Текст книги "The End Game"
Автор книги: Kate McCarthy
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 28 страниц)
Brody replies and his voice is stilted and thick, as if the words are hard to get out. “He didn’t. The problem is that these two people are the ones he’s been trying to please all his life. He knows he never will, not as long as he plays football, but maybe one day he’ll be great, and what they think won’t matter so much anymore.”
My lips tremble and I press them together.
“But then something amazing happened.”
“What?” I ask, needing to hear something good.
“Not what, but who. What this little boy didn’t realize, was that it wasn’t just football that was going to be the best thing that ever happened to him.”
My breath catches. “Brody.”
“This little boy grew up and he met a girl. She was the first person to see all of who he was, and still believe in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. She was smart, and pretty, and god, so wholesome he wanted to defile her with wicked words and hot sex. But this girl was far too serious, so he made her laugh and taught her that it’s okay to sometimes let go.” Brody takes a deep breath and lets it out. “This girl was utterly perfect, and he was so scared of disappointing her like he did his parents, that he fucked up by pushing her away before it happened.”
Silent tears fall down my cheeks. One after the other they drip from my face and plop onto the sheets below me. I sit up in my bed, wiping them away with my palm. I realize this isn’t a game Brody’s playing, yet he’s won regardless. He’s under my skin—a part of me now—whether I want him or not. And I want him.
“You know what I think?”
“What?” he asks.
I affect a casual tone, but inside my heart is racing. “I think that if the boy told this story to the girl, that she would get it, and that if he still wants to take her out for pizza, she’d tell him her soccer game starts at three o’clock so don’t be late.”
I can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Yes, ma’am.”
A teasing smile forms on my lips. “And if he still wants to defile her, well … he should know that turnabout is fair play.”
A pained groan comes through the phone. He releases a harsh breath. “It was the knock-knock jokes that did it, wasn’t it?” I laugh and he groans a second a time. “God, Jordan, I love that sound.”
I suck in a breath. I don’t want to wait. I want Brody now.
“Hell,” I hear him mumble softly.
“Brody?”
“It’s late. I’ve kept you up. Goodnight, Jordan,” he says and then I get dial tone. Just like that he’s gone, but as I set my phone on the bedside table, the smile on my face is still there.
Brody
“Why the hell are we still doing this?” Damien grumbles. “Jordan already agreed to go out with you tonight. We don’t need plan B anymore.”
Eddie shoots him a glare. Being the size of a mountain, his intimidation factor is usually off the charts. This afternoon it does nothing because Eddie, like the rest of us, is dressed in a cheerleading outfit. It comes complete with a skirt and the pompoms we lifted from the squad room. “Shut up, assface. Brody’s trying to be supportive of his girl.”
Damien snorts. “Just turning up to watch Jordan play should be enough.”
A growl emanates from Eddie’s chest. Plan B was his idea, generated from the locker room after training when we were high on endorphins. Now he believes after the entire hour we put in to practice our routine, we need to see it through. “Love is all about grand gestures. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re a hopeless romantic, Eddie, but we love you anyway.” Carter grins and slaps Eddie on the back as he steps up to the side of the field. He has two miniscule pigtails of hair tied up in ribbons, the only one willing to take it that far. It was hard enough finding a supersized skirt in our college colors that would fit Eddie.
With the game starting in fifteen minutes, we’re up soon. As the eight of us—including Jax and three other guys from the team—group by the sidelines, we start garnering attention. Necks strain in our direction and cameras start clicking. My Texas Bulls cap sits on my head, hiding my face. I set it backwards and turn, giving those closest a wink and a wave. Delighted laughter rings out at my gesture.
When the two soccer teams emerge from the locker rooms, the announcer comes on with perfect timing. His voice booms around the stadium gleefully. “We have something very special for your pre-game entertainment this afternoon, folks. Everyone please welcome to the field, The Colton Bullettes!”
“We’re up,” Eddie informs us and gives Damien a shove in the back. He stumbles on to the field.
We jog out behind him to the symphony of catcalls, unrestrained laughter, and suggestive hollers. I raise one pompom-ed arm up high and shake it, playing it up for the crowd. A breeze ripples down low across the field, fluttering my skirt. My motherfucking skirt. Damien’s right. Of all the dumb things I’ve done, this is up there.
We get in position by forming a line, legs shoulder-width apart, and hands on our hips. “Shake It Off,” by Taylor Swift blares out from the stadium speakers, filling the huge space with loud base and a girly pop sound. Cameras flash and I cringe. It’s not going to be pretty. There is no doubt this will cause a social media firestorm.
