Page 20 of Don’t Fall For Your Ex-Boyfriend's Brother
What the hell was I thinking?
I am drawn to her in a way that defies logic, a pull so strong it felt like the universe itself conspired to bring them together. It wasn't just her beauty—though I found her breathtaking in every possible way. It was the way she carried herself, with a quiet confidence that spoke of inner strength and grace.
Every time she spoke, I found myself captivated, hanging on to every word as if they were the only thing that mattered. Her laughter was a melody that echoed in my mind long after it had faded, a sound that made my heart skip a beat.
But it was her eyes that truly ensnared me, deep and expressive, revealing glimpses of the thoughts and emotions she often kept hidden. When our gazes met, I felt an electric charge, a connection so profound it was as if our souls recognized each other.
I noticed the smallest things about her—the way she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair when lost in thought, the way she bit her lip when concentrating, and the way her face lit up when she smiled. These details, insignificant to anyone else, became the essence of my growing affection.
I was helpless against the tide of my emotions, drawn to her not just by desire, but by something deeper, something I couldn't fully understand. All I knew was that being near her made me feel more alive, more myself, as if she were the missing piece of my soul.
“Tripp, the place looks great,” Paxton says, putting his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s getting there.”
My housewarming party is in full effect and it’s great having everyone here. I appreciate their excitement and love, but two things are taking over all other thoughts—when will I taste Millie again and what will she think of the chapters I sent over earlier.
“I can’t believe my last baby has left the nest,” my mother says.
“He’s not far, Mom. Plus, think of all the free time you have now with an empty house,” Paxton says.
“He’s a grown man, Paxton. I still had my free time,” she says, laughing as she pats my cheek.
“Oh great, Mom, you better not be in here crying like you did when I left,” Anya says.
“No one is crying,” my mother replies.
“No, she did enough of that the first night he left,” my dad says, stepping into the ever growing circle of Atwood’s.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and I pull it out as more of my brothers gather to talk about the way my mom reacted when they left home.
Millie: Tripp, I’m speechless. That was incredible. Please tell me there’s more? I want them to get together so badly.
I grin as I stare down at the message. She has a way of boosting my confidence without even trying.
Me: He’s working up his confidence to make his move. I’ll have more later. Waiting for my family to leave so I can get to writing.
Millie: I didn’t mean to bother you. Go enjoy your family.
Me: You, my little bunny, are never a bother. I promise you that.
"Damn, who are you texting?" Brock asks, his voice laced with curiosity as he leans in, craning his neck to peek over my shoulder.
I swipe my phone off and shove it into my pocket, taking a deliberate step away from him. "No one, Christ, move back," I say, trying to keep my tone casual, though my heartbeat betrays me with its quickened pace.
"That’s not the face of someone talking to no one," Hartford chimes in, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She’s perched on the edge of the couch, one eyebrow raised like she’s already pieced together some grand mystery.
"You know we’re gonna find out," Brock continues, his grin widening as he exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Hartford. "So you might as well spill now. Makes it easier for everyone."
"Is it someone we know?" Paxton adds, his voice softer but no less inquisitive. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s determined to solve.
Before I can respond, my mother’s voice cuts through the room, bright and eager. "Are you dating someone?" she asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she clasps her hands together, as if she’s already planning the wedding in her head.
“She must’ve said something good to get that look on your face. Was it about sex?” Brock says, wrapping his arm around Willow.
“Brock Atwood,” my mother scolds.
“He’s a grown man, Carol,” my father says.