52
982 Words
“I am. And you’re . . . arranging flowers?”
He glances at the flowers and the clippers on the table like he’s just been caught doing something naughty. He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, shrugs, and looks bashfully at his feet. “Uh, yeah. I thought you might, you know, like some flowers in your room. I cut them from the yard.”
My heart melts into a puddle.
When I don’t say anything, Brody looks up at me. He misinterprets the expression on my face, because his brow crinkles. “Oh—are you allergic? s**t, I’m sorry, I never asked—”
I cross to him and throw my arms around his neck.
“I love flowers,” I say hoarsely, standing on my toes to hug him. “And that you thought I might want some in my room. That is so sweet. You’re so sweet, Brody. And silly. And romantic. And funny. And completely unexpected.”
I have to stop because my voice is getting high. My throat is too tight to continue.
Brody winds his arms around my back and pulls me against his body so there are no gaps between us. He nuzzles my neck, inhaling into my hair. “And manly. Don’t forget manly.”
“Right. My bad. Manly should’ve been the first thing I said.”
He chuckles. “I mean, I know it goes without saying since you’re already pregnant with octuplets—”
“Octuplets!” I pull back and smile up at him.
Pushing a strand of hair off my cheek, he grins. “Oh yeah, baby. I’ve got your bun factory workin’ overtime. I’ve got some powerful spooge in these loins.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Spooge? Ew.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, the word offends you but having it sprayed all over your body doesn’t?”
“Fortunately for you, pal!”
He beams at me. “True. How ’bout if I try another word? Like . . . jizz?”
“Ugh.”
“Spunk?”
“More ugh!”
“Man milk? Baby batter? Homemade yogurt?”
“You’re disturbed. Stop talking before I take back all that nice stuff I just said about you.”
“Just trying to show off my awesome vocabulary, sweetheart.”
“Oh yes. Your intellect is truly dizzying, my friend.”
“Aha! You just quoted the Man in Black from The Princess Bride, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know, did I?” I ask, testing him.
He nods. “But you got it wrong. The actual quote is ‘Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.’”
We grin at each other like a pair of lunatics. Then Brody takes my face in his hands and gives me a soft kiss.
“So . . .” He sweeps his thumbs over my cheekbones, looking at me from beneath his lashes. “How are you feeling? About . . . you know.”
“Your jizz?” I tease.
He kisses the tip of my nose. “Seriously. Are we good? You’re not regretting it, are you?”
This man is impossibly sweet. Wonderful, thoughtful, and sweet. He’s worried that I’ll regret it, when it was me throwing myself at him.
I rest my cheek on his chest and sigh in happiness. “Frankly I’m only regretting that you wouldn’t give me access to your man-milk maker itself.”
“About that.”
I look up at him sharply. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
Brody unwinds my arms from around his waist. He leads me by the hand to the bed, a massive four-post affair with enough pillows to start a wholesale pillow outlet. We sit on the end, facing each other.
“So, here’s the deal,” he says, looking at our hands, our fingers threaded together. “I know you just broke up with Marcus a few days ago.”
He glances up at me for confirmation. When I nod, he looks back at our hands.
“And I also know you’re kind of . . . you’re sort of a . . . serial dater.”
My brows shoot up. “If you’re about to slut shame me, princess, I’m about to give you a black eye.”
Brody sits up ramrod straight, his eyes wide. “No! God no, I’d never do that! I’m totally guilty of the same thing!”
When I narrow my eyes at him, he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Not ‘guilty’! I didn’t mean it like that! I only meant that I sleep around a lot, too.” He winces. “That so didn’t come out right.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “If you dare ask me how many men I’ve slept with, I’ll cut a bitch.”
He groans and scrubs his hands over his face. “I’m f*****g this up. Just hear me out, I have a point.”
“I can hardly wait,” I say drily. “I’m sure your enormous vocabulary will be a big help.”
He blows out a breath, and then, as if he’s gathered his courage, looks me square in the eyes. “I think we shouldn’t have s*x for a month.”
To say I’m stunned would be an epic understatement. I stare at him, waiting for an explanation that makes any kind of sense. When he just sits there gazing at me with the earnestness of a Labradoodle, I demand, “Please tell me you’re not a virgin.”
“Of course not.” He laughs, but his laughter dies as quickly as it appeared and he looks horrified. “Oh God—do I seem like one? Like, inexperienced in bed?”
“Honestly?”
His face pales. He nods.
- Writer