Our routine begins and already Carter bounces the wrong way. Eddie slaps him on the ass and he turns quickly. Our hips are grinding and pompoms waving when I risk searching out Jordan. Her team is lined up on the sidelines. Most are dying of hysterical laughter. She has a hand covering her eyes as if she can’t bear watching, but her fingers are spread as she peeks through them, her gaze fixed on my every move. When she sees me looking, the smile that breaks across her face is brighter then sunshine. I wink playfully and grin. She laughs hard and shakes her head, her face bright red.
We finish up our routine with the big finale, which is four of the guys crouching down, and the other four leaping over the top. It’s basic leapfrog and as a wide receiver, it should be a skill I can handle in my sleep. Hell, even a five-year-old could ace the move, but I’m too busy watching Jordan. My aim is off when I leap over Eddie’s mountainous crouched form. I end up with my legs half wrapped around the back of his neck and we both go down.
Eddie squeals like a girl. “Get your motherfucking balls off my neck, you sick bastard!”
He rears up and I overturn and hit dirt. “Oww, dipshit!”
When I get to my feet, I brush the grass from my face and bow to the spectators. Jax saunters over, gasping with laughter. He slings an arm over my shoulder as we walk off to thunderous applause.
“Dude,” he says when he catches his breath. “I nailed it. You, not so much.”
I look across at Jordan. She’s jogging into position on the field, her expression serious. Their team is down to the wire. Winning this game will take them to the semifinals of the NCAA National Championships. A quick glance in my direction shows laughter in her eyes and color blooming on her cheeks. “I got out of it what I came to do.”
“You have it bad, cousin.” Jax pulls me into a chokehold. “Just remember it was me she wanted first.”
His obnoxious comments usually roll off my back, but this one sets my teeth on edge. I shove him off, my voice hard. “Fuck off, Jax.”
The unexpected anger throws me off balance, but Jax only laughs, unfazed. “But it’s you she loves for some weird, unfathomable reason.”
The very idea sets my heart thumping at a furious pace. I rub a hand across my chest, trying to soothe the frantic beat. “Maybe.”
We reach the edge of the field and Carter holds up a hand, giving me a high five. “Dude, what’s with your eyes?”
I shrug. “Nothing, why?”
Jax turns for a look, his expression morphing to a puzzled frown. “They’re red. And your pupils are huge. You feeling okay?”
Shit. I’ve been lethargic all week. Not the kind of tired that’s fixed with a nap, but an exhaustion set deep in my bones. The bottle of Adderall was still in my drawer. I’ve taken the pills on and off over the past month, and taking a few more earlier today didn’t feel like such a big deal. I wanted tonight with Jordan to be perfect. And doctors prescribe these pills, so how dangerous can they be? “I’m just tired.”
The lie makes me uneasy. Damien and I share a mutual glance. He reaches over and slaps my back. “Dude. You’re good, right?”
“Hell yeah.” I grin but it’s more a baring of teeth because I hear his underlying question. Damien gave me that full bottle with no intention of asking for it back. It makes me wonder how many he has, and where he got them from. It’s something I ought to question, but there’s too much on my plate right now. Besides, Damien and I have known each other since high school. He’s not a damn drug dealer. “Everything’s coming up daisies.”
The game is finished and I’m leaning up against the brick wall of the building opposite the locker room. I’m doing my best to appear unobtrusive and failing because of the damn skirt.
My gaze is pinned to the locker room door. Even though I know Jordan’s not the type, I’m not willing to risk a change of mind and have her sneak out. She’s the last one to emerge. The moment I see her everything else fades. Her eyes lift, clear blue hitting mine. Pink tints her cheeks and a slow smile forms. It rocks me down to my toes. Fuck, but I don’t know how she undoes me this way. I unravel completely.
I give her a small wave. It’s a casual gesture that hides the welling emotion. She starts toward me. She looks beautiful with her hair out. Shiny waves spill over her shoulders and down her back. A black sweater hugs her top half and form-fitting jeans encase her legs, hiding nothing. God willing, I’ll be peeling those off later tonight and sinking myself inside her.
Jordan takes in my unchanged outfit as she gets closer and bites down on her bottom lip. “Ummm …”
I have a change of clothes in the car, but it can’t hurt to tease her a little first. I run a hand up one thickly muscled thigh and the hem of my skirt lifts suggestively. Is there anything more attractive then the hairy leg of a man in women’s clothing? “You like?”
