by Vi Keeland
Brody leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I’d much rather be eating you than anything on the menu here.” He pulled his head back to catch a glimpse of my expression. “Ready,” he called back to the waitress, who captured a photo of Brody’s eyes twinkling as they looked over at my hooded ones.
We ordered, and I did my best to pretend I wasn’t affected. “Tell me something about you,” Brody said, resting his arm casually along the back of the booth.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything. Tell me something about you that annoys people.”
“You ask odd questions.”
“Good thing I don’t have your job then.”
I chuckled. “True.” Sipping my soda, I gave his question some thought. “I talk during movies.”
“So? Everyone talks during a movie at some point.”
“No. I talk during movies. Mostly it happens when I like the movie. I get excited and need to retell everything that’s happening on the screen to the person next to me.”
Brody looked amused. “So better to take you to a movie you don’t like, then?”
“Well . . . if I don’t like the movie, then I tend to get bored and daydream a bit and I lose track of what’s going on. Then I ask loads of question instead of retelling you the movie.”
“If you know you do it, and it annoys people, why don’t you stop doing it?”
“I can’t help myself. So what do you do that annoys people?”
“I say what I think.”
“You sure do.”
“Does it annoy you?”
“At first it did. I guess I’m starting to expect it now.”
“I’m like fungus, I grow on you.”
“Charming.”
The hours disappeared while we talked. Especially when we argued about football. It was almost midnight by the time we were ready to leave the diner. The waitress brought the bill, and Brody refused to let me pay, even though I’d argued it was technically a business dinner, and the station would pick up the tab. He didn’t say anything, but I caught that he left the waitress a tip of at least a few hundred dollars. The fact that he didn’t want me to notice what he’d done made the gesture that much more meaningful.
He hailed a cab, and light late-night traffic had us pulling up in front of my building in less than fifteen minutes. Brody told the cabbie to give him a few minutes and walked me into my building.
“Thank you for taking the time to let me pre-interview you. It’ll actually make me a lot more comfortable on Saturday now that we’ve done that.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I pushed the button to call the elevator. “And thank you again for dinner.”
Brody nodded. “You know . . . I still have that one personal question left.”
I had actually forgotten. “Saving the best one for last?”
“You could say that. Yes.”
The flutter in my stomach knew what was coming. In a sweet gesture, he brushed the hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. His hand caressed my cheek and then tipped my chin slightly so I was looking straight into his eyes when he spoke. “What’s it going to take to get you underneath me, Delilah?”
I swallowed. He wasn’t teasing to get my attention this time. No, he was dead serious and watching me intently, waiting for an answer.
“I like you. You’re full of yourself and direct. But despite all that, I actually really enjoy spending time with you. I’m just not looking for a physical-only relationship. I need more than that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Dating. Going out together. Exclusivity. I need to spend time with someone, other than just in his bed. Like talking to them during a movie.” I forced a smile. “It’s just who I am.”
The normally slow elevator appeared quickly for a change. The doors slid open behind me, and I waited for Brody to say something. But he only nodded.
“See you Saturday?” I asked.
“Saturday.” He nodded.
The doors slid closed and carried me up to the fourteenth floor. But it felt like a little piece of my heart had been left behind.
Chapter 10
Delilah
Only two days had passed since I’d seen Brody, yet I still couldn’t get him out of my mind. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one.
“Cute.” Indie gave an unenthused wave to the guy at the other end of the bar who tipped his drink in our direction. She sighed as she brought her martini glass to her mouth. “But he’s no Brody Easton.”
“Can we not go there again? Your interest is bordering on stalkerish.”
“Well, I guess there’s always that guy.” She tilted her glass in the direction of an older guy who seriously resembled Dr. Hannibal Lecter from The Silence of the Lambs. He was standing alone in a corner, leering in our direction, and when he caught us looking, his rickety-toothed smile grew ridiculously wide. I would have felt safer if Hannibal had had the leather mask wrapped around his face. “I’m sure he’d be happy to break the seal on your revirginized vagina . . . before he eats half your face off.”
“Think I’ll pass. I do have other opportunities, you know. Michael Langley texted me today.”
“Oh yeah. And did you agree to go out with him yet?”
“I was busy. I didn’t have time to text him back yet.”
“You’re stalling because you want Brody, and you know it.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“You’re not busy now.” She motioned for the bartender, pointing to her empty glass. “Go ahead. I’ll wait. Text him and tell him you’ll go out with him, then. If you’re not holding out for Brody Easton, then there’s nothing stopping you. Your cleanse is just about over anyway.”
“I will.”
“I’m waiting.” Indie tapped her fingers on the bar. Needing to prove her wrong, I took out my phone and thumbed off a quick response to Michael.
“Happy?” I turned my phone in her direction so she could see the word sent on my screen. She snatched it from my hand and read my response.
