Page 42 of A Favor Owed

His hand travels down to where my hair ends and my hips begin. I swallow, feeling the familiar heat pool in my stomach. The feeling from my dream is already gone.

“You need to go right now? Like, right this second?” he asks.

Shit. I actually do need to get going, but I want more of what we did last night.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask as his hand moves lower, over my butt, down and around to where I’m instantly wet for him. I inhale deeply.

“I was kinda thinking I wouldn’t mind more World Series MVP action,” he says, the sudden hoarseness of his voice coinciding with his fingers finding their mark. “Goddamn, Ange,” he rasps. “Maybe you’re ready for that condom, though?”

“No,” I say hesitantly.

“Do you have, like, a rule or something?” he asks, moving his hand back to rest on my hip. “Three dates? Five? A hundred? Please don’t say a hundred. I mean, it’s totally cool if it’s a hundred. I can hold out for a hundred dates with you.”

“Shut up, Brady,” I say, laughing despite my increasing need for him. “I don’t have a rule. I just, um—”

“No, listen, it’s seriously okay,” he says, pulling me close. Ooh. Wow. I’m not the only one who has needs this morning. “You don’t need to explain nothin’, okay? Whatever you want, whenever you want. That’s the deal.”

And he seals that deal with a kiss that almost makes me tell him to get the damn condom. I forget everything—my real name, my fake name, his name—and just melt into that kiss. His hand spans the side of my face, and his body presses me into the mattress. His lips devour mine like they could never get enough, making my breathing ragged and my skin heat up. When his lips finally release mine, it takes me a few minutes to remember where I am. Somewhere on earth is all I can come up with at first.

“You need to move in with me, Pines,” says Brady, his limbs draped across my body, his thumb brushing across the tattoo on my shoulder. “I need access to this,” he grabs my butt, “at all times.”

“Sure,” I say, trying to squeeze out from underneath him. “I’ll go home and pack up right now.”

“Not so fast,” he says, caging me in with his arm. “I’m not ready to let this soft, beautiful, laser-smooth body out of my sight.”

I don’t put up any resistance. I’m not quite ready to leave the comfort and security of Brady’s Fireman Calendar body and furnished-by-mom bedroom. I finger the medal around his neck. “What’s this?”

“Saint Florian. Patron saint of firefighters, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I believe it. There’s a patron saint for everything. Except ice cream. I got in trouble once in school for asking about it.”

Brady laughs. “Catholic school, huh?”

I freeze.Fuck. God, Angela. Just shut up.

“Ange.”

Fuck.

He nudges me. “Hey.”

“What?” I groan irritably.

“Relax. Everything’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” I say quietly. I know that he knows that most foster care kids don’t go to Catholic school. “I lose my mind around you a little bit.”

“Angie Pines,” he says, his hand on my face and the gummy-bear-stealing expression on his, “I am honored that you lose your mind around me.”

I just shake my head, annoyed at myself. “I have to go. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

“Um, no, I won’t be there tomorrow. I have to go home.”

I still. “You’re going to New York tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He seems to hesitate, so I wait. “Friday’s 9/11. I gotta go to the memorial.”

My heart plummets into my stomach, the realization as sudden as it is certain. “You lost someone,” I breathe.

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