A huff of laughter escapes her lips.
“I’m very expensive.” I purse my lips and scan her body. “But for you, twenty dollars.”
Jordan stops in front of me, brows high as she readjusts the heavy sports bag slung over her shoulder. “Are you hustling me?”
I cock my head. “That depends.”
“On?”
I sweep a hand down over my body. “On whether you want this fine specimen of man taking care of you tonight.”
Jordan’s lips part and she takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. There’s cockiness in her stance, and so much heat in her eyes it burns me to ash. “You plan on manhandling me?”
My breath comes a little faster and heat tightens my groin. “I do.”
Jordan leans closer and my mouth goes dry. “Good.”
Our date is a blur. We talk and laugh, and we share a beer in celebration of Jordan’s win—an advancement into the semifinals next week. Pride swells in my chest over her talent. Jordan’s played a huge part in putting the Colton Bulls soccer team on the map this year. Her passion is appealing and so goddamn sexy. She glows with it. When our waiter comes to take our food order, I can’t drag my eyes from where she sits across from me. I simply tell him we’ll take a large pepperoni pizza “to go.” I want her to myself.
We reach my car and I open the back door and toss the large box on the seat. It’s already forgotten when I slam the door closed and turn, finding Jordan right behind me on the sidewalk.
She’s waiting for me to pounce. It’s my usual modus operandi with her. I can’t help it. Jordan brings out the caveman inside me, but this time it’s different. This time it feels so much more. Simply grabbing and taking feels wrong.
I reach out, my palm gently cupping Jordan’s face. My fingers skim down her cheek, the whisper of a touch on her soft skin. She shivers visibly and let’s out a shaky breath. I can’t describe the craving in my chest right now. It’s so far beyond anything I’ve ever felt before that it’s an effort to go slow.
“You’re extraordinary, Jordan Matilda Elliott,” I say quietly.
Jordan chuckles lightly. “I try.”
I know by her flippant tone that I’ve flustered her. Lighthearted humor is how she creates her little barriers when I’ve overwhelmed her. I like it. And I like that I see it for what it is, because it tells me I need to push a little harder rather than back away.
“You don’t even need to try.” My hand slides around the back of her neck and tugs gently, bringing her face to mine. “You just are,” I say against her lips.
My mouth brushes hers. She brings her hands between us, lightly fisting my shirt when I go to draw away. I’m pulled back and her lashes sweep upwards, her eyes wide and searching mine.
Then Jordan does something that almost brings me to my knees. She wraps her arms around me and hugs me. I’ve grown up in a family where love and warmth is non-existent. Where emotional abuse and harsh words are an acceptable form of affection. How did Jordan know how much I needed this when even I didn’t know?
Her lips brush my ear. “You are too, Brody.”
My body begins to quake. I snake my arms around her lower back and hold on.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I bury my face in her neck and breathe deep, closing my eyes because I’m so in love with this girl I can’t even see straight. “If I wasn’t, I am now.”
Eventually, I let her go so we can leave. When we’re inside the car driving to her apartment, I take her hand in mine. Linking our fingers, I rest them on my thigh and ask about her life in Australia.
She turns her head to stare out the window. It’s a touchy subject. She misses home and Nicky, but I want to know everything. “Did you ride a kangaroo to school?”
She groans and rolls her eyes.
“I assume that’s a no?”
“Despite what people might think, kangaroos don’t roam the streets willy nilly.”
I laugh. “Of course they do. I saw it on the internet, so it must be true. And did you just say willy nilly? What does that even mean?”
Jordan glances over at me, her lips twitching. “It means you won’t see them bounding across suburban streets when you’re out for a walk.”
“Say no more. You’re ruining the fantasy,” I tell her, bringing her hand with me when I change gears. “So your brother. You said he’s in construction, right?”
Jordan stiffens. I feel it when her hand tightens in mine. “He is.”
“How did he get into that?”
“Family friend,” she says.
It’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I do. “Is that what he’s always wanted to do?”
“No.” She pulls her hand from mine, withdrawing like a damn turtle back in its shell. “It’s not what he ever wanted to do.”
Pulling into the parking lot, I apply the handbrake and switch off the ignition. It leaves nothing but heavy silence between us and a light ticking sound of the warm engine cooling down.
“He was a better soccer player than I was.”
I twist in my seat to look at her. “Was?”
She swallows visibly, her eyes falling to where her hands fidget in her lap. “If my career was going to the stratosphere, his was going to the stars.” A tear rolls down her cheek and plops on to her jeans. Another one follows. She dashes it away with her palm before it falls.
