, or a woman who runs an entertainment empire. We’re a family, and we leave all the noise behind.

Talk about a wall of love. This house is built from them.