Falling For Dad’s College Rival by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Nineteen

Brooke

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so many emotions in one day.

Not sure I’ve ever bought so many clothes either, but Trent won’t deny me anything. Even stuff I’m unsure about he insists I get.

“Retail therapy is the best therapy,” he chimes in every time I look doubtful.

I do get a bunch of stuff, I tell myself I need though, like new shoes and especially underwear.

Not something I can always go to dad for money to buy, it’s embarrassing.

But with Trent at the helm, he takes a very special interest in my undergarments, and I have to say I’ve never felt so spoiled or so special.

Wearing a properly fitted bra, that’s actually made by designers who only make bras? It’s the best feeling in the whole world.

Second best feeling.

The best feeling is no bra, with my chest in Trent’s mouth, but new undies were at the top of my shopping list, and Trent’s just as pleased as I am by the time we’re done.

“We can go shopping anytime, or you can order whatever you need in,” he keeps reminding me, and I think he’s maybe hinting it’s enough for one day, but he’s only reminding me that all of this is real.

It’s my new normal.

“In fact, I think we should go underwear shopping much more often,” he adds with a grin, and I know he’s expecting the show I couldn’t give him in the store once we get home.

Home.

It feels weird to even say it like that, but anywhere with Trent feels like home now.

I couldn’t go back and try to live like I was before Trent, and I know it would only be an hour or two before he found a reason to come get me anyway.

Here by his side is where I belong now, and as he said himself, it’s not like he’s holding me prisoner or anything.

If I need to go somewhere I know I can, or if it really doesn’t work out, I can at least say we gave it a shot, but I know deep in my soul we were meant to be.

Pulling up to his building again, this time coming in through the underground garage, I don’t have to struggle with the idea of calling this place home.

I love it. I love the neighborhood, the building, the apartment, and the views.

Most of all I’m with the man I love.

I don’t have a problem with the idea of Trent as my man, forever too, not just some weekend fling.

Like the kind, dad must be having.

It’s a painful thought, but it keeps rearing its head. Even while we shopped and had lunch, I know Trent caught me zoning off a few times, looking around or even worrying about my dad.

Like I’m some naughty little girl doing something she knows she shouldn’t.

I feel naughty alright, but certainly not like a little girl anymore. Trent’s seen to that. It’s just the knowledge of how hard it’s gonna hit my dad that worries me.

And in his own way, as much as he wouldn’t say or show it, I know Trent must be a little concerned for his old friend too. Since finding out my whole story. About my mom, Trent seems to have eased up on his attitude towards my dad more than just a little.

And like a true gentleman, he doesn’t mention it at all after seeing him at the restaurant.

He helps me carry just some of the bags and boxes from our shopping trip into the elevator, reminding me to remind him that we can expect the rest to be delivered Monday.

“You didn’t get yourself anything,” I tell him once we’re home, at last, suddenly realizing this whole afternoon has been all about me.

I want to get him something. A way to say thank you, for everything and I tell him so.

“You already have, Brook. You already have.” He smiles, reaching over for me, and pulling me close before kissing me so deep I forget about clothes, houses, and everything.

The world always seems to disappear in his arms, under his magic touch.

“I just wish there was something I could do, a way I could contribute,” I murmur, wracking my brain, trying to think of how I can do something to make today special for Trent.

How I can show him just how much I care.

“I’ll make us both dinner,” I decide aloud. Knowing its hours off and it’ll give me plenty of time to come up with something.

I know Trent likes to eat, so I’ll make him a special dinner, and then we can go over some of that lingerie he bought for me this afternoon.

“Anything you want,” he agrees when I tell him, his deep voice rippling through my whole body as he hugs me. Telling me he loves me again and making me think maybe I should’ve just suggested a whole day in bed together.

Truth is, I can’t cook to save my life.

But Trent’s kitchen, all that space and so much food to work with. How hard can it be?