I feel it. Her distress. It squeezes my chest, and now I’m angry with myself for pushing too hard. How are you supposed to get the balance right?
Yanking out the keys, I get out of the car. Walking around the back, I reach the passenger door and open it. “Jordan.”
Her lips are a tight white line that trembles. She shakes her head and I know speaking right now is too much.
“Baby,” I whisper. Taking both her hands I pull her from the car and fold her in my arms. I can only hope it offers her the same comfort it does for me, because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how long we stay like that, with Jordan crushed to my chest. A minute. An eternity. All I know is that I’ll never tire of holding her this way.
“He was driving the car,” she eventually says, her voice muffled because her face is buried in my neck.
The car? For a moment I don’t get it, and then the light goes on.
“We were only sixteen, not long having had our learners permits. Nicky loved driving. He pestered our parents all the time to go. It was night when it happened, and the streets quieter then. Mom decided to go with them last minute. She needed something from the store. I can’t even remember what, but I remember her picking up her purse, joking that dad would get the wrong thing like he always does.” Jordan takes a deep, shaky breath but keeps her head buried. “Another car barreled straight through an intersection and slammed into the passenger side. My parents were killed instantly. Nicky’s left leg was broken in three different places. Otherwise he was okay, physically. But he was trapped in the car. Nicky couldn’t move.” The absolute horror of what her brother went through sickens me. Jordan burrows in further and my arms around her tighten. “He was stuck in that damn car and couldn’t do anything.”
Apologies feel useless right now, but it’s all I have to offer. “I’m so sorry.”
Jordan pushes from my embrace. Her head is downcast as she wipes her face. “It was five years ago.” She shrugs and finally looks at me. “You think it would hurt less by now, but Nicky … His leg healed, but not his heart. We never had much, not even insurance, so he gave up soccer. School too. He took the construction job so he could take care of the both of us.”
Respect for her brother hits me hard. The inner strength it would take to give up your dream and hand it over to someone else. That’s not huge. It’s enormous. And now Jordan’s doing everything she can to be worth the sacrifice. My lips graze her forehead.
Jordan lets out a shaky breath and lifts her chin. “Will you come up?”
A faint smile reaches my lips. “Don’t expect me to say no.”
When we reach her room, I have a plan. Slow and tender. But Jordan blows it out of the water. She shuts the bedroom door behind us and peels away her sweater. She comes at me, unfastening the back hook of her bra and flinging it away. At the same time, she splays a hand against my chest and shoves. It’s not enough to push me down, but I get the hint and sink to the edge of the bed.
“I thought you wanted to be manhandled?”
“I do,” she says, tugging her jeans down. It’s an effort, one I’m thoroughly enjoying watching. Peeling one leg off of her right foot, Jordan goes for the other and pitches forward.
We fall back on the bed with her landing on top of me. Before I can grab skin, she’s rolling off, panting as she pulls the other leg over her foot and throws her jeans to the floor.
My cock is already hard. She’s driving me insane and all she’s done is rip her clothes off like a maniac.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking in her black lace panties—what little there is of them. It’s not her usual practical attire. The little black scrap is provocative and indecent. It sets my pulse skyrocketing, but it’s anger that drives my next question. “Have you worn these for anyone else?”
Jordan pauses at my tone and looks at me. “What?”
The sudden surge of anger is irrational, but I can’t seem to get a handle on it. “You heard me.”
“Brody,” she breathes. Untangling her long legs, she gets up off the bed. Her black sweater is half hanging from the bedside table. She picks it up and shrugs it back on.
My fisted hands rest on my knees, knuckles white. Sweat dots my brow and my heart is pounding a hard unnatural beat. What the fucking hell is wrong with me? “I’m sorry.”
Jordan
Brody’s jealous outburst is like icy water dashed in my face. I turn and look at him. His head is downcast and jaw tight. I don’t understand his anger. No, I haven’t worn this underwear for anyone else, not that I’m telling him that because it shouldn’t matter. In actual fact, the bra and panties are new, and the guilt from the reckless purchase left me sick. My pillaged bank account was left devastated, but I told myself it would be worth it to see Brody’s face.
Brilliant plan, Jordan, I snort to myself.
Not that I expected this reaction. I should have. Lately, when I expect Brody to go right, he goes left. Down? He goes up. The unpredictability is insane.
“Save it,” I tell him.
