The Wrong Right Man(52)

“Conditioner?”

“Girls use it after they wash their hair. If they don’t, their hair looks like mine did yesterday when it dried.”

“What was wrong with your hair yesterday?” He frowns.

“Oh my God.” I toss my hand into the air. “That is not the point! The point is I need to find my bag so I can go home, so where is it?”

“I don’t know where your bag is.” I narrow my eyes on his, trying to figure out if he’s lying. “Did you leave it at the cabin or in my car last night?”

Did I? Shit. I don’t know if I did or not. “Where are your car keys? I’ll go down and check your car.” When he doesn’t make a move to help me, I start to search for his keys, swearing I’m never, not ever, going to take off my watch ever again.

“If you were wearing your watch, you wouldn’t need your phone or your purse,” he informs me smugly, like he just read my mind, and I turn just enough to glare at him. He holds up his cup of coffee. “I’m just saying, baby. I came up with the applications in that watch to prevent situations just like this.”

“I hate you,” I mutter, ignoring his laughter as I go to the bedroom to search there.

After going through his drawers, dirty laundry, and checking under every surface in the bedroom, I stomp into the kitchen and plant my hands on my hips. “I’m going to ask you nicely to give me your keys, and if you don’t, I swear I’m going to kill you and deal with the consequences later.”

“Baby, I’d like you to meet my parents.” He smiles, and I swear I feel the blood drain from my face and my stomach plummet. I close my eyes, hoping he’s joking, but when I hear a woman laugh and a man chuckle, I know he’s not. I slowly open my eyes back up and then pivot on my toes to face the island that surrounds the kitchen. Standing behind the bar is a man and woman, both attractive, both with features they have passed down to their son. “Mom, Dad—” Braxton comes to me, taking my hand. “I’d like you to finally meet Dakota. Dakota, my parents, Bret and Alisha Adams.”

“I promise I didn’t mean I would really kill your son,” I blurt, feeling their eyes bore into me. “I just… I just....”

“Do you know how many times I threatened Braxton with death or some form of torture growing up?” his mom asks me with a smile and then answers her own question. “Every day. Every day of his life, he was always doing something to drive me to the brink of a meltdown.”

“It’s true,” his dad agrees, coming over in jeans and a hoodie with a football team logo on the front, giving me a quick hug before taking a seat on one of the stools.

I look at Braxton and see the look on his face and can’t help but laugh. “Thanks, guys,” he mutters, and I laugh harder.

His mom comes around to me, looking stylish in a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. She grabs my upper arms, holding my gaze. “The point is we know how frustrating our son can be. So there is nothing you don’t feel right now that we haven’t felt before.”

“Again, thanks.” Braxton sighs.

“What? We all need to stick together.” His mom smiles.

“You mean you guys all want her to join in on ganging up on me.”

“The more, the merrier,” his dad says, lifting a cup of coffee my way and making me smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I’m not alone, and I’m really sorry about my appearance.” I glare at Braxton quickly. “I was trying to go to my place to find something to wear, so I could avoid meeting you looking like this.”

His mom squeezes my arms. “Braxton was just explaining to us that your apartment was broken into and that most of your things were destroyed. I’m sorry, and if it helps, I think you look adorable.”

“Thanks.” I shift on my feet, no longer worried about meeting his parents but wondering if it’s too soon to say I might just love them.

“I can go out and pick you something up,” she offers, letting my hand go. “At least something for you to wear, so you don’t feel uncomfortable, and then we can go sort out your place, make a list of what else you need, and go pick it up.”

“You just want a reason to go shop,” Bret chimes in. “Not that you ever need a reason to shop.” Alisha smiles at her husband then walks over to where he’s sitting and kisses his cheek.

“Do you mind if my mom goes to pick you some stuff up?” Braxton asks me softly, and I notice then he’s holding a cup of tea out to me.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” I ask Alisha.

“I’m afraid my husband is right. I don’t need much of a reason to go shopping,” she says, taking her phone out of her bag and bringing it to me. “Just write out what you need and your sizes, and I’ll have Bret drive me down the road to Target.”

I take her phone and quickly text out the basics. When I’m done, I start to hand her the phone back then shake my head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have any money on me, and I don’t know where my purse is.” I start to delete the text, but Braxton takes the phone from me before I can then starts to type.

“Here, Mom.” He hands the phone to her then takes a plain black card out of his wallet, handing it to her. “Get what’s on the list and anything else you think she might need.”