I caught the pen she was continually tossing in the air. “I have to be away an extra day now. Thought I only needed one on-air outfit. I need to get to the dry cleaner’s before they close. Which means I’m out for yoga tonight.”
“No yoga?” She pouted.
I began packing up my desk for the day. “Nope. I’ll just have to work out with Brody tonight,” I teased.
“Rough life. You’re going to get laid by your gorgeous quarterback boyfriend tonight, then fly off for a romantic night away with Michael Langley.”
“It won’t be romantic.”
“The way that man looks at you, my guess is it won’t be from lack of him trying.”
***
Brody and I had dinner plans at his hotel tonight. I texted him that I was going to be late, but by the time I finished running my errands for the trip tomorrow, I was even later than I had planned. When I arrived at the Regency, Brody was sitting at the bar inside Silver Ivy. Siselee, the batting-eyelash waitress, was sitting across from him at the table, wearing her uniform.
“Hi.” Neither of them had noticed me walk up.
Hearing my voice, Brody swung in my direction, knocking a glass clear across the table as he turned. It fell to the floor and shattered. All eyes in the bar took notice. “There she is!” he said loudly. When I came within his reach, he wrapped one arm around my waist and tugged me toward him. A busboy immediately ran over and began to clean up the mess.
“Our guy’s had a little too much to drink,” Siselee said.
Our guy?
“He had a bad day,” she continued. Her high-and-mighty tone was irritating, and I fought the urge to put her in her place. Instead, I spoke to Brody.
“Hey. You okay?” He was definitely drunk. In his attempt to open his eyes wider, he actually tilted his head back. As if tipping his head back might help the lids snap open.
He smiled and snuggled into me—head first into my chest, of course. “I’m great. Now that you’re here.”
“Did you eat anything?”
“Nope. I was waiting for you.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think I’d be this late.”
“That’s okay. Siselee kept me company.”
I bet she did.
Once the busboy had cleaned up the mess, Siselee was back with a tumbler filled with a clear liquid.
“I hope that’s water.”
“I brought him a fresh drink.”
“I don’t think he needs it.”
“Sure, I do.”
Siselee looked at me with a patronizing I-told-you-so face. “It’s Tuesday.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“It’s the only day he allows himself to have a few drinks.”
“Yes. But from the looks of things, I think we’ve skipped past a few and landed on overserved.”
“He had a bad day.”
“You know what, I think we’re going to get something to eat in the restaurant instead of eating in the bar.”
As I led Brody to the hostess station, the extent of his drunkenness became that much more apparent. His arm dangled around my shoulders, and he was actually leaning on me a little. “How about if we skip the restaurant and order room service?” I said.
“How about if we skip room service, and I eat you?”
“Even a perv when you’re drunk, I see.” I chuckled.
Upstairs in Brody’s suite, I ordered a light dinner for two. Although I wasn’t too sure that Brody would be awake by the time the food came.
He was fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, so I helped him undress while he sat on the bed.
“While you’re down there . . . ” Brody snickered when I kneeled down to untie his shoes.
“I think you might be too inebriated for even that.” I slipped off his second shoe and rested my hands on his knees.
Brody slid my hand from his knee to between his legs, cupping my fingers around his hard-on. “I could see right down your shirt while you untied my shoes. I’m not so drunk that I couldn’t take ’em off. I just liked the view.”
I laughed. “Why don’t you shower before dinner comes? Might sober you up a bit more.”
“Are you taking one with me?”
“Not this time.”
“All right. But I’m not taking care of myself while I’m in there. I’m saving that for you when I’m out.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
The food I ordered arrived just before Brody finished in the bathroom. He came out wearing a towel wrapped around his waist—just like the first time I met him.
Two months ago, I would never have guessed that all of Brody Easton’s cocky arrogance only camouflaged his insecurities. Turns out, we weren’t so different after all. For the last seven years since Drew died, everyone had been telling me that I was avoiding real relationships because I was afraid to get hurt again. I didn’t see it . . . until I saw my own actions reflected back at me from Brody. We might have had different methods, but we were doing the same thing—protecting our hearts from loss again. You couldn’t get hurt if you didn’t let anyone in.
I set up our dinners at the dining room table. “Were you just bored waiting for me? Or did you really have a bad day?”
“Maybe a little of both.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat at the table.
“Did you have a bad practice today?”