The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(71)

If I was distracted before, I was totally useless as I stared at the door, waiting to see who would fill the vacant seats. Indie was sitting diagonally across from me, and her eyes took in my panic.

I knew the minute he walked in the door. I had been looking down at my cell phone in my lap, desperately trying anything to keep distracted, when a faint murmur began. The sound grew as the men made their way into the restaurant. Brody was with the offensive-line coach.

He didn’t see me at first, but I couldn’t look away. He looked sad, tired even, his normally cocky smile nowhere to be found. It opened a crack in me, and I was suddenly nervous that a wave of emotions would smash that crack open wide, and I wouldn’t be able to control myself sitting in the restaurant.

Halfway to his table, he stopped. I watched his eyes roam the room, searching for something. Since the day I’d met Brody, I’d felt him before I could see him. It seemed impossible, so I thought it was just my crazy romantic heart playing tricks on me. But when his eyes landed on mine, I knew I wasn’t crazy. He had felt me in the room and searched for me.

Our gazes locked. The impact of seeing the hurt in his dimmed green eyes was like a direct blow to the chest. I felt as though someone had kicked my chest open with a steel-toed boot and reached in and gripped my heart in their hand.

We stayed that way for a few seconds, yet it felt like so much longer. Then, somehow, his eyes managed to hold mine while they swept over the table. His jaw tightened at finding Michael Langley sitting next to me. I saw the shutters go up on the window of pain in his eyes, right before he turned his head and walked to his table.

“What the hell just happened?” Marvin said. The entire table had been watching the exchange go down. With his head buried in equipment, Marvin was quite possibly the only person at the station who didn’t know about my relationship with Brody.

Indie kicked Marvin under the table and answered for me. “Just some baller making goo-goo eyes at a pretty girl.”

The waitress appeared from nowhere. “Are you ready to order your main course?”

“I’ll have an apple martini.”

“Okay. And for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Indie mumbled, “Shit,” under her breath. Rightly so. I wasn’t much of a drinker. And the last time I drank martinis, I was in bed for two days. I couldn’t even remember half the night. At the time, I’d thought it was the scariest thing ever and never wanted to get that drunk again. But right then, I wanted whatever it would take to make me forget. And fast.

During my first martini, I stole fleeting glances at Brody.

During my second martini, I glared at him like he had just kicked my dog.

After my third martini, I could barely hold back tears.

He never looked my way all night.

Indie saw my face and wrapped up dinner as quickly as possible. When we stood to leave, I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They came so fast, they blurred my vision. When I wiped them away, the only thing that was clear was Brody staring at me from the other side of the restaurant.

***

I nosedived into the bed. Indie tried to get me to undress, but I was dead weight. She only succeeded in rolling me over and tugging my jacket off. She slipped off my shoes. “You okay?”

I nodded and pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. At least the crying had stopped.

“I’m going to wash my face and brush my teeth. You need anything?”

I shook my head. Alcohol made me mute.

She was tying her hair into a knot on top of her head when there was a soft knock at the door. She went to the door, sighed loudly and walked back to me. “It’s Brody. I’ll get rid of him. Stay here.”

I nodded, doubting if I could get up even if I wanted to.

“Is she okay?” Brody’s voice was low.

“She’s fine. Just needs a good night’s sleep.”

“I want to see her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You seem like a good friend. But just so you know ahead of time, I’m going to lift you up and deposit you outside this door if you don’t move out of my way.”

“Brody . . . ” Indie warned.

I stumbled from the bed. “Let him in. It’s fine. I’m drunken not so much.”

Indie shook her head. “Drunken not so much, huh?”

I waved her off with my hand. “He’s used to it. Dealing with plastered women. Right, Beaston?” (My attempt at Brody Easton obviously had failed.) Maybe that’s what I should have done. Smoked some heroin and then he’d fall deeply in love.”

Brody’s jaw flexed.

I turned to Indie, wrinkling my nose. “Do you even smoke heroin?”

Indie shrugged; she looked very uncomfortable standing between us. She turned to me, cupped my face in her hands and held my eyes. “Do you want me to stay?”

I covered her hands with mine. “I’m fine.”

She searched my face, then nodded. Walking straight up to the hulking, brooding man standing in the doorway, she jabbed her finger into his chest. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. If you hurt her any more . . . so help me God. I’ll blow the first guy from housekeeping with a set of passkeys, sneak into your room while you’re sleeping, and when you wake up, you’ll think Lorena Bobbitt had visited.”