Yanking on the handle, I throw the bedroom door open and stomp toward the kitchen, my heart pounding a furious beat. I’m only in my sweater and tiny scrap of black lace, but it doesn’t matter because Leah is at Hayden’s apartment tonight.
“Jordan,” Brody calls out and follows behind me.
My eyes land on the pizza box we set on the kitchen counter earlier. Perfect. That’s exactly what I need right now—carbs and calories. Ripping open the kitchen cupboard, I grab plates. They make a loud, satisfying clank when I dump them on the counter.
“Jordan, I’m sorry,” Brody implores from behind me.
“I heard you the first time,” I tell him, my voice terse as I rummage for paper napkins. I’m not sure we have any. Hayden goes through them like candy because he never stops eating. It stupidly fuels my anger. I spin around hard. “Maybe you shouldn’t waste your apologies. At the rate you’re burning through them, you’ll have none left soon.”
Brody flinches at my snide tone. I barely notice. I want to throw the entire pizza box at his head, delicious carbs be damned. I don’t. Coming from a family that’s never had much, the idea of wasting food makes my toes curl.
“Are you going to start trying to control everything I wear from now on? Because if you’re going to be a jealous dick all the time, I’d really like a heads-up on that.”
“Shit, Jordan.” He rakes fingers through his hair, leaving it in messy tufts on his head. “No. I would never do that. I love you in anything you wear. And those panties …” He exhales audibly, waving a hand at them as if he has no idea what to say. “I am a jealous dick. The thought of another guy seeing you the way I do makes me see red.”
This argument is as ridiculous as his outburst. “I don’t plan on any other guy seeing me this way!”
We stare at each other for a beat of silence. After a moment, Brody ducks his head. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes, a stupid grin pulling at his cheeks. “You don’t?”
Damn him. “No!”
Brody takes a step toward me. His eyes fall to my mouth, and down lower. I take a step back. My lower back presses into the counter behind me. There’s no more room for me to move.
“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he says.
The acute relief in his voice deflates my anger like a limp balloon. It annoys me because I want to be angry. I want to make him work for my forgiveness, but how can I when all he has to do is smile like that to get it?
Brody takes two more slow, deliberate steps forward, his eyes holding mine, using them to pin me in place. It ramps up my pulse. I’m being stalked. “Let me make it up to you.”
I don’t need to ask how. Brody’s intent is written all over his face. The way he looks at me, like nothing else exists for him, sets off a heavy, pulsing ache between my legs. My body responds to him so easily, and it’s scary. I want him, but I never expected this level of need. This thing between us is a freight train. Nothing seems able to stop it. Not me. Not him. Maybe not even distance.
I barely process the thought with Brody now standing in my space, his wide shoulders crowding me. His massive hands settle on my hips.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
“Let me.”
One of his palms slides around my belly and down, gliding lower until he’s cupping me over my panties. He rubs his whole hand between my legs, back and forth, back and forth, a slow steady rhythm designed to send me mad.
Brody’s chest expands as he breathes in deep through his nose, keeping himself in check. His eyes are watching me, reading my reaction.
My lips part and a small moan escapes. Touch me. God. Please.
That’s all it takes.
He wrenches my panties aside, and a thick finger glides through the slick, swollen heat of me.
“Fuck.” His exhale is harsh and he groans. “Jordan.”
The relief from his touch is instantaneous. Yes. God, thank you. But it’s not enough. My hips rock forward, a silent demand for more. His lips land on mine, tongue thrusting inside my mouth at the same time his finger pushes inside me.
The invasion forces a pleasured whimper from my throat. Brody swallows the sound, kissing me so hard it almost hurts. My hands grab his shoulders, holding on before I buckle beneath the pressure.
He draws back, panting, long enough to rasp, “Your sweater. Get it off.”
I barely get it past my shoulders when his mouth latches onto my nipple. Brody sucks it deep in his mouth, all the while his finger keeps up its steady assault, plunging inside and then pulling out to stroke over my clit, again and again. My breath hitches at the relentless onslaught. I wrench the sweater over my head and it drops to the floor, already forgotten when he picks me up and sets me on the counter.
“Oh god,” I gasp as he sucks open, wet kisses down my belly.
Brody drops lower, spreading my thighs wide. His gaze settles between my legs and he bites down on his lip.
I squirm. “Brody. Please.”
His eyes lift, lust-filled and dark. They hold mine as he takes the thin, elastic strap of my panties in his fists and drags them down and off. His eyes drop. I’m completely exposed, wearing nothing while he’s still fully dressed. I don’t care. I need him, any which way he wants to give himself to me.
