But only with me. I only wanted her to be happy with me. Selfish or not, that was the reality.
That means telling her you scared off that asshole that had been hitting on her six months ago at school. That means you’ll have to come clean about why you were there and why you gave a shit if she dated someone.
I was going to make her mine, no matter what.
“It’s definitely one of those nights. Whiskey should make everything better, Brendan,” she said and laughed, but it sounded forced.
My body tightened at the sound of my name coming from those lush red lips of hers.
I shouldn’t be thinking anything sexual right now. She’s in a shitty mood, and I’m being an asshole.
What Meghan didn’t know was how fucking happy I was that she was moving in with me. Of course I was a cocky bastard at the best of times, had been when we were living together and our parents were married, but I’d always wanted to be softer, sweeter to her.
The fact she came to me for help made me feel pretty fucking fantastic.
Now, I just had to show her I was not a total obnoxious fucker, and that what I wanted with her wasn’t some perv’s fantasy.
“The situation that bad, huh?” I asked and stepped aside, letting her in.
“I’d say getting booted out of my apartment without notice and having nowhere else to go is pretty bad.”
I took one of the bags out of her hands and set it on the ground. “Good thing you have me.” She looked over her shoulder at me, and I couldn’t help but smirk. But then I saw her shoulders sag, saw that hardness on her face leave, and in its place was thankfulness. Nothing else mattered but making her feel like things weren’t so bleak.
“I’ll get the other stuff out of your car a little later,” I found myself saying, not wanting to push her for the sheer purpose of seeing her squirm. And I did like seeing her squirm for me.
She nodded and set her bag on the ground as well.
“Are you hungry?” I wanted to make her feel better, even if that meant making her the only thing I could cook … something that required the grill.
“Not really,” she said softly, looking around my place. “This is nice, Brendan.” She turned and faced me, and it took everything in me not to check her out. But that would have been a pretty fucking bastardly thing to do, given the fact she was feeling shitty at the moment.
“Thanks.” I stared her in the eyes, and she did the same. She looked nervous all of a sudden. I noticed she twisted her hands together, kept moving back and forth on her feet, and bit her lip.
She looked cute and sexy as hell, and it was clear she was on edge.
“I won’t stay long. I just need to save up and find a place.”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it, Meghan. You stay here as long as you like. It’ll be nice to have someone else here.” I scrubbed a hand over my hair, feeling the short strands scrape along my palm. I was thinking about a lot of things I’d like to do to her while she was here, all of them having to do with her in my bed.
“I’ll pay rent—”
“Get the hell out of here with that bullshit.” I smiled to soften the rough timbre of my voice. A second passed with her looking all serious. “You want to pay me for staying here?” She nodded. “Then you can be in charge of cooking dinner. My skills go to the extent of grilling steaks and burgers. If you can do more than that, we’re golden.” She smiled softly and that small act went straight to my heart. “Listen, let me make us some dinner, we’ll get drunk, and all this bad shit will be a memory. Okay?” It took her a second to respond, but finally, she nodded, her smile widening.
Yeah, this would work out really fucking well.
And if I had my way, she’d never leave.
2
Meghan
I was drunk, and I knew Brendan could see it, but still, he pushed another shot my way. I stared at the house key he’d given me, that bronze piece of metal meaning more to me than he’d ever know.
“I think I’ve had enough,” I said, but reached out and grabbed the shot glass off the table.
“If you can say that you haven’t had enough.”
I laughed, finding that especially funny.
“Not that I condone emotional drunkenness, but hell, a little black-out drinking will help cleanse the pallet.”
I smiled and shook my head, but still reached for the shot glass and tossed it back. The alcohol settled in my belly, and this warmth spread through me.
“That’s my girl.”
I couldn’t help but feel even more warmth—which had nothing to do with the alcohol—fill me at hearing Brendan say that.
His girl.
No, I am not his girl. I never will be. I can’t cross that line. I won’t.