Page 20 of My Ex for Christmas
“What would help you figure it out?” he asks. Because of course he does. He’s always been able to help me sort through my complicated thoughts.
I meet his eyes. “Maybe if I could…test the theory.”
He smiles. It isn’t even cocky or anything. Just encouraging,like he really wants to help me out. “And how would you like to test this theory?”
I take a deep breath. “I need you to kiss me again.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod. “Yes. Please, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Without a word, he rounds the bar, and I turn to watch him. He comes to stand in front of my stool, arms bracketing me on either side as he steps between my parted thighs. My breath hitches.
“It would be my pleasure.”
One of his hands comes up to my cheek, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. My mouth parts involuntarily, and the self-satisfied expression on Brooks’s face tells me he was hoping that would happen.
He leans down, and I angle my face toward his. We’re so unbelievably close, breaths intertwining. Anticipation thrums in my veins.
Then he pulls back.
“This position seems familiar. Your boss isn’t going to interrupt us this time, is he?” he asks, a teasing gleam in his eye.
I shake my head. “I sure hope not.”
Because I’m not sure I’d have the good sense to pull away from Brooks tonight. My brain is taking a back seat for once, and my body is in full control. That herd of butterflies comes back full-force.
When our lips meet, my body sags in unconscious relief. My arms drape over Brooks’s shoulders, and I pull him impossibly closer. A rightness settles over me, like having my body pressed against his is exactly where I belong.
When his tongue sweeps out against my lips, I open for him without hesitation. He has that affect on me. All my critical thinking skills cease to exist as I get lost in this man—in the way his mouth feels on mine.
As we pull apart, I try to catch my breath, but it’s hard when he’s still holding me close.
“What’s the verdict?” he asks, meeting my gaze. “Is the universe right?”
There’s a voice in the back of my head telling me this is wrong, we’ll only end up hurt, but the rest of my body is chantingBrooks, Brooks, Brooksin a deafening roar.
I smile somewhat shyly. “It might be on to something.”
His eyes search mine. “I might be pushing my luck here,” he says, “but what are the chances you’d come upstairs with me?”
He looks heart-stoppingly gorgeous right now. I would be a fool to pass up this opportunity, especially given the dull ache between my thighs. Because IwantBrooks. I always have.
“I’d say they’re pretty good.”
Yet another understatement where Brooks Dawson is concerned.
CHAPTER 8
HADLEY
Brooks makesquick work of finishing his closing routine. Meanwhile, I sit back in my stool, watching. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to simply admire him.
Then, once the lock is flipped and the lights are shut off, he leads me up to his apartment.
His space is simple, but I really shouldn’t be surprised. His bedroom back at his mother’s house was always a little dishevelled, but he never had a ton of belongings to make a worthwhile mess. He wasn’t into material things—most of his money was spent doting on his family. And me.
The apartment consists of a small kitchen and an equally small living room, with a bedroom and bathroom attached at the back. It feels safe and warm, everything that Brooks embodied when we were together.
