6. Melanie

6

Melanie

I wake to find the other side of the bed empty and while I feel a moment of regret and disappointment at the loss of Brady's warm yet hard body beside me, my brain lets me know it's for the best. Despite that, I roll over and check for his warmth. The sheets are cold, his body long gone from my bed. Inhaling deeply, I breathe in the scent he left on my pillow, pulling it deep into my lungs as warm memories from last night come back to tease me.

I chuckle and put my hand over my face. Did I really tell him I'd kiss his balls and make them better? Heck, I didn't just tell him, I went ahead and did it, and the grunts and noises he made filled me with some strange kind of happiness. I've had sex before—not recently, no—but I've had sex. Not mind-blowing sex like I had last night, and none of the guys I've been with had me wanting to beg for it. Not that I've been with a lot, but still.

Honestly, I told Brady it could only be a one-time thing, only for it to end up being three times. Yes, we went two rounds after I lured him back to my bed. I'm not sure what was going on with me. Maybe it had something to do with the warm, understanding look on his face when I revealed a painful memory about my past. Then he shared something personal with me, and after those intimate moments, there was a closeness between us, one I'd never felt with any one before, and one I know better than to examine too closely. Brady Fisher, Coddy, is a player.

But is he, Melanie?

Heck, even if he wasn't, do I really want to dive into trying to figure out why a guy would pretend to be something he's not? That's too messed up for me, and the truth is, I'm too busy with school and life to take on that challenge. I've come too far to let anything stand in the way of me completing my masters, and helping the children who need it.

I push from my bed, my muscles tight and sore in the most glorious ways, and pull on my frayed pajama shorts and T-shirt, shoving my phone into the small pocket. I grin as I recall the look on Brady's face when he first saw me in them. I walk to my window and pull the curtains back. On the sandy shore in the distance, I spot early morning joggers, and a few parents out with their young ones. It's late August and the resort is in full swing, which is why I'm run off my feet bartending at night. That's okay. I need the money, and the tips, which are best on Saturday nights. Tonight will be insane, and that means there'll be no time for studying between guests. It's a real balancing game between making money and studying.

I sigh and walk down the hall and into the kitchen. The dishes have been done and my insides soar when I find a pod and little note by the coffee machine. Dammit, I really wish that note didn't make me feel this happy.

Try this hazelnut vanilla coffee. My buddy at Scotia Academy got me hooked and I special-order them in from Canada.

Shocked and pleased—maybe a little too much—that he left me a note and his special blend of coffee, a burst of warmth and happiness rolls through me. Why the heck would he do this? A thank you for last night, maybe?

Chuckling at his antics, I pick up the pod and examine it. "Looks like you're pod worthy, Lanie ." I laugh as I say the nickname Brady bestowed upon me. I kind of like his spin on my name, especially when he whispers it in my ear in bed. A fine shiver goes through me and I try to shake it off. It's time to move on from last night, so I put the pod into the machine and press the start button. It gurgles for a second and then delicious smells fill my nostrils as it brews. I turn around to lean against the counter as I wait, and even though this isn't my place, it suddenly feels lonely without Brady. Will we hang out again tonight?

No. No. No.

Go ahead, have some fun for a change, girlfriend.

I shake my head because that is not conducive to keeping my focus on school, and my head in the game.

But the sex was so good, sweetie.

Yeah, but I need to guard myself against his charm because I understand the cost of love.

Maybe it will be different with him.

No, it's never different.

You're just afraid to take a chance.

That's right.

Brighton was right. You give advice but never take it yourself.

As I mentally debate with myself, the machine beeps, indicating my coffee is done, and I add a splash of milk before taking a big drink. "So good," I murmur to myself just as my cell phone pings. I snatch it from my pocket. Brighton. I have no idea why I thought it might be Brady. I put my finger over the screen. Ugh. Do I tell her the truth? Of course, I have to, because the one thing in this world I hate is liars.

I smile to make sure my voice is cheerful. "Good morning."

"Good morning to you too, Mel." A pause and then, "So, how was last night?"

"That bed is so comfortable. I slept well." Not a lie. I did sleep well when I finally did fall asleep.

"Really, that's all I get?"

I chuckle, and walk up to the patio door. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Camryn yells something to Brighton in the background and muffled sounds come through the phone. A second later, she asks, "Is Brady there?"

"Nope."

"Ah, darn. I was hoping you two would hook up." I groan, not able to hold it in anymore. The truth is, I'm bursting to talk about him. Seriously, I just want to hear his name on my lips and that's all kinds of crazy. "Ohmigod, you did, didn't you? Did you wear the lingerie? Was he awesome?"

"Yes, and yes and yes, and why did you think Brady and I would be so good together?" Does she see something in Brady I don't? If so, that would make me a terrible psychologist.

"You were, weren't you?"

"I mean yes. The sex was amazing. I just don't understand why you were playing matchmaker."

Honestly, marriage has changed her for the better. She's far more relaxed and so damn happy and I'm happy for her. Maybe even a bit envious. But marriage and relationships aren't for me.

"Look you needed a break, and why not get with someone who doesn't want more. Sex for sex, no strings."

My stomach tightens with that. If there is one thing my childhood taught me, it's that there are always strings. Always. Everyone wants something in return—I'm the prime example of that.

"Yeah. No strings."

"I'm just saying I was once you, Mel. All work and no play. Look at me now. I couldn't be happier."

