The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(51)

“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?”

“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?”