Thank you. Yet another crazy week. I promise to catch up with you again next week.
“That is not telling him you’ll go out with him. That’s pushing him off again for another week.”
“But I am busy. How would you have liked me to respond?”
She tapped on my keypad and turned the phone in my direction. Luckily, she hadn’t pressed Send. Her text read. On second thought. I don’t think I can wait another week. Dinner on Saturday night?
“I’m not that forward.” I grasped for my phone. She pulled it back, out of my reach.
With a huge smile, she said, “You are now.” She hit Send.
My eyes bulged. “I can not believe you just did that!”
Ignoring me, she ordered us two shots when the bartender returned with her third martini. I wasn’t much of a drinker. Two glasses of wine was the limit on our regular Friday night happy hour. If I was being honest, I came for the company and the free finger food—half of the single people in bars in New York did the same thing. None of us wanted to cook in our tiny kitchens if we didn’t have to.
I was still pouting when my phone buzzed on the bar. Michael’s name flashed on the screen. Turning to Indie, I lifted the shot she’d ordered me and drank. Then I drank hers, too. After shaking off the willies the alcohol left behind, I summoned the courage to read Michael’s response.
I was beginning to think you were blowing me off. Your text made my otherwise rotten day bright again. Eight on Saturday?
Maybe Indie was right. I was stalling because of a lingering attraction to a certain quarterback. One that deep down I knew I shouldn’t even be tempted to explore. There really was no reason not to start dating again.
I sighed. “Okay. Maybe you were right.”
“Come again?”
I spoke louder. “I said, maybe you were right.”
“Oh, I heard you the first time. I just loved to hear you a
dmit it.”
Indie and I sat at the bar until almost eleven. I was beyond tipsy when she hailed a cab for us, foregoing our usual subway trek home. The driver dropped her first, and I sat in traffic staring out the window in an alcohol-induced daze. A bus pulled up next to me and caught my attention. An old ad was peeling from the side. It had the New York Steel logo along with a picture of Brody’s handsome face and read, Easton is back. It must have been a few years old.
The alcohol had me making rash decisions. Without thinking, I thumbed off a text.
Delilah: Just saw your picture on the side of a bus. Do you like having your face on public transportation?
He responded thirty seconds later.
Brody: I like having my face anywhere that makes you think about me. But I’d rather have my face between your legs.
Who said things like that? And why the hell did I like it? Seriously, the lower half of my body began to tingle.
Delilah: You have a real way with words, friend.
Brody: I have a real way with my tongue. When are you going to give in and let me show you?
Delilah: Tempting. But I think I’ll stick to men who are interested in more than just my orifices.
Brody: I’m getting hard just because you used the word orifices.
I chuckled out loud. The cabbie looked at me in the rearview mirror, and I held up my phone in explanation. He didn’t give a crap.
Delilah: Good night, Brody.
The man could make me laugh and ignite at the same time. It was a combination that my entire body quite liked.
Brody: See you in your dreams.
He most certainly would be.
***
Saturday afternoon, I was a wreck. I had the rare one-on-one interview with Brody at five, followed by a date with Michael at eight. As I headed to the Regency, I wanted to kill Indie for setting up my dinner for this evening.
“Nervous?” Nick glanced at me and then back to the road. We were carrying more equipment than we normally would for a locker room interview, so he had picked me up in the station’s van.
“Does it show?”
“You’ve been spinning that pen around in your hand since you got in.”
I clutched the pen in my fist to stop myself. I was definitely a nervous fidgeter and had no idea I was even doing it. “Sorry.”
“Doesn’t bother me any. But I’m surprised. To me, heading into the locker room would be more nerve-racking than this sit-down. You always seem so calm, waiting to go in after the games.”
“I must just be better at hiding it then. Plus. I have a date tonight after the interview. It’s been a while. I was on a self-imposed six-month hiatus from dating.”
“Well, that explains it, then. What time is your date?”
“Eight.”
“Plenty of time. We’ll be out of there by seven.”
We arrived at Brody’s hotel a few minutes early, and he opened the door fresh from the shower. His hair was slicked back, and droplets of water beaded on his ridiculously toned chest. God, I wanted to lick them off.
Brody caught me gaping. A knowing grin spread across his gorgeous face. I wanted to smack if off. Or kiss it off.
“Come on in. Figured Delilah could help me pick out something to wear while you set up.” He shook Nick’s hand and then leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”
Nick and Brody spoke about where to set up and spent a few minutes talking sports. The man was definitely a charmer—to both men and women. It just came naturally to him. It was part of what made him larger than life on camera. He exuded confidence and charisma. Eventually, he turned his attention to me. “You ready to dress me?”
