CHAPTER 19 Ainsley Bradley
One of the Safest SUVs on the Road
I drive away from Lincoln Nash’s place in Dex Bradley’s Challenger, and if you would’ve told me a month ago that this would be my life, I’d say you’re bananas.
But here we are.
I feel a pull of sadness that I dropped off Jack. I miss him already.
I shouldn’t be getting attached. This is a nanny and kid situation, but my heart is fully invested in this sweet baby as it starts to cling onto his father, too.
And that will only spell certain danger. There’s nothing I can do to spare myself the possibility of getting hurt, yet he’s taking me on a date tonight. We’re married. We’re living together. How am I supposed to not let feelings get involved?
It’s easy to push them away—easy to remind myself who he is, not just Ivy’s older brother, but one of the bad boys of pro football. He sleeps around, and he takes risks, and that’s not somebody I want to get involved with. Or…more involved with, I guess, considering we’re married.
And tonight we’re debuting our relationship for the media. He’s going to tell the press that I’m his wife.
They’ll check the Nevada marriage license site and determine he’s telling the truth, and then who knows what’ll happen next?
I get a sort of ominous feeling about tonight. Debuting me as his wife and getting me drunk in the same night feels like a recipe for disaster, but he has assured me it’s perfectly safe and we’ll be able to avoid the press.
“Stop living in your head.”
“Start having some fun.”
“As my wife, you have no choice but to have some fun.”
The last one made me laugh and warm at the same time.
When I pull the Challenger back into Dex’s parking spot at his complex after dropping the baby off for the night, I’m shocked to find Dex in the space beside mine, and I’m even more shocked when I see what he’s doing.
“Are you installing a car seat into that SUV?” I ask.
“That I am,” he says. “Motherfucking little rat fucker,” he curses at the seat, and I can’t help but laugh at his colorful language now that it’s just between us.
“Whose car is that?” I ask.
“Yours.”
I think I choke on something. Maybe I heard him incorrectly since he’s talking into the backseat. “Excuse me?”
He straightens and turns to look at me. “I’m sorry, but I don’t let just anyone drive the Challenger, and while I allowed it once, I figured you should have your own car to get around town. So—” He cuts himself off to motion to the car, and this isn’t real, is it?
“You bought me a car to use while I’m in town?”
“Well, you can keep it if you decide to leave town, too.” He shrugs. “The title’s in your name, so you’re free to do whatever you want with it.”
I glance at the back and spot the logo.
“You bought me a Mercedes?”
He closes the back door, apparently happy with his work on car seat installation. He lifts a shoulder. “This is supposed to be one of the safest SUVs on the road.” He wipes his palms on the front of his shorts, and I can’t help but rush over to tackle him with a hug.
He lets out a little oof as I crash into him.
“Thank you so much, Dex. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He slings his arm around my waist, and he pulls me into him a little. His voice is low and raspy near my ear. “My wife deserves a car of her own.”
I force myself out of his arms. If I stay there another minute, I’ll try to kiss him, and he won’t kiss back, and things will just get awkward.
“I should go get ready for tonight,” I mumble. “Thanks for the car.”
It sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth.
It is ridiculous. Nobody has ever bought me a car before, including my parents.
I worked for years running concession stands at middle school and high school events to save up enough for volleyball camp and a shitty used car, and my parents didn’t have enough to help me out.
So this? This is a real, true gift. A treat. Something I never saw coming.
And I’m not sure how to thank him for that. My simple thank you doesn’t seem like enough, but I’ve never been real good at accepting gifts or compliments from people.
I head inside and slip into another one of the gowns Milton sent up for me, and tonight I leave my hair down but add some curls.
It’s weird not to have to feed a baby who, according to his birth certificate, is now seven months old, but it’s also a welcome reprieve. Babies are a heck of a lot of work.
I’m also bracing myself for tonight—for all sorts of things.
This is the night, the one we planned for.
There’s the possibility that my date could get into another fight even though he behaved at the last event.
Combine that with the probability that he’s going to try to get me drunk and what sort of fool I’ll make out of myself when he does, and I’m not quite sure what to expect tonight.
