A Brit Complicated (Castle Calder Book 3) by Brenda St John Brown

Author:Brenda St John Brown [St John Brown, Brenda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2017-10-07T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time we get to Castle Calder, it’s almost three a.m. and way too late to go to the hospital, even without Dad’s warning that the night-shift nurses are cranky. We agree I’ll be there for the start of visiting hours at nine, and once Bradley grabs the bags from the boot, I lead him up to the family apartment and head straight to the kitchen.

“I’m having a cup of tea and going to bed. Do you want one?” I ask, clicking on the electric kettle.

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t have the British affinity for tea anytime of the day or night.”

“That’s a shame.” Because it speeds up the ‘where are you going to sleep’ conversation. But right now, I’m too tired to draw it out. “Don’t feel like you have to wait for me to go to bed. I’m sure you’re even more tired than I am.”

“I’m going to take you up on that. Where should I crash?”

How to tell Bradley Walking-Sex is exhausted? His one eye droops and he drops the veneer of formality and sounds like a normal guy. It’s sort of endearing.

“I have a queen-size bed in my room or, if you prefer, you can sleep in Jasper’s room. Either way is fine.” But as I grab a tea bag and toss it in a mug, I realize I have a preference. A strong one.

“Either way is fine.” Judging by his tone, it’s not fine with him.

And after our car journey and the hours we spent talking and touching, it’s not fine with me either. I take a deep breath. “That’s not true. Stay with me. My room is the second door on the right. It’s the messy one filled with old artwork.”

“Done. See you there. Don’t be offended if I don’t wait up. It’s no reflection on the company.”

Bradley doesn’t wait for me to respond before heading down the hallway. I appreciate the view of those tracksuit bottoms and lean against the wooden counter, letting my eyes flutter closed. Even though it’s dodgy circumstances, I can’t deny it’s nice to be home. The sheer quiet alone is overwhelming compared to my flat in London. And the smell – a mix of lavender and bleach with undertones of the cinnamon Dad puts in his coffee – wraps around me like a duvet on a cold November night. There really is no place like home.

I finish my tea, leaving the mug in the sink. If Mum were here, she’d remind me that it’s just as easy to put it in the dishwasher, but I make her a silent promise to do it first thing in the morning before grabbing the handle of my case and heading to my room.

Bradley’s left the bedside lamp on for me, but I have a feeling the room could be filled with spotlights and he wouldn’t notice. He lies on his side facing away from me, but I tiptoe around and peek at him to make sure he’s not awake before kneeling to open my suitcase and grab my nightgown.

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