Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) Elise Faber (most read books of all time txt) 📖

them back on the bookcase—in alphabetical order by genre, of course.

But that wasn’t important.

Okay, it was important, just not important to this exact moment, because what was truly important right then was the fact that Brad was being . . . well, The Unicorn.

Without a word, without being asked.

He was just being . . . Brad.

And by the time he brought a plate of pizza to her, her resolution to stay far away from him was steadily being chipped away. Hell, the truth was that had been gone the evening of the wedding. What she felt chipping away in this moment was her resolve to keep the man firmly in the friend zone. Because it was as though he’d picked the thoughts out of her brain and had manifested himself into that Unicorn.

Pretty man.

Nice man.

Helpful man.

Unicorn.

Heidi was being sucked down in the whirlpool, that resolve dripping to the wayside, her need for him taking its place, and growing, and even worse—what would be even more devastating to her heart, to all of those carefully held dreams she worried about ever coming true—she worried she was falling for him all over again.

“God,” she hissed, tossing the remote on the bed next to her with a groan.

She needed to stop living in her head.

She needed to stop circling this dead horse.

Did she want to have a fling with Brad, even knowing that despite the pretty words, it would inevitably end?

Yes.

She . . . just didn’t want the broken heart.

This was like one of the calculations she was so good at, only except for detecting the space between electrons or attempting to figure out the top-secret shit (the speed of those electrons and how they moved, so it might be implemented for communication across the globe), this one was more . . . cost-benefit for her heart.

And if one night had dinged her confidence, had her thinking about this man for months, so on edge now, when they were hardly friends, what would a relationship do? What would happen when she grew attached and then he said goodbye?

But what if he didn’t?

She groaned again, sitting up and shoving her mouth full of the pizza he’d brought her.

Self-medicating with food.

Because she already knew what her answer was going to be—even despite all the whirling thoughts in her head.

Because whatever anyone might say about Heidi’s faults . . .

She wasn’t a coward.

Thirteen

Brad

Something had shifted.

He didn’t understand exactly what it was, except that it was as though someone had pricked the barrier holding the atmosphere of the room, the air that always seemed to ripple with awareness, with a pin, and the tension was slowly leaking out, a balloon deflating molecule by molecule.

He’d folded Heidi’s now clean and dry clothes.

He’d changed back into his original, also clean and dry, had put the temporaries back in her bin, that bin back on the shelf. He’d fed her—once with salad because he was too freaking worried about her having not eaten all day to wait an hour for the second, which was the pizza he’d ordered, laden with meat and veggies to make up for that lack of lunch.

She’d gobbled down three pieces, moaning about how delicious it was, before later groaning and patting her stomach, saying that she’d need to invest in larger pajamas.

Now, he was sitting in a chair next to the bed, she’d turned on some reality TV show, and they were coexisting peacefully.

That tension continued to ebb away, along with his guilt, and he was starting to worry less, to actually enjoy himself.

Then she spoke.

And his heart seized.

“Brad.”

She was going to kick him out. Well, fuck that. He wasn’t going to leave her. He wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. He needed to take a page out of his so-called manly book and dig in his heels.

“Brad?” she repeated.

He kept his eyes glued to the screen. “Yeah?”

“Come into bed with me.”

Suddenly, the TV was nowhere in the periphery, his gaze flying to hers, locking onto hers. “What?”

She patted the pillow next to her. “That chair’s not comfortable, and you’re going to get a crick in your neck. Come relax with me.”

“Crick—” He shook himself. “Neck—”

Pushing her elbows up beneath her, she reached out and snagged his hand. “Brad. Honey,” she murmured. “I’m inviting you into bed with me.”

But he hadn’t won her over yet. He hadn’t shown her that she could trust him.

Hadn’t—

Dumb shit. He needed to get his ass in gear.

Shoving out of the seat, he crawled in beneath the blankets next to her, initially leaving a couple of feet between them, then deciding, what the hell, and sliding closer, slipping his arm beneath her, shifting his body so they were pressed together, shoulders to thigh.

“How’s your ankle?”

She pointed and flexed it a few times beneath the covers. “Better. The ice helped.”

He made a face.

“I saw that.”

“How could you see that?” he asked, smoothing a hand up and down her spine. “Your face is in my chest.”

“Fine. I sensed it.”

“Sensed what?” He was playing dumb.

And he was rewarded for his acting skills when she tilted her head back so she could glare up at him. “Sensed that,” she grumbled, waving a hand in the direction of his face. “More lemon-swallowing.”

“I hate that you got hurt because of me.”

She sighed. “Yes, you startled me.” She pushed up farther. “But no, you’re not responsible for my clumsiness. Nope. That all comes from me. Want to ask the room at large who’s the girl who once managed to stab her hand and toe with the same knife? Or the one who burned herself because she was in too much of a hurry trying to make breakfast once and managed to catch both her hair and the hem of her T-shirt on fire at the stove. Oh, and that doesn’t include the time I broke my wrist skiing, the concussion I received from walking into the open door of a locker, or the torn ACL when I tripped walking up the stairs.”

He paused,