I’m excited about it even though I seemed closed to the idea when he first mentioned it. What better way to get actually hammered for the first time than with an NFL star who knows how to do it right?
I’m nervous, too. I can’t pretend I’m not.
And I’m guessing that’s why he has a shot glass with some liquid in it waiting on the counter for me.
I laugh when I see it, and I glance over at him. I don’t miss the way his eyes flick down my body, branding every place they touch before they move back to mine.
“Wow, Ains. You look gorgeous.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I say, not allowing myself the same courtesy of studying every inch of his body the way he just did to me since there’s only one way that will end—and that’s with me either brokenhearted or embarrassed.
He chuckles. “This is a smooth whiskey to get you started and calm the nerves. I promise I will take care of you tonight, and if there’s ever a limit you’re even coming close to approaching, just say the word and it all stops.”
“What word?” I ask.
“Any word. Just tell me to stop, and it ends there. But if you want more, or you want me to push you to take risks, or you want to let go and say fuck it, tell me that, too. Just be open and communicate. Okay?”
I nod a little tentatively, and it’s like he can sense my nervousness.
He walks around the counter with his little shot glass, and he holds it up. “To just saying fuck it,” he says, and I hold up my glass.
“Fuck it.”
He taps his to mine as he laughs, and I tip the glass to my lips.
He shoots his down. I, on the other hand, take tiny little ladylike sips.
He laughs again as he watches me, and once I’ve emptied the glass, my chest warms, and I already feel a little more comfortable about tonight.
It’s not going to take much to get me drunk, that’s for damn sure.
“Ready?” he asks, and I nod, grab my clutch, and follow him out the front door.
Milton greets us with a nod of his head, and it seems like he’s always here, but there are actually four different doormen who switch around shifts. Milton is just here during primetime hours, and he lives in the building, so we see him more often.
I also learned that he works in some capacity for Dex on the side. I don’t know exactly what it entails, but he’s almost like a caretaker and assistant combined into one who’s always there but stays behind the scenes.
The car is waiting out front for us, and the driver tells Dex to text him when he’s ready to head back. We pull up the driveway to the hotel where the event is taking place, and it’s another red-carpet affair.
Nerves climb up my spine as I realize this is it. We’re about to make our public debut as husband and wife.
Before Dex opens the door to get out of the car, he turns to me. “Are you ready for this?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Do I have a choice?”
“I thought the whiskey would help.”
I laugh. “It wore off.”
He twists his lips. “I probably should’ve told the rest of my family about this before we went public at an event, but honestly…I don’t think any of them will be surprised.”
“You didn’t tell them?”
“Not all of them.” He pulls his lips down toward his jaw as if to make the whoops face. “Well, let’s do this, and then let’s get you wasted.”
“Let’s do it,” I say, and he opens the car door.
Flashbulbs explode in our faces as we hear the same noisy voices yelling at us as the last time we did this.
“Dex Bradley!”
“Dex, are you going to get into a fight again tonight?”
I roll my eyes at that one.
“Dex, over here! Dex!”
“Who’s your date?”
Dex looks at me, and I mouth, “Fuck it,” to him.
He grins as he turns to the entertainment reporters and influencers yelling questions at us. “This is Ainsley Bradley, my wife.”
A collective gasp rises up from the group gathered, causing just a split second of stunned silence, and then more questions are fired at us.
“When did you get married?”
“Show us the ring!”
“Is this real?”
“Kiss for the cameras!”
He turns toward me, and I look over at him, and the cameras are going crazy for the two of us. I can’t wait to see how we look together as we look at each other, me likely with adoration in my eyes for this hot football star who’s suddenly my husband, as if any of this makes any sense at all.
He leans in, and his lips meet mine in what’s only our second kiss.
This one is just for the cameras and just because someone in the crowd requested it, but I can’t help feeling like this is some sort of fairy tale. Like I’m Cinderella, and this is the ball, and this swoony older single dad is the prince who rescued me as I work hard to rescue him right back.