Shameless(73)

Her husband’s dark green eyes are intense like Brady’s as he stares through the screen, but then they crinkle in the corners when he offers me a warm smile. “You’re the poor girl who has to put up with my son? I hope he hasn’t been too much of a handful. He can get a little pissy sometimes.”

I laugh and turn to Brady, who’s frowning. “Really, Dad?”

The baby crawls out of my lap into his, and he gives her a sweet kiss and turns her to face the computer.

Nodding, I motion toward him. “He can be a little prickly sometimes, but I find that feeding him helps.”

Brady rolls his eyes, and I nudge him. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches down and grips my thigh, and I laugh and try to get him to stop. It’s not fair for him to tickle me in front of his parents.

They obviously can’t see anything but me writhing around like a crazy person while Brady sits there pretending to be innocent.

I grab his arm and in my firmest voice say, “If you don’t stop, I’m not making you dinner.”

He immediately pulls his hand away and shakes his head, the whole time keeping a straight face. “We can’t have that.”

When I turn back to his parents, they’re watching us with rapt attention. I cough, feeling uncomfortable.

His mom offers me a warm smile. “We’re so grateful you’ve been there to help. Brady says he wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

My face heats, and I laugh nervously. “I’m sure he’d manage.”

“Well, we’re relieved, especially now since he gets the honor of adopting this sweet little darling. Hopefully, she’ll raise hell just like he did as a child, so he can get a taste of his own medicine.”

“Really, Mom?” Brady laughs.

“What? You were a handful!” She turns to me. “When he was five, he loved to moon the neighbors. And sometimes, if he couldn’t get into the house fast enough, he’d tinkle on the bushes outside.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.

I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter. As Izzy crawls into my lap, I pat him on the shoulder. “I’m happy to report, he’s fully potty trained now. Good job!” His deadpan stare makes me grin. “Haha. Brady tinkled on the bushes,” I taunt.

His parents howl with laughter, and I have to wipe my eyes from laughing so hard.

When I turn back to the laptop, Rebecca tilts her head. “Who does she remind me of? Jonathan, doesn’t Katherine remind you of one of Brady’s old girlfriends?” Brady stills next to me. Then she snaps her fingers. “The one you took that photo with. Oh, my goodness. You should see that picture, Katherine. It was all over Boston on these billboards. They used it to advertise the tattoo parlor where he worked, and the girls lined up to get him to do their tattoos.” She laughs and shades her face. “I blushed every time I drove by it.”

God, I look like one of his ex-girlfriends? And what is this photo all about?

“Mother,” Brady warns. “It was a photo I took for an art class. My friend got lucky and sold it to my shop.”

Ignoring his obvious discomfort, she asks, “What was her name?”

I finally turn to look at him, and his hard expression as he shoots lasers at the laptop does nothing to assuage my anxiety.

He clears his throat. “Dani, and we never dated.”

“Right. Well.” His mother shakes her head and turns to me. “You should have seen him. He moped for months after they broke up.”

“Mother, I just said we never dated.”

“What’s she doing these days?”

He hoists Izzy higher on his lap. “Marrying a professional soccer player.”

Rebecca sighs. “Her loss, I suppose. I shouldn’t be in his business, but Brady was a sad panda for a while.” Her lips twist like she’s studying me. “Actually, you don’t look like her exactly. But there’s something about you that reminds me of her.”

I nod, wishing I could rewind the last five minutes of this conversation and start over.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” I say softly. “I need to go start dinner. I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better, Mr. Shepherd.”

Brady’s dad offers me an apologetic smile, and I beeline it out of there, fighting emotions I wish I didn’t have.





47





Brady





I’m really not in the mood for this shit.

The half-naked chick in front of me giggles at her friend, another blonde, and I frown as a cold sweat breaks out on my neck.

As I stare down at the woman’s bare breasts, warning bells go off in my head. You should tell Kat, I think, feeling confused as f*ck about why I feel guilty I’m piercing another girl’s nipples when all I’m just doing my job.

Just like the three tattoos I did tonight on drunk frat boys, this is no different.

Except the way the blonde thrusts her chest out at me is definitely not the way the frat boys sat in my chair.

Running my hand through my hair, I wince. I’ve never thought twice about how my girlfriends felt about this. Which I’m realizing was insensitive, but am I really supposed to feel bad now? Kat and I agreed that we end when I head back to Boston.

Jesus. That makes me ill. I don’t want to leave her. And that’s what it feels like. Abandoning her.