One Night of Trouble

“How have you screwed up?” she challenged.

In a monotone voice, he listed off a long list of “faults.” “I didn’t play professional ball like my dad wanted. I got into MMA fighting instead of going to college. I opened a nightclub instead of working for his company. I broke up with Darcy, who they considered the perfect woman.”

He’d mentioned Darcy before, just in passing, but this latest reference made Brett’s shoulders stiffen. Perfect woman, huh?

Did it make her an awful person that she now officially hated AJ’s ex-girlfriend?

“I keep straying off the path I set for myself and disappointing them,” AJ said. “But I can’t screw up anymore. My mom’s health isn’t the greatest these days. She had a heart attack a while back, almost died. She needs grandchildren, a daughter-in-law to talk to…”

“What about what you need?” Brett countered.

His body tensed with visible frustration. “Who says my needs and theirs are mutually exclusive?”

Brett, for one, but she kept her opinion to herself. AJ was agitated enough as it was, and she didn’t want to push him any harder than she already had. But she saw right through his feeble declaration.

He’d said so himself—he only dated nice, “wholesome” girls. But after almost two weeks with the guy, Brett knew his tastes ran toward not so nice. He was wild and rough and absolutely spectacular when he allowed himself to let go.

It suddenly dawned on her that she and AJ weren’t all that different. Both trying to please their families, both fighting their impulsive urges and hiding bits and pieces of themselves from the people they loved.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly. “We should head back before all that ice cream you bought starts to melt.”

They drove back to her apartment in silence, but Brett wasn’t concerned with the lack of conversation. They’d done a lot of talking just now, and her brain was still struggling to work through all the data AJ had fed into it.

AJ the gentleman made an appearance when they reached her place. He carried all the bags upstairs, despite her protests that she could handle at least one. But he was adamant, stepping aside only so she could unlock the door, then marching into her kitchen to help her put away the groceries.

“So chivalrous,” she teased.

“It’s the least I can do after dumping my whole life story on you.”

Brett closed the cupboard and walked over to him, resting her palms on his chest. “Hey, you didn’t dump anything. I wanted to hear it.”

He hesitated. “I’ve never told anyone about how Joey died.”

The confession brought a strange rush of warmth to her chest. “I’m glad you told me.”

He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can I…uh…how would you feel if I crashed here tonight?”

She blinked in surprise. “You want to sleep over?”

He nodded.

A quick glance at the clock over the fridge revealed that it was already past ten. She had to wake up early for a seven-o’clock appointment because her client couldn’t come any other time. And besides…

“Don’t worry, I’m not in the mood either,” he said as if reading her mind. “And you can kick me out tomorrow morning whenever you have to go.”

“I know. It just feels weird for you to stay over when, um, you know, when we won’t be doing sexy stuff.”

“You make it sound like I’m a sex-starved maniac,” he grumbled.

She stared at him.

“Fine, you do bring out that side of me,” he conceded. “But I’m a big boy. I’m perfectly capable of keeping my pants zipped and just hanging out with you.” He sounded pensive. “What would you be doing right now if I wasn’t here?”

She instantly clammed up. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” He grasped her chin, tugging it upward so she was forced to look at him. “Come on, spill. I promise not to tell.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Fine. If you weren’t here, I’d bust open a carton of chocolate mocha mousse and watch a few episodes of the Vampire Diaries.”

AJ gawked at her. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He looked so horrified she couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s one of my guilty pleasures. Seriously, I’m addicted to trashy teenager shows. I watch them every night before bed.”

“Wow. You really don’t strike me as the type.”

She wagged her finger at him. “Hey, I thought we discussed the whole judging-a-book-by-its-cover thing. You’re not nice, and I watch cheesy television shows. Deal with it.”