Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(57)

Once we’re alone again, I turn and crawl up onto the bed next to Brent, giving him a quick kiss of apology before resting my forehead against his.

“I really think that went well.” Brent nods against me. “But maybe when we’re telling this story to our future grandchildren, we could leave the whole naked bondage thing out it.”

Oh, why did he have to go and say something like that? Now I have no choice in the matter. I am one hundred percent in love with him.





Chapter 28





If you would have told me a few months ago that I’d have a serious boyfriend, and it would be so natural and easy being with him, and I’d be the happiest I’d ever been in my life and making plans for the future, I would have laughed in your face. Politely, of course, because that’s the Minnesota way.

My limited experiences with boyfriends were definitely nothing serious, and there was not one thing natural or easy about being with them. I was constantly on edge, watching what I said and what I did, so I wouldn’t scare them away with my weirdness. And I was never really sad when we ultimately ended. There were no tears. There were no fights. There weren’t even really break-ups. We’d go out to dinner or something, and then, I’d just never hear from him again until we ran into each other at church or some other town function. We’d make polite conversation, and it was like we’d never had our tongues in each other’s mouths or seen each other naked.

As cliché as it sounds, being with Brent is as easy as breathing. When we disagree about something, I’m not filled with anxiety that this is it. This is when he’ll realize I’m too much. He accepts me for who I am, which means I’m never afraid to be who I am. I can be awkward and trip over my own two feet, or I can be sexy and take control. I can ramble a bunch of crazy nonsense, or I can have a passionate conversation about something I believe in. We can have sweet, normal sexy times where we cuddle and watch television afterward, or I can tie him to my bedposts and my parents walk in on us, followed by a chicken and broccoli hotdish lunch where no one mentions that my dad had to cut him loose with his hedge clippers, and the two of them just spend the hour arguing about football. Although, it’s been three weeks and Brent still shudders when he sees a tie.

Brent never judges me, he never makes fun of me, and he never rolls his eyes at me when I’m being ridiculous, like when we had a twenty-minute argument the other day about how Jell-O salad is absolutely considered a salad, and anyone who thinks otherwise is wrong. Sadly, that argument ended in a draw, because he wouldn’t back down, going on and on about his fancy L.A., disgusting kale nonsense, but it’s fine. We made up by getting naked. Brent just lets me be me, no matter which me decides to come out at any given time.

“You look good wearing my sweatshirt,” Brent says from his bed, with a lazy smile on his face.

He’s lounging against the pillows with his hands folded behind his head, watching me pick up my clothes that are strewn all over his floor. I’m wearing nothing but one of his oversized sweatshirts I stole from his closet. It has his construction company name on it and hangs down to the middle of my thighs.

“I’m running out of clothes to wear. I need to do some laundry today,” I tell him, tossing a few of his dirty clothes into the pile I’m making at the end of his bed without even thinking about it.

Our dirty clothes are comingling. This is definitely serious.

One of the best things about living next door to your boyfriend is, I’ve never packed a bag when I’ve spent the night here. It started off that way, because I never wanted to just assume he’d want me to sleep over. And now, it’s just easier for one of us to walk over to my house and grab whatever else I might need.

“Babe, you don’t have to do my laundry.”

Gaaah! There’s the “babe” thing again. I’ll never get tired of hearing him say that.

“I don’t mind! I have to do mine anyway. And besides, you’ve cooked dinner for us every night this week,” I remind him.

That’s another amazing thing about Brent that I thought only happened in books. He actually knows how to cook, and he’s pretty good at it. And he does the dishes. Someone needs to pinch me. It’s like I’m living my very own fairytale romance.

I should tell him I love him. Crap! I should tell him about my podcast first, shouldn’t I? I’m standing here thinking about all the ways he’s perfect, and I’m being a wuss for no reason. Well, aside from the whole creepy stalker reason.

“Listen, I need to tell you—”

“Oh! Hold that thought,” Brent interrupts me, flinging the blankets off his body. “I forgot I have a present for you.”

I definitely hold that thought and let a bunch of dirty thoughts take over when he so casually gets out of bed completely naked, walking over to his dresser and grabbing a pair of sweatpants from his bottom drawer. I lick my lips as I watch him pull them on, knowing I’ll never be able to concentrate on anything else that comes out of his mouth after this point. It’s bad enough those sweatpants are hanging low on his hips and I can see every inch of his glorious chest and those delicious indents down by his hips, but I’m also fully aware he’s not wearing any underwear under those sweatpants. He’s just hanging loose in there, and goodness, why is that such a turn on?