“Not too bad.” He lifted the silver cover off his dinner and looked at the Caesar salad I’d ordered him. “Tomorrow is going to suck with the hangover I’m already starting to feel coming on.”
“You don’t usually have more than one or two. Is everything okay?”
Brody rubbed the back of his neck. “Marlene had a visitor when I went to see her this morning.”
I suddenly lost my appetite. “Oh?”
“Willow. She thinks she can just walk back into our life and everything is going to be okay.”
Something about the phrase walk back into our life made me feel even more uneasy. “Did you two have a fight?”
“No.”
I nodded. We ate in silence for a few minutes.
“Just a lot of bad memories.”
I had no idea how to respond to that, so I didn’t. The air was thick, and it was difficult to swallow as we danced around other topics over dinner.
After dinner, Brody lay in bed while I brushed my teeth in the master bath with the door open. “I’m not going to be flying back with you Sunday night. The station is sending me to Miami after the game.”
“Oh yeah? Who you heading to interview?”
“Payton Mara.”
I finished brushing, pulled off the headband I wore while I washed my face, and was about to flick off the bathroom light when I noticed one of Brody’s jerseys hanging on the back of the door. It was a practice jersey, but his name was emblazoned on the back. My fingers brushed over each letter in the dark. E-a-s-t-o-n. I was totally falling for him. There was no way to stop it at this point. I just had to hope that when this fall was over, Brody was there to catch me.
Knowing why his head was where it was tonight, I had two choices. I could get into bed, snuggle up next to him, and wonder if he was thinking of her while we drifted off to sleep. Or . . . I could chase away those bad memories and leave no room for him to be thinking of anyone but me.
If I’m going to fall, I might as well free fall and enjoy the ride down.
Stripping off my T-shirt and sweats, as well as my underwear, I slipped the practice jersey over my head. It skimmed down to my ass, barely covering me. Perfect.
Brody was staring blankly at the TV, so I walked to the dresser it was mounted above and set down my folded clothes with a bend that revealed my entire bare ass.
“Fuck, I love that. My name across your back and that perfect round ass.”
I turned around and tilted my head coyly. “Thought you were sleepy?”
“I’d have to be dead to fall asleep with you looking like that.” His voice dropped lower. “Turn back around.”
“You just want to look at your own name,” I teased, but I turned around anyway. The bed creaked as he got up.
“I’d brand my name across that ass if I could.”
Crude, but the sentiment made me swoon a bit nonetheless.
His footsteps vibrated on the floor as he walked to me. Warm breath tickled my neck when he leaned down and spoke into my ear. “Bend over. I want to use you.” He rubbed my shoulders. “I’m a little drunk and want to forget anything else exists for a while. Except me, inside you. Where everything feels right. You good with that, babe?”
I swallowed and nodded. It was exactly what I wanted. No room for anything except the two of us. At least for tonight.
Chapter 26
Willow
Sunday afternoon, I had just turned off the game when there was a knock on my door so light I wasn’t even sure that it was a knock until the second rap came.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. Abby Little from across the hall.”
As I unbolted the double set of locks, it struck me as funny that she felt compelled to use her last name. As if “Abby from across the hall” wouldn’t be enough to identify her. Or even just “Abby.”
“Hey there.”
“Can I come in?”
I glanced over her head to the shut apartment door behind her. “Sure. Does your mom know you’re here?”
“She’s got company. She told me to come see if you were home.”
That didn’t sound good. “Is one of your aunts or uncles over?” I didn’t even know if she had any.
“No. It’s the tired guy.”
“What tired guy?”
“The one who makes Mommy tired.”
Coming down off a high would do that to you. My apartment was pretty lame—other than the TV, there wasn’t much for a five-year-old to do. I honestly wasn’t even sure what a five-year-old did do. “Do you have homework?”
“No.”
I didn’t have a kitchen table, only a single lonely stool that was counter height. I lifted Abby up and sat her on it. “Want a snack?”