Page 129 of Trust Me Always

No, I really, really don’t…

It seems being home has brought back the more playful Brady, the one that’s been a little MIA as of late. I almost forgot the powers of his charm.

Or maybe it’s just never hit the same as it does now…

I tossand turn for the millionth time, yanking the covers up over my head with a low groan just as there’s a quick knock on the door, but he doesn’t wait for me to respond before he’s throwing it open.

“Oh, Cammie Baby,” he singsongs, and I groan again.

Brady laughs and then the entirety of his weight settles over me.

“Go away, you big brute. You’re gonna suffocate me,” I whine, holding the blankets tight over my head because I know what comes next.

Sure enough, his fingers fold over the edge, and he tugs it down, forcing me to squint at the bright-ass room around me.

I pout and he smiles, all big and bright and Brady-like.

“Morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Little after nine.”

I’m already whining, pulling the blankets back up, but he doesn’t let me, his grip tightening as he shifts his weight and swings his feet over the edge of the bed.

I look over, seeing he’s already dressed and freshly showered like a psycho. “Who is dressed and ready this early on a Saturday?”

As if on cue, Tisha pokes her head in, smiling brightly. “Oh good, he listened.” She beams, her little Suzy Homemaker self already as perfect as ever, hair blown out, makeup in place, and a cute little sweater dress on, with an apron wrapped around her waist. “Breakfast will be ready in twenty. Just waiting for my hash-brown pie to brown so I can start the eggs.”

She disappears, and I sulk some more.

Brady chuckles, smacking my blankets as he climbs to his feet. “I’m going with my dad to pick up some firewood down the street, but we’ll be right back. Raid my drawers for something to wear and don’t judge if you find some dirty magazines hidden in any.”

“Oh, please. Me and Ari found you guys’ stash under Chase’s deck storage when we were, like, fifteen.”

“What?!” He gapes. “I gotta tell the boys. We always thought his mom found ’em and never said a word!” He’s already moving into the hall as he says it, his phone in his hand.

My lips curve, but then I remember it’s early and I’m tired, so I let out one last internal cry for my sleepless night, and I climb from the bed to hit the shower.

With a time limit on my head and the real Donna Reed downstairs, I make quick work of getting ready. Not like it’s hard with limited options and zero makeup or skin care products.

There’s no time to snoop around in Brady’s childhood room, so I just scan for something that can work in the closet, knowing his sweats are an immediate no-go since they’re far too big. I find an old hoodie with our high school logo on it and pull it on—why didn’t I take the time to put a bra on before heading out to help Junie yesterday morning?

It’s a charcoal gray and has been washed so many times, the inside isn’t as soft as it used to be, but it’s still comfortable, and when I push onto my tiptoes to look in the mirror over his dresser, I see the lip of the back doesn’t cover my ass.

I sigh and try again, this time picking up one with somecamp logo on it, likely from some football training program they always seemed to join when it was offseason. I repeat the process, smiling when this one manages to hang low enough to not appear scandalous. The hoodie is a forest green, with a white-and-yellow logo, so I grab a pair of long white socks and tug them up, smiling when the tops reach mid-knee.

“This is actually kind of cute.” I pinch my lips to the side in thought. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do about underwear?”

Finishing up, I hurry into the bathroom to use the toothbrush sitting on the counter, figuring it’s for me, and brush my wet hair out, parting it down the middle. I search the drawers, finding some hair products, and smooth it through the crown of my hair, flattening the part to my head and sweeping it back in a perfect bun. It’s the easiest hairstyle a girl can wear and still look like she tried.

I nod at my reflection and make my way down the stairs, the front door opening as I reach the last step.

Ben comes in, smiling my way. “She’s alive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I chuckle. “Need some help?”

“With the heavy lifting, when I’ve got a perfectly healthy six-foot-four and 259-pound son to do it?” He raises a dark brow. “Get your butt out of here.”

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