Chapter 13
CHARLIE
I’m sore today from the altercation with Pete and from my night with Brad. He was so sweet, and I felt cared for. Loved. And that’s dangerous. If I had the choice, I’d stay in bed with Brad all day. Resting and making love. But that’s not possible.
Today is Super Bowl Sunday.
The celebrations in our family seem to center around football. When the high school team wins or loses the state tournament. The Rose Bowl. The Cotton Bowl. But the big Daddy of them all is the Super Bowl. And Mom and Dad’s party is always epic. More fun than the actual game, that’s for sure.
I’m not much for football, but I love how passionate they all 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.
There are several other people here, which is fine with me.
The more, the merrier. That way, Brad and I don’t stand out.
Mike and Kim are also here, but thankfully, they’re focused on the game.
I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the couch.
Brad offered to move over for me, 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? I’m not sure. The way Brad took care of me last night—not just feeding and bathing me, but the tender way he made love to me—was terrifying and wonderful.
Maybe this can work out. I want that. I want to tell everyone that we’re together.
Brad runs his hand through my hair. I lean my head back and smile. Thankfully, no one is focused on us. He winks at me. Damn. 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.
It’s an upset. The New Orleans Saints win.
Mom and Dad groan while Brad and Harper cheer.
I jump up and hug Harper first and then Brad.
The relief of having his 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?