daddy issues → brad simpson | ✓

15 - you got

BRADLEY

We were lying on my sofa, my arms wrapped around her from behind as we watched Russell Howard on Netflix. He was a comedian she had recommended watching and since Netflix in the UK is full of crap, I didn't see why not watching a bit of comedy.

She laughs at one of Russell's jokes and my eyes fall from the TV to her care free face. She shifts comfortably on the sofa and I loosen my arms so she has more room to shuffle before I tighten them again.

I liked holding Charlotte close to me, it was nice to hold someone in my arms, especially someone who I had been so intimate with—someone who knew every inch of my body as I knew theirs.

I let my chin rest on her head as she continues to watch the show and eventually my eyes end up fluttering shut and I was drifting off to sleep. It was only when Charlotte moved out of my grip and turned off the television that I open my eyes.

She looks over to me and smiles, "we can just go to bed. You're tired."

"I didn't get that much sleep last night," I mumble, a small smirk on my face as I remember why. "Are you tired?"

"Not really," she says, holding back a yawn. "Come on, we can go upstairs."

Moments later, I'm turning off the lights downstairs and following her up to my room like a lost puppy. We brush our teeth and climb into bed, the second time we had just slept in a bed without sleeping together.

Her hand was against my cheek as her thumb moved up and down against it, "you know when you left for a couple days? Where'd you go?"

"I went to visit my dad," I inhale sharply. I wasn't expecting her to ask about it. "We were trying to settle an argument."

"What are you arguing about?" She asks but quickly shakes her head. "Sorry, never mind. It's not business."

"It's fine," I chuckle, my hand falling to her waist as our chests brush against each other. "We never finished our game of twenty questions—we both have fifteen left. Well, you have thirteen left, technically since you've just asked me two questions."

She smiles up at me and I place a kiss to her forehead. I loved kissing her randomly, even if it was just a small, quick kiss. I was addicted to touching her whenever I could.

"And we were arguing about work," I answer her last question. "He wants me to take over the family business, I want to pursue a career in music."

"You'll have to sing me a song one day," she teases and I roll my eyes. "I'm kidding, you don't have to if you don't want to. And your dad is an ass, he should let you do what you want to do. It's your life, not his."

"I didn't know I'd signed up for a therapy session," I joke. "I get to ask a question now, right?"

"You just did, so it looks like it's my turn."

"I don't think so—it's my game, I'll make up the rules," I shake my head and she raises her eyebrows.

"It is not your game," she counters. "You can't change the rules. A question is a question."

"I think I can, actually."

"Can not—"

"Yes I can."

"No, Brad—"

"I can—"

"Let me speak—"

"Zip it—"

"I swear —"

"Shut up—"

"Make me—"

"Fine," I press my lips to hers softly, moulding together like clay. She takes a moment to respond and her hands travel to my hair but I pull away. "My question."