The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(78)

“But you still think I have feelings for her. The same kind of feelings I have for you.”

She looked away. “I don’t know what I think.”

“Look at me, Delilah.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“You wanna know what I think? I think you loved Drew the same way I loved Willow. And when you lost him, it hurt for a really long time. So much so that you were afraid to do it again.” I wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “This whole time I thought you were afraid to fall in love with me, that I was the problem.

“It’s not you.”

“I know that now. You’re just afraid to fall.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. This makes my job much easier.”

“Easier? How?”

“Changing me was going to be a lot of work, but proving to you that if you’ll take a chance on me, I’ll be there to catch you won’t be as hard. Let’s face it, I’m an *. It ain't easy to change an *.”

She laughed through her tears. “I think I just need time.”

“I’ll be right here waiting.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me for a long time. It wasn’t the outcome I had hoped for, but at least I knew I was on the right track.





Chapter 43


Delilah

Two weeks after the Steel won the Super Bowl, life had finally begun to calm down. Brody had lived up to his promise—being there for me and letting me take my time. The only time he’d even attempted to touch me was right after he’d won the game. Everyone was celebrating on the field, and he’d managed to find me. He picked me up, swung me around in the air, and then planted a fat kiss on my lips. We both spent the next seven days in a craze. Between media coverage, the team parade, and dozens of interviews, I was surprised he even found time to see me. But he did. Every single day he made time for me. There were no grand gestures or attempts to move things along, either—he just showed me every day that he’d be there for me. How could a girl not fall the rest of the way when she knows she can count on the man she adores to catch her when she does?

The buzzer sounded right on time at three o’clock. I’d asked Brody if he would mind doing a short interview this afternoon down at the station. He’d said yes without hesitation, even though I knew he was pretty much at his limit of cameras in his face. I also knew that he wouldn’t listen to me when I told him to text me when he got to my apartment. He always came up. I wasn’t sure if it was him being a gentleman or him hoping I would have a moment of weakness, and he wouldn’t have to be a gentleman anymore. Knowing Brody, it was fifty-fifty.

I opened the door, and there stood the most delicious man I’d ever laid eyes on. He had on a navy wool peacoat, with a navy-and-light-green plaid scarf that brought out the golden specks in his green eyes. The morning after the Super Bowl, he’d called me saying he had to drag his ass out of bed to shave before the day full of interviews. I’d mentioned I liked him better with a few days of scrub. Since then, I noticed scrub had become a permanent fixture.

“You running late?”

“No. You’re early.” I was wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe and had my hair up in a ponytail.

He looked at his watch. “You said three.”

“No, I said four.” I took a play from his book. Did he really think I would believe I constantly got the pickup time wrong? He thought he needed to be sly to spend an extra hour in my apartment. But today, I was the one being sly.

I rolled my eyes and stepped aside. “You seriously have an issue with time.”

“I could swear you said three.” That’s because I did.

“Well. You know the drill. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to take a quick shower.” I disappeared into the bathroom, and my quick shower turned into a marathon grooming session. I shaved every last hair from the waist down, except for a thin line between my legs. Afterward, I rubbed moisturizer on the entire surface of my body and brushed out my damp hair. Initially, I thought I would traipse into the living room buck naked, and he would figure the rest out. But I decided to do things Brody-style. I wrapped a plush, dry towel around my body and prepared to cross a line there would be no coming back from.

“Change of plans,” I yelled from the bedroom as I primped myself in the full-length mirror. “Would you mind if we did the interview here?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

Brody was watching TV, his back to me, when I walked into the room. I took a deep breath, rounded the couch and stood in front of him. He was slouched down but perked up the minute he saw me standing wrapped in a towel.

“Think I can ask you a few questions, Mr. Easton?” I spoke into my hairbrush.

He furrowed his brow but played along.

“How does it feel to be a two-time Super Bowl MVP?”

“It feels pretty damn good. But I’ve been asked that question about a thousand times, Ms. Maddox. Don’t you have any original questions?” The first time he’d asked me that, I wanted to kick his ass. This time, I loved that he remembered our early encounter.

I arched an eyebrow. “I do have an original question, actually.” Nonchalantly, I reached up and tugged at the knot of the towel wrapped around my body. It fell to the floor. “If I told you I loved you more than anything in this world, would you give me another chance?”