"I'm so happy with the way things turned out for you, Brighton. Just remember, it's not like Brady and I are going to end up married, though, and please let's just keep this between us. I don't need anyone speculating when it's just a fast fling."

"I won't, and I know it's not serious, but why not have some fun with a guy who has been asking you out forever."

"Right." A sudden burst of unease cramps my stomach. "Actually, why do you think he's been asking me out forever? He can have any girl he wants. Why me?"

"Why not you? You're gorgeous, mature, got your life together, and maybe he's tired of the bunnies." I'm about to ask if she has evidence of that, and stop. I don't need to go digging where I have no business digging. This is just a fling. "Where is he?" she asks.

"I don't know. I woke up and he was gone." I take a sip of coffee, and laugh.

"What's funny?"

"He left me one of his hazelnut vanilla pods. Apparently, he orders them in from Canada." She gives a low, slow whistle. "What?"

"Last night must have been spectacular."

"It was, but why do you say that."

"That coffee is a running joke. He won't share it with anyone." My heart beats a little too fast at that revelation. "He likes to jog in the morning, on the beach."

"That's nice," I murmur, like his whereabouts don't really matter to me. I hear Brighton chuckle and guess I'm not coming off as nonchalant as I'd hoped.

I quietly unlock the patio door and step out. Laughter and voices from those playing on the beach reach my ears and brings a smile to my face. I take a sip of coffee and breathe in the briny smell of the ocean.

"I heard that."

"Heard what?" I ask.

"The click of the lock. You're out on the patio, looking for him."

"I'm on the patio getting a breath of fresh air before I start studying and go looking for a place to live." That thought gives me pause. Why the heck is Brady staying here at the resort, anyway? Sure, his roommate is giving him grief, but he's an NHL superstar. Why doesn't he just buy a place of his own?

"You know we have?—"

I cut her off. "I know and I really appreciate everything, Brighton. You're a life saver. I owe you."

She makes a pfft sound. "If anything, I owe you. You were the one who helped me get back with Noah and I'll always be grateful."

"You don't owe me," I practically whisper, her words once again reminding me there's always an exchange. People want things in return. "Brighton, why is Brady staying here?"

"Same as you. Roommate troubles."

"He did tell me that, but is he looking for a place of his own?"

"Not that I know of."

"Why is that?"

"I guess you'll have to ask him that." Just then, Camryn calls out to Brighton again. "Be right there, Jellybean. Listen, I have to go. We're going to pick out some baby furniture. We won't be back until after dinner tomorrow. The place is yours. Have fun with Brady."

"Thanks, Brighton. Enjoy your weekend."

We end the call and while the conversation reminded me of my childhood and how I would do anything for my parents' love—which never came—there's also a lightness inside me, too. Would it really hurt to have sex again with Brady? Heck, would he even want it? He banged me, and I'm sure I'm another notch on his belt, and he probably wants to move on to his next conquest.

Why don't you find out, girlfriend?

I actually do feel more relaxed than yesterday, all the endorphins lowered my stress level and improved my mood. When you really think about it, that could help with my studying, maybe even make me more productive.

There I go again, worst reasoning at its best.

As I scan the sandy shore, I note a familiar figure jogging close to the water's edge and I wilt against the rail, my body quivering as I admire his broad, perfect body from afar. He's so tall and strong and muscular, it makes it easy to pick him out in a crowd. I continue to drink my delicious coffee as I continue to stare and even though I don't jog, I suddenly want to be on the beach, suddenly want to feel the ocean mist on my face, and the sand between my toes. Maybe a good, hard run will help with my reasoning abilities, and clear my lust-rattled brain—because I'm very close to taking Brighton's advice and going for it again.

I quickly finish my coffee, rinse my mug and tug on some clothes. Once dressed, I head outside and make my way to the beach, but Brady is nowhere to be found and I can't help but think that's good. Perhaps it's a sign that the less I see of him the better and I should probably pack my bag and head back to my apartment tonight. But right now, I should get my next endorphin boost from exercise.

I start off slow, speed walking near the water where the sand is packed, and I lift my face to the sun as it beats down on my warm body. I dodge a family playing frisbee and ignore the pang in my stomach. Even if I did get married, I'd never want to bring a child into this crazy world. With that thought banging around inside my brain, I work to shut down my maternal instincts at the sight before me.

I'm about to pick up the pace, when I catch movement out of my peripheral vision, and turn to spot Brady coming out of the surf, a ballcap pulled low on his head. My heart nearly stalls at the gorgeous sight and my body temperature goes from simmer to boil in a matter of seconds—and it has nothing to do with the hot morning sun.

A mischievous grin tugs at the corners of Brady's lips when he spots me and comes running toward me. Water droplets drip down his chest in delicious ways that mess with my brain and body.

"Brady," I warn, as he scoops me up and pulls me against his chest. His heartbeat is strong against my body, and mine pounds quickly in response.

"You're looking a little hot, Lanie." He starts toward the water again, a threat in his eyes, and I yelp and wrap my arms around him.

"Don't you dare."

"Dare?" He slows his steps when he reaches the surf. "Are we playing truth or dare?"

I shriek as cold water splashes up. "If we are, I pick truth."

He comes to a complete stop. "Okay then, truth it is." His body tightens, and he glances at some distant spot like he's waging a very serious war with himself—but that seriousness dies an abrupt death when he asks, "Want to bang again?"