Brody dips further down, between my thighs. Rough palms glide along my outer legs. He urges them over his broad shoulders. I comply, squealing when he grabs hold of my waist and stands. His strength is immense, each defined muscle bunching tight as he takes my weight.
My ankles lock around him, my thighs bracketing either side of his head. I dig my fingers into his hair, clinging unsteadily on his shoulders. Right before I think I’m about to pitch to the floor, he turns and shoves my back against the high kitchen cupboards behind me, his breath warm and harsh on my clit.
“I want to eat you every which way, Jordan,” he tells me in a tone that leaves no doubt he means what he says. A single moment later he strokes me with the flat of his tongue. I moan long and hard, my head falling back and hitting the cabinet with a thunk. “Oh god.”
My hands shift to his shoulders. The rounded muscles are solid and thick beneath my grasp—straining. My fingers dig in hard and he grunts a sound of pleasure as his tongue plunges deeper inside me.
I know I’m safe—Brody’s hands on me are hard and secure, yet I still feel dizzy and overheated. My head is near the ceiling and my heart pounds feverishly. My gasps and moans get louder and closer together as his mouth feasts on me, his tongue lapping steadily as my orgasm approaches.
“Need you, Brody,” I pant, because I desperately do. I need his body naked and locking me tight before I come apart at the seams.
He moves steady and slow, lowering me back to the counter with another grunt. Released from the tension of holding on, my thighs tremble. Brody steps back, grabbing at the neckline of his shirt and tugging it over his head.
“Hurry,” I urge, though I don’t think he can move faster than he already is.
Brody tugs a condom from his pants pocket, and I’m thankful he’s being smart because I’m too impatient to care. He tears at the little foil packet desperately, fingers fumbling. “Dammit,” he mumbles.
“I need to go on the pill,” I tell him, impatient.
“Do that,” he says, managing to get the condom free. Holding it in one hand, he uses the other to undo the button and zipper on his jeans. Shoving them down his thighs, he pulls his thick cock free of his underwear and rolls it on. “Next week. I’ll come with you.”
I shift forward on the counter, spreading my thighs in invitation. He moves between them. Our breath comes in pants and my gaze drops, settling on the swollen head of his cock pushing inside me. With an agonizingly slow thrust, Brody fills me. Our chests press together, both our hearts thumping a manic beat. Then he stills and bows his head, resting his forehead against my breastbone. I feel his breath on my naked skin, hot and heavy.
He swallows, his voice choked. “Nothing feels better than you, Jordan.”
Without lifting his head, Brody pulls out slowly and thrusts back in, sinking himself deeper.
I rake fingers through his silky hair and whisper his name, my eyes burning with sudden emotion. How could I let this happen? I fly halfway across the world chasing a dream and end up with the hottest, brightest, sweetest love I’ll ever have the chance of knowing. Brody is exciting and turbulent, charming and sexy, and deeply tortured down beneath the surface.
The man buried inside me right now is wildly imperfect, and I want forever with him.
I wake late in the morning. A simple shift of my hips and I’m groaning. I ache everywhere, but it’s a delicious ache. It’s the kind that only two bouts of incredible sex can produce. Drawing in a deep breath of air, my lungs expand as I roll in bed, stretching sore muscles and seeking out Brody.
He’s at my desk, idly swinging in the swivel chair. My laptop sits open. He’s talking to someone in between taking bites of the cold pizza slice resting in his hand. My brow furrows. Is he on the phone? I shift up on one elbow, tugging the covers up with me.
No doubt hearing the sheets rustle, Brody turns and a smug grin lights his face. Instantly, I’m wary.
“Oh, she finally wakes,” he says.
“That must have been one hell of a soccer game,” my brother responds.
Brody stifles a snort.
What in the everloving hell? My eyes snap to the computer screen. Nicky waves. It’s summer time there and the ends of his hair look dipped in gold from the sun—bright and brilliant to my tired gaze.
I rub a hand over my eyes. Have I woken to an alternate universe where my brother and Brody have become best mates overnight? It seems so.
Taking a huge bite of pizza, Brody holds out the slice in my direction. His eyes are wide as he chews, his face overly bright as if he hasn’t slept at all. He swallows. “Want a bite?”
“No,” I croak, though secretly I do. Cold pizza for breakfast is a shameful weakness of mine and I’m starving, but I have no plans to languish naked in bed, eating pepperoni and cheese while my boyfriend and brother chat in the same room together. It’s weird. And wrong. And did I mention weird? “What’s going on?”
