Provocative Professions Collection by Angela Graham, S. E. Hall Page B
Authors: Angela Graham, S. E. Hall
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shatter the calm.
"Brady," I mutter, voice shaky, eyes cast at the ground. "We can't."
"Can't what?" He bends and ducks his head below mine, forcing me to look at him. "So you do know what I'm talking about. Which must mean you feel it too?"
"Women in Antarctica can feel it," I deflect in cowardice. "You're single, gorgeous, successful, brilliant..." My words die off softly.
"So half as amazing as you then." He slides a finger under my chin and guides my dropped head up. "Only care what you're feeling, Moe."
Brady... my friend, truly the best one I have. My rock, my always and unfailing, my dependable. No way am I risking that.
My head must be shaking with the protest I'm devising because his hand shoots out and slams against the locker he's backed me up to, startling me.
"Bullshit. Don't deny it. Something's changed between us and I want it. So do you! I can see the pulse in your neck." He dips to my ear, releasing a deep, carnal growl. "I can smell it."
"Wh-what?" I gasp.
"Mm huh, you're thinking of all the bad in that head of yours, but your body's telling mine yes, loud and clear." He pulls me into his arms and places a kiss above my ear." Let's try, Moe."
My eyes close, heightening my other senses. I can smell him too—Brady on fire. I stand there in his arms and lazily stroke my hands up and down his back, absorbing the closeness. That is, until his growing erection digs against my stomach and his struggle to tame his breathing douses me with a cold gush of reality.
My hands still halfway down his spine and I step out of his hold. "Brady," I groan in regret, "you're one of the most important people in the world to me. I love you and couldn't live without you. And that's why…" I sigh, blinking back tears. "That's why I need you to walk away, right now."
After what feels like forever, a mixed current of temptation and hesitance buzzing between us, he turns with a hard set to his features and storms from the room, leaving me crushed and despondent. I hear him mumble "coward" on his way out, breaking another piece of my heart.
The next few days crawl by, no, scratch that, they drag like a dyslexic fucking slug. Obviously I haven't talked to Brady, my brother's once again buried in "Game On!"—I love the name—my parents flew themselves to Bermuda, and I'll be damned if I can think of a halfway viable excuse to go see Dr. Reynolds.
So at this point, I owe it to society to wear a t-shirt that says "Turn around, cross the street or call 9-1-1, you've been warned."
And in a cruel joke by the gods of irony, it's Thursday, Tiko night. Imagine that. Either I ditch, looking even more the coward, or I go, stupidly hoping the tension will be less than that of chewing glass.
Decisions, decisions.
I've got the quarter in my hand, ready to flip my destiny, when it dawns on me. The very reason I shunned Brady's advances was for the sake of our friendship, the very one I'm debating bailing on tonight.
Coward and a hypocrite? Not this girl! With new determination, I drag myself down the hall and prepare for Tiko night with an optimistic attitude and maybe a lil extra attention to my appearance.
I'm the first to arrive, visiting with Juan when Dylan comes busting in, looking frazzled.
"Well, hello, stranger." I lean forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"
"Wiped." He turns to Juan and slaps him on the shoulder. "Make 'em extra strong tonight, my man."
With a chuckle, Juan hurries away to get our pitcher of margaritas as Dylan takes a seat.
"Where's Brady?"
Tapering my expression, I answer as naturally as possible. "I'm not sure, apparently running l—"
Or running game! My voice catches as Brady and date walk in hand in hand.
"Don't screw with sanctity of our night, not cool," my ass!
"'Only care what you're feeling, Moe,'" my butt!
"Hey guys, sorry we're late. Ashley had to take an important work call outside," Brady greets us, pulling out the chair beside me for her. "Dylan, Addison, this
"Brady," I mutter, voice shaky, eyes cast at the ground. "We can't."
"Can't what?" He bends and ducks his head below mine, forcing me to look at him. "So you do know what I'm talking about. Which must mean you feel it too?"
"Women in Antarctica can feel it," I deflect in cowardice. "You're single, gorgeous, successful, brilliant..." My words die off softly.
"So half as amazing as you then." He slides a finger under my chin and guides my dropped head up. "Only care what you're feeling, Moe."
Brady... my friend, truly the best one I have. My rock, my always and unfailing, my dependable. No way am I risking that.
My head must be shaking with the protest I'm devising because his hand shoots out and slams against the locker he's backed me up to, startling me.
"Bullshit. Don't deny it. Something's changed between us and I want it. So do you! I can see the pulse in your neck." He dips to my ear, releasing a deep, carnal growl. "I can smell it."
"Wh-what?" I gasp.
"Mm huh, you're thinking of all the bad in that head of yours, but your body's telling mine yes, loud and clear." He pulls me into his arms and places a kiss above my ear." Let's try, Moe."
My eyes close, heightening my other senses. I can smell him too—Brady on fire. I stand there in his arms and lazily stroke my hands up and down his back, absorbing the closeness. That is, until his growing erection digs against my stomach and his struggle to tame his breathing douses me with a cold gush of reality.
My hands still halfway down his spine and I step out of his hold. "Brady," I groan in regret, "you're one of the most important people in the world to me. I love you and couldn't live without you. And that's why…" I sigh, blinking back tears. "That's why I need you to walk away, right now."
After what feels like forever, a mixed current of temptation and hesitance buzzing between us, he turns with a hard set to his features and storms from the room, leaving me crushed and despondent. I hear him mumble "coward" on his way out, breaking another piece of my heart.
The next few days crawl by, no, scratch that, they drag like a dyslexic fucking slug. Obviously I haven't talked to Brady, my brother's once again buried in "Game On!"—I love the name—my parents flew themselves to Bermuda, and I'll be damned if I can think of a halfway viable excuse to go see Dr. Reynolds.
So at this point, I owe it to society to wear a t-shirt that says "Turn around, cross the street or call 9-1-1, you've been warned."
And in a cruel joke by the gods of irony, it's Thursday, Tiko night. Imagine that. Either I ditch, looking even more the coward, or I go, stupidly hoping the tension will be less than that of chewing glass.
Decisions, decisions.
I've got the quarter in my hand, ready to flip my destiny, when it dawns on me. The very reason I shunned Brady's advances was for the sake of our friendship, the very one I'm debating bailing on tonight.
Coward and a hypocrite? Not this girl! With new determination, I drag myself down the hall and prepare for Tiko night with an optimistic attitude and maybe a lil extra attention to my appearance.
I'm the first to arrive, visiting with Juan when Dylan comes busting in, looking frazzled.
"Well, hello, stranger." I lean forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"
"Wiped." He turns to Juan and slaps him on the shoulder. "Make 'em extra strong tonight, my man."
With a chuckle, Juan hurries away to get our pitcher of margaritas as Dylan takes a seat.
"Where's Brady?"
Tapering my expression, I answer as naturally as possible. "I'm not sure, apparently running l—"
Or running game! My voice catches as Brady and date walk in hand in hand.
"Don't screw with sanctity of our night, not cool," my ass!
"'Only care what you're feeling, Moe,'" my butt!
"Hey guys, sorry we're late. Ashley had to take an important work call outside," Brady greets us, pulling out the chair beside me for her. "Dylan, Addison, this
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