Miss Fix-It

“Learn to be a parent all over again,” Brantley echoed. “That’s exactly what it is. I never imagined myself plaiting hair or putting softener in Barbie’s hair because she got dragged through a bush backwards. There’s just so much…stuff. And that’s all it is. Stuff. And I can’t thread a needle for the life of me. I just buy new jeans.”

“It’s really not hard. Especially if you patch the knees.”

“What part of “I can’t thread a needle” is confusing to you?”

I glared at him. “I’m giving you advice. Take it.”

“I still can’t thread a needle. It really doesn’t matter if patches work or not. I won’t be able to apply them.”

“Honestly, you’re making it sound like threading a needle is like running an army.”

“I run an army every day. The problem is, I created them.”

“They’re not an army.” I rolled my eyes. “And I’ll teach you how to thread a needle.”

“Can’t you thread it for me?”

“If I hear the word ‘thread’ one more time, I’m literally going to punch myself in the face.”

Brantley leaned forward. “Thread.”

I punched myself in the face, then winced.

“That hurt, didn’t it?” He grinned.

“Lil’ bit,” I replied, rubbing the side of my nose. “Thanks for hurting me.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing to you.”

“You said the word and made me punch myself.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who said you’d punch yourself in the face. I was merely conducting an experiment on your ability to follow through with your promises.”

“Great. It was a social experiment in trust.” I rubbed my nose again. “That really did quite hurt.”

He laughed, then leaned forward. Two fingers brushed my jaw, and he turned my face to the side. “There’s nothing there. I don’t know why you hit yourself so hard.”

“Because I’m an idiot. We established this earlier.” I turned my head back.

“An adorable idiot.”

“Still an idiot.”

“The best kind of idiot,” he corrected me, a small smile teasing at his lips. “My favorite kind of idiot.”

I side-eyed him. “I can’t decide if you’re still complimenting me.”

“Don’t take it too highly,” he replied. “I have Ellie in the ‘adorable idiot’ camp, too.”

I leaned forward and smacked his shoulder. “Just when I was starting to like you.”

“Starting to like me?” He snatched my hand, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. His fingertips pressed on the inside, and he rubbed his thumb along the sensitive skin, sending a tingle up my arm that made me shiver. Eyebrows raised, he continued, “I think you like me a lot more than you’re letting on.”

Then, like the—adorable—idiot I was, I said, “Prove it.”

He blinked and tugged me toward him. I didn’t move at first, but he grinned wolfishly and pulled harder. My resistance was useless, and I knew exactly what he was doing. I should have stopped him, but at this point, I couldn’t.

I knew what he was doing, and I was so fucked, because I wanted him to do it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Brantley pulled me right over to him, grinning the whole time. My stomach flipped as he literally dragged me on top of him so I straddled him. My knees dug into the cushions either side of his hips, and he slid his hands up my thighs, gripping my hips, and pulling me right against him.

My crotch was nestled against his, and I swallowed hard. This was probably the most intimate position we’d ever been in. My heart beat so fast my chest ached. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or where to look—nothing.

“You’re blushing again,” he muttered, eyes finding mine. “You’re so damn cute when you blush.”

“First adorable, now cute. You’re dishing out the compliments today. Anything else you wanna call me?” My hands finally came to rest on his stomach.

“Plenty,” he said in that same, low voice.

I waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, I said, “Well?”

He tilted his head to the side. “No.”

“Come on!” I tapped his chest. “You can’t say that and then stop talking. It’s going to drive me crazy.”

He smirked. “Welcome to my world.”

Ignoring that. “One. Give me one word that you think I am.”

“Well, like you said, idiot is well established…”

“I’m done.” I pushed myself off him.

Laughing, he pulled me back into him. “You asked.”

“Yes. I’m regretting it now,” I said dryly. “Are you going to be serious or not? It’s bugging me. Come on. Give me one word you think describes me.”

“Okay, all right. Fine.” He thought for a moment, meeting my eyes, then reached up and pushed my hair behind my ear in strikingly tender moment. “I think you are remarkable.”

Whoa.

That was a weighted word. And not at all what I’d expected him to say.

I wet my lips with my tongue. “Remarkable?”

“Yes.” He nodded once, his gaze never wavering from mine.

“Why?”

“You make me feel alive.”

I took a deep breath in. What was I supposed to say to that? What I wanted to ask was how—how did I do that? I didn’t do anything special. I was just me. How did I make him feel alive?