Page 64 of The Rules We Broke
Brady kept pace beside me, effortlessly matching my stride. When he reached for my hand, I didn’t pull away. Too many eyes around. I wouldn’t embarrass him like that.
His grin said it all. He knew me too well.
Inside the elevator, I stared straight ahead. Refused to look. But I could feel his gaze on me—hot as sunlight through glass.
Just before the doors opened on the ground floor, he leaned in. “Ellie, you’re so pretty when you try to ignore me.”
I shot him a glance, ready to serve up an icy glare—but the fool had the sappiest smile I’d ever seen. I couldn’t help myself. I smiled. Then shook my head.
We stepped off the elevator. He leaned in again. “You’re even prettier when you smile at me.”
I elbowed him lightly.
He chuckled, entirely too pleased with himself.
Out in the parking lot, with no audience now, I tried to let go of his hand. He anticipated it. Pulled me in. Wrapped his arms around me like a promise.
“Let go of me, Brady Jackson.”
“Ellie Eaton, I have no intention of ever letting you go again. I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to.”
“You would do no such thing.”
He smirked. “That sounds like a challenge, darlin’.”
“Don’t you dare, Brady. I’ll scream.”
“Even better.”
He scooped me up like it took no effort at all, slinging me over his shoulder with practiced ease. Apparently, he still worked out like an athlete.
I could feel the definition of his muscles—which inconveniently distracted me from the fact that I was absolutely furious with him for taking such liberties.
“Brady Jackson, put me down. I’m not seventeen anymore, and I’m not your girlfriend.”
“No, you’re definitely not seventeen anymore,” he said, voice low and salacious. “The last ten years have done your body good. You filled outrealnicely. And as for not being my girlfriend—that’s a technicality I intend to fix.”
“I can’t believe you said that. Does your momma know you talk like that?” Meaning about me, not my body. If his momma only knew some of the things he used to say to me when we were growing up.
“I don’t care what my momma thinks. Maybe you haven’t noticed—I’m not seventeen anymore either.”
I sighed and squirmed until he let me slide down, landing on my feet in a very undignified, tousled heap near my car.
This had to be the end. Ithadto be.
“I noticed,” I said quietly. “But I still remember everything that happened when we were seventeen.”
“Ellie,” he whispered tenderly.
“Please don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it means everything to you.”
He grabbed my sweater, yanking me toward him. His grip was firm—but not rough. But definitely determined. “That’sexactlywhat it means to me.”
Before I could brace myself—before I could talk myself out of wanting him—his lips were on mine.
