Chapter 9 The Swap #2
No fucking way. Because he hadn’t responded, she’d somehow found out where he was staying?
That crossed a damn line. He tried to relax his shoulders, to unclench his teeth and breathe deep, but he was pissed.
She was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and didn’t know when to let good enough alone.
Well, screw her.
He crumpled up the letter and tossed it in the trash can.
Good riddance. He grabbed a fresh piece of the hotel stationary and accompanying pen to jot something quick for Sophie about going to grab them some food.
At the bottom, he wrote, P.S. I hope you got everything you wanted for Christmas…
If not, I’ll be back in a few to try again. XOXO, Brad
He left it on the table by the door, hoping it would be one of the first things she saw when she woke up, that is, if she woke up by the time he walked down the street, ordered them breakfast, and walked back.
After the night they’d had—the indescribable lovemaking notwithstanding—he wouldn’t be surprised if she slept through the morning. He shut the blinds so she could rest.
He couldn’t wait to come back to her. As the door shut softly behind him, an emptiness washed over him that he hadn’t even felt when Julia had left him for good.
He missed Sophie’s laugh, her head thrown back in joy, and was already planning on how to elicit that sound from her again as he walked down the stairs and outside to the now-bright day.
After he woke her up with more of the fun they’d shared at the end of the night, of course.
He was half-hard thinking about it.
It was biting cold outside, the air damp and heavy like a blanket just out of the wash, a layer of frost covering the evergreens and sidewalk that lined the empty streets.
It wasn’t exactly a white Christmas, but damn if it didn’t feel like it.
Brad pulled his jacket around him tighter, wanting now more than ever to abandon his plan for breakfast and curl up in bed next to Sophie until someone kicked them out of their room.
Even then, he could afford to keep them there as long as they both wanted to stay.
The chill took the edge off the nausea building in the back of his throat and cooled his too-warm flesh. Plus, in only twenty minutes he’d be back with her. Hopefully she’d be as up to recreating parts of last night as he was.
The muscles in his abdomen tightened, and a rush of heat spread from his cheeks to his groin.
That girl will be the death of me. But the smile on his face betrayed the motivation behind his comment.
This time, he wouldn’t mind a woman like Sophie being the end of him.
It would be a helluva fun way to go. Before he could travel too far down that rabbit hole though, he arrived at Jules and Verne’s and walked inside.
It was like the North Pole exploded inside, a ridiculous amount of Christmas spirit dripping from every inch of the small restaurant like pine sap.
To that end, it smelled like the inside of a forest met an IHOP, the pine intermingling with the delectable aroma of bacon and eggs.
Banberry could always be counted on to rise to the occasion, and then some.
Strands of pine branches braided with lights were tied with holly and berries every few feet, and Mannheim Steamroller played on the speakers.
It reminded him of his mom, of holidays with his family that she’d made so special.
She’d play Steamroller’s albums every Christmas in the same order from a six-disc changer she never emptied, just put aside when the holidays were over.
A song would end, and Brad would instinctively know what was coming up next.
He couldn’t believe Christmas was already there again. What a damn year it had been. The highs and lows were so severe, he had whiplash recalling each of them.
He passed the few window tables decorated with a red or green tablecloth, a sprig of fake holly and a mismatched red or green candle.
Candy canes hung from an enormous plastic tree next to the host stand, and Brad watched a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four sneak away from her family and nab one, putting it in her jacket pocket.
She saw Brad watching her, and her eyes got wide.
He laughed, mimed zipping and locking his lips and tossing the key, and she giggled, running back to her table, mischief managed.
The staff buzzed around him like they’d spiked their coffees, or at least not taken part in the night he had.
Everything was so lively, considering it was one of the biggest holidays of the year and only eight a.m. to boot.
Okay. Time to concentrate. Brad shook the holiday spirit from his mind.
He needed food to satisfy the actual hunger pains, then a shower with Sophie to address the more carnal ones.
Then, maybe he would ask her out on a date later that week, a real one with him picking her up at home, bringing her flowers and a night of her choosing.
