“It’s not what you think,” she said.
Brady tried not to laugh. It was clearly everything Danny thought it was.
“Why don’t you head in and help your mother set up the guest room? I’d like to speak to Brady alone for a minute.”
“No,” she said, surprising both her father and Brady. “I’m not going to let you threaten him.”
“Who said anything about threatening him? We’re just going to have a talk.”
“It’s okay,” Brady reassured her, because this conversation had to happen sooner or later. He’d rather do it now and clear the air. He’d walked into this and he was man enough to own up to it. “I’ll be fine. Danny and I go way back.”
She hesitated, but then she pursed her lips and went into the house, closing the door firmly behind her.
Danny stared at it for a second. “I can’t believe she told me no. Geez, she never tells me no.”
“She’s a very giving woman, Danny. You should be proud of how Piper has turned out.”
“I am. Trust me, I am. She’s special.”
There it was again. Special. He wondered if any of them really understood what he was starting to—that Piper didn’t want to be special. She wanted to be like everyone else.
“Yes, she is,” he agreed, because it was true. Piper was a better person than 99 percent of those he’d met.
“Sit down, Brady,” Danny said, taking a seat on a wicker chair. He grimaced. “God, I hate these damn chairs. Wicker sticks to the back of my legs.”
“I kind of like them.” The furniture reminded him of folks sitting on the porch shooting the shit while kids ran around like dust-covered heathens. Brady took a seat next to him and stared out at the inky-black evening sky. Damn, it was dark out here. He’d forgotten what the country was like, how still the air was, how quiet. It settled inside his shoulders, relaxed them, the knots of tension riding around in there for a week loosening.
“Sorry you lost your job. That’s tough.”
“Thanks.” Brady watched a firefly shoot off its tiny glow. “It wasn’t a great job, but it did pay the bills.”
“I understand that. It isn’t always profitable to run a farm. But if you love something, you just keep going.”
“I don’t love advertising.” That wasn’t even something he had to think about. “It was just a job I did because I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Then maybe this is an opportunity for you.”
“Maybe.” Brady waited, because he knew what was coming next. It had been a long time, but back in the day, he’d gotten The Talk from more than one father.
“I’ve always liked you, Brady. I have.”
Here it came. “Thanks.” Brady breathed deep, regretting that he had quit smoking. The sweet country air was perfect for a cigarette. It was a good thing the store was too far to go back to. He didn’t want to start up such a deadly habit again after four years clean.
But it would taste amazing.
“But you’re a little old for Piper, you know. She hasn’t had a lot of experience with men. She falls hard and doesn’t always understand a man isn’t necessarily in it for the right reasons—you know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah.” Because he couldn’t deny it. While he didn’t know any of it for fact, he could imagine that would be true about Piper. And he was too old for her.
“I’m sure there are women you work with, in your circle of friends in Chicago, who understand the game. They know if you’re just looking to get your feet wet and nothing more. They’re not going to get hurt when they realize all you want is sex.”
Brady swallowed hard. He had told Piper he would be fine, but now he wasn’t so sure. Danny was right. What the f**k was he doing? Piper was not the kind of woman you played with and walked away from. She was not the type who had a contact list of friends with benefits like half the women he dated in Chicago. Brady wondered when the last time he’d actually had a real relationship was. He’d settled into a routine of random sex with several women he had fun hanging out with, and that was it.
None of that felt appropriate here. Then suddenly he knew the truth of it. “Maybe I’m not just looking for sex. I can have sex with anyone.” If it had just been about sex, he would have been able to resist her, ironically enough, because sex was easy to come by and he got it regularly. He wouldn’t have risked the ire of family and friends if he hadn’t been looking for something more.
But that wasn’t fair to Piper either, and he knew it. He couldn’t give her anything beyond a couple of weeks.
“Oh, my God.” Danny put his fist to his chest like he had heartburn, and his face looked pained. “That might actually be worse. Are you telling me you’re sticking around?”
“No.” He couldn’t. That was preposterous. “Look, Danny, I don’t want to hurt her. That’s the last thing I want. I’ll talk to her, okay? Make sure she truly understands I’m going back to Chicago and that this is it.” He was sympathizing with Danny’s chest pain. His was feeling a little tight as well.
Danny sighed. “I guess I can’t ask for much more than that. She’s a grown woman. Almost.” He reached out and clapped Brady on the shoulder. “I told you, I always liked you.” He grinned. “Just not with my daughter.”
Brady laughed. “Story of my life, man. I haven’t met a father yet who wanted me around his daughter. It’s tough on the old ego.”
“Bullshit. You always liked being a ladies’ man. Did you hear Abby Murphy’s pregnant?”
“I didn’t do it.”
They both laughed. Danny leaned forward, his hands between his knees. “You know, when Piper was a teenager I worried that boys could take advantage of her, that they would sense that need she has to belong, and would use it to get in her pants. I worried she’d end up pregnant at sixteen like her mother. And I wouldn’t be able to hate them or blame them because I was one of those boys. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than how good it felt. But Piper was smarter than I gave her credit for—she didn’t fall for any of those lines.”
“Maybe she’s not as insecure as you think. Guilt does funny things to perception, you know.” Brady imagined Danny felt a crapload of it, given Piper’s first eight years of life.