Before any of that, Trent suggests we make some closet space for my new clothes, and although he hints at it, he’s careful not to go straight to the lingerie.

That’s for later. I think we both silently agree on that point.

Trent’s… Our bedroom has huge floor to ceiling windows and a walk-in closet with a doorway that leads to the bathroom joining it.

There are four bathrooms in the whole place, and he doesn’t seem to mind if I take one just for myself or use all four.

He’s so easygoing about everything, I feel like I don’t want to take over anything more than a tiny space in one of his closets for now, which he finds pretty funny.

“It’s okay,” he consoles me. “You’ll have this place filled up with stuff in no time,” he adds knowingly.

His closet is vast, bigger than my bedroom at home, with a large open space just for me but I don’t think I could just start hanging all my things in there just yet.

It looks like the stores we were shopping in most of today on his side of the closet. Everything laid out and hanging so neat.

Everything is custom tailored or with a designer label.

It’s a stretch for me to go from off the rack at the mall to this lifestyle. But Trent isn’t a braggart or showy about his things.

In fact, I find it hard to imagine him in anything else.

Once he’s satisfied I have some space of my own ready, he packs up all the bags and boxes, letting me know he’s heading down to the basement to put everything in the recycling.

I offer to help, but he hints at dinner already.

“That lunch was so small, really. Help yourself to what’s in the kitchen. I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” he calls over his shoulder.

Neither can I.

Having a look around in the fridge and pantries, I know I have to make something from scratch. Using the ready-made things, as good as they look isn’t the angle I’m going for here.

By the time Trent comes back up from the basement, I’m still looking.

Looking undecided, but he only smiles and kisses me on the top of my head.

“I’ll leave you to it if you want. I don’t want to be looking over your shoulder,” he tells me.

“What are you gonna do?” I ask, feeling a little pang of separation anxiety, hoping he’s not gonna just leave me here all alone.

“I’ve got some office work, I guess. Emails and a couple of phone calls. Or I can sit here and watch you,” he grins, letting his eyes travel down my new outfit as he raises a brow.

“We could even skip dinner altogether,” he adds, but I tell him to behave.

“That’s dessert,” I tease him. “I’ll be fine here,” I lie. “I’ll call out if I need you though,” I let him know, gulping hard before I tell myself I can do this.

It’s a home cooked meal, how hard can it be? I’ve cooked at home loads of times.

But I’m aiming for something better than mac n’ Cheese here.

It’s a lot sooner than later when I need Trent. And not just to help with the cooking.

More to help with the pan that’s on fire. Probably a good death for the steak though.

I knew I’d kinda ruined it before it burst into flames.

Midway through calling out for him, I feel his strong hands around me, lifting my feet clear off the ground as he puts me well away from any danger before lifting a lid from the counter and covering the pan, and shifting it off the stove he’s shut off.

Crisis over.

He opens the balcony door after to let the smoke out before the alarms go off, but only after asking me if I’m okay.

I feel my lip trembling, feeling stupid again. Feeling like I can’t do anything right.

“I just wanted to try to do something, just for you.” I sniff.

He comes over to me and lifts me up, cradling me in his huge arms as he carries me to the living room, setting me down on one of the huge leather couches.

“Just tell me you’re okay,” he says, stroking my hair back.

I start to list off all the things wrong.

The pan, the meat I ruined. The smoke.

“I just wanted to make you a special dinner,” I groan.

But he doesn’t care about any of that. He only cares about me.

“What’s special, what means most to me Brooke is having you here. Not what you can or can’t cook. Just you being here is all I need,” he says tenderly, making my heart melt because he’s so sincere about it. So forgiving about the fact I’ve just ruined his kitchen as well as our dinner.

“We can order in,” he says, reading my mind.

“Just not steak,” I add.

“Okay, not steak,” he chuckles.

I don’t think I’ll be able to look at a steak or a frying pan for at least a month, maybe more.