Chapter Thirty-One
Kristen
Bradford’s phone wakes me. It’s vibrating with text after text, missed call after missed call. And it’s doing all of that from underneath me.
What even is going on?
All this vibrating is too much.
I’m trying to wake up enough to pull it out from under me, but I’m struggling with that mission. It doesn’t help that Bradford’s arm is around me so tightly and my body is pressed so hard to his that I never want to move again. I like fitting with him like this.
More messages vibrate under me.
I crack my eyes open and look at Bradford. He’s sleeping like the dead. He has no awareness of the work that awaits him on his phone.
Wait.
Why is his phone underneath me?
I scrunch my eyes as I rack my brain for that information. That hurts enough for me to stop immediately. Whoa, I have a headache. It’s not raging, but it’s enough for me not to engage in too much thinking just yet.
I run my gaze over the man lying next to me, holding me like he maybe won’t ever let me go again. I hope he never does.
I take in his stubble. It cannot be emphasized enough how much I like that stubble. If he wasn’t sleeping so peacefully, I would reach out and touch his cheek. I’m a little concerned that my hands are going to have stalker vibes when it comes to Bradford and I’m wondering how good he’s going to be with that. He’s never really been the kind of man to engage in shows of affection in public. Well, except for that one girlfriend he had that we never speak of. We being me, me, and me.
His phone vibrates again and I decide it’s time to retrieve it. These messages might be important.
As I move to find the cell, a massive, sparkling rock on my left ring finger smacks into my sight. It’s the most gorgeous diamond I have ever seen in my life, and I’ve seen a lot. A lot. And HOLY SHIT, what is it doing on my finger and why do I suddenly have images of Elvis in my head? Elvis, Bradford and me.
“Ohmigod! Holy fuck! Shit!” My hand is on Bradford’s chest before I can stop it and I’m shaking him. “Bradford, wake up!”
I locate his phone as he stirs. “What?”
“Why am I thinking we did something very bad last night?”
He looks at me. “Huh?”
I stare at his phone. At the messages that fill his lockscreen. And since he doesn’t seem to understand the urgency here, I take matters into my own hands.
“I’m making an executive decision and using your passcode to open your phone so I can confirm what I’m thinking is right. You have two seconds to tell me not to use your passcode. After that, I’m going in.”
“Go for it.” He throws the bedcovers off and leaves the bed to walk into the bathroom.
I tap in the passcode and start reading.
Beckett: Bradford, this is Jenna. Can you please get Kristen to call me?
Alan: Jesus Christ, I just woke up to your news.
Alan: You’re making fucking headlines everywhere and not for the right reasons.
Alan: What were you thinking?
Alan: Fuck, the next time you want some sex, don’t marry the woman while you’re at it.
Oh. Fuck.
I was right.
Elvis didn’t just sing a song for us.
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