If he could wait that long to see her again.
Brad suddenly understood Steve’s impulse to lock down a good thing when he found it. He didn’t give a damn that it made him as out of his mind as he’d thought Steve was the night before. It was more than just being with Sophie, though.
Brad wanted to protect her, too. Not that she couldn’t look out for herself—that much she’d made clear.
It was more that she sounded like she’d come out of a pretty shitty situation not unlike the one he’d left, albeit unwillingly.
He wanted to make sure she never felt like that again.
She was a prize, and he felt lucky to have had the chance to reconnect with her.
He’d be damned before he let her slip from his grasp or feel for even a fraction of a second that she wasn’t the most important thing in his world.
Because she was now, dammit, she was.
The day was young, and Brad couldn’t wait to get it started.
As he absently flipped through the menu, thoughts of Julia, Steve and his engagement, and even the book synopsis he had to have to his publisher by the first of the year all fell from his shoulders to the hard, cold ground, leaving Brad feeling lighter than he had in years.
It was going to be a good day. Once he scarfed breakfast, of course.
He settled on the Make Your Own Omelet for him and Sophie, realizing how little he knew about her. Instead of it being a deterrent as it would have been a few weeks ago even, Brad found himself excited to talk to her about every last detail of what made this intriguing woman who she was.
What veggies did she want in her eggs?
Did she want to skip the vegetables altogether and throw sausage, cheddar, and bacon in?
Or did she prefer sweet to savory, pancakes or French toast with syrup?
The possibilities were endless, and Brad salivated, not so much because of the thick aroma of the combined bakery and breakfast foods, but in anticipation of grilling Sophie about all the particulars of her tastes so he could satisfy each and every one of them.
This conversation could go on for days—Brad thought about dinners, foods, desserts, snacks, road trip treats, ways she wanted to make love, the list went on.
He chuckled to himself.
“Someone’s in a good mood today,” the perky blonde at the counter said, greeting him with a smile and little wink that would have knocked any man to his knees.
She was stunning, a fit physique on display in a tight red V-neck with a fake elf costume screen printed on the front of it that left little to the imagination.
And yet, Brad didn’t feel a thing looking at her.
Not one. He wondered briefly if she would be enough of a temptation to sway Steve from his new paramour, but if his friend was any bit as smitten as he was, he guessed not.
“It’s a good morning. Merry Christmas.” He checked his watch. It was 8:20. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was desperate to get back to Sophie.
“Merry Christmas to you, too!”
The woman leaned in across the bar, a little too close to him, her V-neck exposing the smooth tops of perky twenty-something breasts.
She waved a finger at him, wordlessly asking him to follow suit and get closer.
Brad saw right through her flirty smile, her perfectly posed stature, but he leaned in anyway, curious.
“Um, Mr. Connors?” she asked him, her voice dripping with more fake sweetness than the syrup she stocked at the breakfast bar.
“Yes?” Brad shifted on his feet, his headache clamping down on him all of a sudden.
“We’re all so very proud of you and the success you’ve had,” she began. He thought to himself that of course she was—she looked just the type who would be interested in his “success.” “I was wondering if I could, you know, like maybe get your autograph?”
As long as that was all she wanted, he happily obliged, reaching for a napkin and pen on the counter. He signed, and the blonde cashier blushed, grinning ear-to-ear. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to this level of fame. At least, he hoped not.
Brad smiled back at her, but before he could even put in his order, he heard a distinct, shrill voice behind him that gave him chills—the only voice that could have put a dent in his bright morning.
Well, one of two.
“Bradley?” Also one of only two women who would have dared call him by his full first name and expect to get away with it.
Brad indicated that he would need a moment before ordering, and inhaled deeply, stalling his much-anticipated response.
He exhaled just as slowly and turned, a manufactured smile plastered to his face.
“Mom, Dad, Merry Christmas,” he said. At least both of them were there. He wasn’t at risk for too much of an interrogation if his dad could swoop in and save him when it got to be too much like Guantanamo. “Give me a sec,” Brad added. “Let me order and then we can catch up.”