Page 217 of Rush

“Pretty Huge Dick.”

This time, an unfiltered cackle bubbles out of me without resistance.

Riley grins. “Atta girl.”

Then she sniffs the air and scrunches her nose. “Okay, but seriously—who the fuck sends yellow carnations?”

I wrinkle mine too. “They’re disgusting.”

“Doesn’t even match his aesthetic. That man is moody and Swedish. Isn’t his usual style the red roses?”

She’s not wrong.

Something about it feels...off.I don’t care.

I grab the whole thing—card and all—march to the kitchen. Dump the bouquet straight into the trash.

Flowers. Card. The whole damn thing.

Gone.

“Damn, girl!” Riley says, trailing behind me. “Now go climb that tree.”

Chapter 25

Tejano Blue

For all the times he’s shown up for me, it’s time I return the favor. Broderick’s due back in a few hours—I’ve been tracking his flight on my phone. It baffles me that, as a billionaire, he still prefers to fly commercial. It’s endearing, really.

For all his grandeur, his size, his wealth, he’s never felt intimidating. I’ve never felt safer than I do in the warmth of his sunshine.

The second I step inside his penthouse, his familiar scent wraps around me—masculine, woodsy, a hint of cedar.

I love this place.

Heading to the kitchen, I flick the lights on the way and drop my bag and the groceries I grabbed on the way on the counter, knowing Broderick rarely keeps a stocked kitchen.

It’s a beautiful kitchen—a shame it hardly gets used. But tonight, I’m going to change that. Do something stupid and romantic to show him how much I appreciate him.

He told me nothing was sexier than a woman who knows how to cook—and honestly, there’s nothing sexier than watching him eat.

Shrugging my coat off, I place it in the closet—I’m wearing a red lace lingerie set with the red-bottom heels he liked so much.

I pour myself a glass of wine before heading to his bedroom, walking past his magical Transformers BDSM bed and head to his ample walk-in closet, stocked to the brim with tailored suits, designer shoes, belts and his exquisite collection of watches. The man has taste.

Though I’d imagine having not grown up with much, it was a small way he liked to distance himself from his past by enjoying the finer things his success affords him, without excess.

It’s another thing I admire about him.

I select one of his white button-up shirts—putting it on, leaving it unbuttoned just enough to see what’s underneath; the hem brushing the tops of my thighs—it looks more like a dress than a shirt on me.

I roll up the sleeves that swallow my arms, and head back to the kitchen, kicking off my heels and begin preparing a meal fit for a king—mashed potatoes, wagyu steak, garlic buttered greens.

He said homemade sandwiches would be perfect—but he deserves something heartier.

He deserves to come home to the warmth of a home-cooked meal filling the air. To make him feel cared for. Wanted. Special. He wouldn’t let me take care of him when he was sick, so I want to make up for it and…

To soothe the burn Alex left behind in Atlanta.