“You should go to California for the summer, like you planned,” I continue, trying to sound sure of myself.
He laughs bitterly. “That was never my plan. My mom is the one who made me promise to leave, the night of the interview. She saw the way I looked at you, and she knew right away what was going on. So she convinced me that I needed to distance myself and be a hundred percent sure my head was clear before I acted on it.”
Maybe that celebrity rag that reported Brett’s mom threatening to disown him wasn’t so far off after all.
It’s as if he can read my mind. “It’s not because she disapproves of you, Cath. She thinks the world of you. She just didn’t want either of us to get hurt because we weren’t thinking straight.”
“My mom basically said the same thing.” Though from her point of view, the only possible outcome was that I would get hurt. That would be her worst-case scenario, and the best way to avoid that scenario was to be practical and never risk it in the first place. As Jack said, she plays it safe and doesn’t take risks.
“Maybe they know something. Maybe we should listen to them.” As much as I hate to admit it.
“And what? Sit around for the summer, trying to convince myself that what I’m feeling for you is just gratitude?” His stunning eyes settle on me. “Life is too short to do what other people think you should do. That’s what I know.” His gaze dips to my mouth. “Then again, I’ve never let fear hold me back.”
Then you’ve never been crushed before. That’s where Brett and I differ. What he calls fear is what I call being smart, being responsible, and thinking about Brenna.
“You don’t believe me, do you? That this isn’t just gratitude.”
“No,” I answer bluntly.
His lips press together, as if he’s searching for a way to convince me. And all I can do is stare at that mouth, so soft and lush and appealing. Thoughts of it grazing mine that night send blood rushing through my body.
“What would make you trust me? What do you want to know? Ask me whatever you want, and I’ll tell you. I’m an open book.”
That’s quite the open invitation.
I want to know everything. Every trivial detail. His favorite music, his favorite color, his favorite TV show. Does he still talk to his childhood friends? How close are he and his sister? Does he sleep on his stomach or on his back? Does he cook, or does he have someone do that for him?
Has he ever had a broken heart?
“Why did you and Courtney break up?” What kind of friends are you? The kind that occasionally screw? Where did she sleep while she was visiting you in Toronto? I will the silent, painful questions to stop so I can actually listen to his answer.
“Because she lied to me.”
That’s not the answer I expected. “About what?”
“About something that she didn’t trust me to handle properly. I can’t tell you exact details, but the details aren’t important anyway. She didn’t trust me with the truth.”
“And you’re big on truth.” I remember his advice to me the day of the interview.
A soft, secretive smile touches his lips, as if he’s also remembering the moment in my bedroom.
I choose my next words carefully. “Was it . . . Did she have a choice about lying?”
“Everyone has a choice.”
“But I mean, was there a good reason for her to lie?”
“Is there ever? Especially when it’s to someone you say you love?”
“I guess not.” I hesitate. “Did you love her?”
His lips twist in thought. “I probably would have, given enough time.”
“But you’re still friends.” Perhaps friends who might reconcile for real?
Again, it’s like he can read my mind. “We wouldn’t have lasted as more, to be honest. It took the accident for me to figure it out.”
Unexpected relief fills me. “Why not?”
“We want different things in life. She loves the cameras and the attention, and being splashed on magazine covers everywhere. She wants fame. She’s the type of person you’d expect to see on a reality TV show.”
I shudder, and he laughs.
“Yeah, that has never been my thing either, and I think I would have gotten sick of it eventually. I want simpler things in life. I want . . .” His eyes drift to his casted leg, stretched out in front of him. “I want to play again, to have a family . . . I don’t know. A normal, quiet life, I guess. Or as normal and quiet as it will ever be, anyway. And I want someone in my life who wants those things, too.”
Someone like me, I will myself to hear.
“So . . . what now? With Courtney, I mean? She’s okay with pretending?” I don’t hide the doubt in my voice. How on earth would any woman who loved Brett and lost him be willing to pretend for the sake of another woman?
Brett’s face turns grim. “I wasn’t expecting her to be all over me at the game. I should have anticipated it, because that’s Courtney. She knew the cameras were on us and I wouldn’t be able to react. She backed off after I told her to stop, but I know what it looked like.” He adds softly, “I know what it must have looked like to you.”
My jealously flares as I imagine that blonde, beautiful woman pressing herself against him.
“She told Simone she was okay with it, but it seems she was hoping it would lead to something real. So I made her leave the next day and agree not to say a word about us, one way or another. Let people believe we’re together for a few more weeks, at least. But I won’t let anything like that ever happen again, I promise.” Brett frowns. “You still don’t believe me, though. I can tell.”
“The last time a guy told me that a relationship with his ex was just for show . . . he ended up marrying her.”
“The teacher?” Brett asks softly.
After a moment, I nod.
“I’m not him, Cath.”
“I know you aren’t. I just . . . I’m scared, and trying to be smart.”
Slowly, tentatively, he reaches over to take the key from my waiting palm, his fingertips skating over mine in a slow, intimate way.
My heart races inside my chest as I watch him turn the key over and over within his grasp. Finally he focuses on my face again, his eyes settling on my mouth. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?”
I inhale sharply as my cheeks flush.
He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I won’t try, not in front of all these people. And not until you tell me it’s what you want.”
I let out a shaky breath.
The weight of the gold key settles back in my palm at the same time that Brett’s giant hand folds over mine, his fingers weaving through, the tips settling on my lap. “We can take it as slow as you want.”
There’s so much strength in his grasp, and I feel that overwhelming urge to let go of every worry, every fear, every inhibition. “I’m not sure that slow is possible.” I can’t even think straight when I’m near him, when he’s touching me. All I can do is feel.
And all I want to feel is him.