I rolled my eyes. As Brody led the way to his bedroom, Nick yelled, “Don’t take as long as you take to pick your own clothes out, or you’ll miss half your date.”
I walked straight into Brody when he stopped in his tracks. “Date?”
Swallowing, I felt like I’d done something wrong. “Yes, I have a date tonight after our interview.”
“What time?”
“Eight.”
He surprised me by not discussing it any further. We walked through the bedroom into the large walk-in closet. “What do you think? Suit or something more casual?”
“I think casual. A sweater and slacks maybe.”
“Go for it.” He extended his arm toward the built-in shelves holding piles of neatly folded sweaters.
Fingering through them, I noticed every piece of clothing was folded exactly the same. “I guess you have someone who puts away your laundry for you.”
He walked up close behind me. Very close. I felt the heat from his body. His shirtless, magnificent body.
“I do. If I didn’t, you’d be sorting through a mess of clothes on the floor.”
Trying to pretend his nearness didn’t affect me, I focused on the task of picking out his outfit. Reaching up, I grabbed a navy cashmere sweater. “How about this?” I turned to show him my selection and smacked straight into the brick wall of his chest. He hadn’t budged. It was a big closet, yet there was little room between the shelves behind me and the man in front of me.
He shrugged. “If you like it, I’ll wear it.”
“You’re easy.”
“Wish I could say the same about you.”
“Something tells me if I was, you’d have already lost interest.”
“Is that what you think? That I only like the chase?”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “I do. Yes. I think you enjoy the chase. I’m guessing it’s a novelty to you these days. That you’re normally the chased, not the chaser.”
He took a step closer to me; I backed up and hit the shelving behind me. Placing one forearm against the wall on either side of my head, he effectively caged me in. I should have wanted to flee from the feeling, but instead I had the sudden urge to press my body against his. Thankfully, a little self-control still existed in my brain.
He lowered his face to mine. “Who’s your date with tonight?”
“None of your business.”
He leaned in a little closer, so our lips were just inches apart. “Do you feel what you’re feeling right now when you’re near him?”
No. “Maybe.”
“Bullshit. Tell me I can kiss you.” He lowered his head and gently ran his nose along my throat. My body was buzzing like a college boy on frat initiation night.
“No.” The word came out barely above a whisper. My voice was thick and strained, clear evidence that he was getting to me.
He continued trailing his nose along my skin. The sensual touch left a stream of goose bumps in its wake. When he reached my ear, his voice was edgy and laced with need. “Tell me I can kiss you. I smell your body getting turned on. Tell me.”
My knees were trembling, and my mouth opened to finally give in. I want him to kiss me so badly.
Luckily, Nick’s voice broke the moment. “Brody, can I run a chord from—whoa . . . sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Brody responded without moving. “Do whatever you need to, Nick.”
“Yeah. All right, man,” Nick said. His footsteps rapidly receded.
It was only a few seconds of distraction. But it gave me a chance to snap out of my lust-induced haze. “This is really unprofessional of me.” I ducked under his arm and practically ran out of the closet.
I spent a few minutes composing myself in the bathroom before joining Nick in the living room. He was almost through setting up. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize your date tonight was with Brody.”
My mouth opened, but the response came from the man who entered the room behind me. “It’s not. But it fucking should be.”
I turned, finding Brody wearing the navy cashmere sweater I’d picked out and a pair of well fitting slacks. The deep blue color brought out the intensity in his eyes. Eyes that were boring into me.
“Coach needs to talk to me. I have to jump on a call for a while. Why don’t you two make yo
urselves at home? I’ll order some snacks from room service before I get started.”
“No problem. Thanks, Brody,” Nick said.
Then he was gone.
For almost two full hours.
Eventually, I ventured into the back to look for him. It was quiet, no indication that he was still on the phone. I knocked lightly on the bedroom door, but there was no response. So I knocked again. When there was still nothing but silence, I creaked the bedroom door open. Brody was lying in the middle of his king-size bed. Sound asleep.
“Brody?”
His eyes opened with a flutter. “It’s the woman from my dreams.”
My hands went to my hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I guess I fell asleep.”
“Before or after your fake coach’s phone call?”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Running his hands through his hair, he said, “You ready to get started?”
“I’ve been ready for more than two hours.”
“Sorry. I guess you’ll have to cancel your date for tonight.”
Brody was grinning, and I smiled back. But mine wasn’t a friendly smile. It was more like a Bend over, I’m about to stick my foot right up your ass smile. “That’s okay. We can just skip dinner and go straight to whatever he has planned for after.”
Brody’s smile fell. Mine grew bigger.
Ten minutes later, we were finally sitting and ready to begin the interview.
The first few questions were stiff. My annoyance was bleeding through, and his responses were curt. Things started to change around the fourth question, when we got into a heated debate about statistics. More than an hour and a half of tape rolled, even though we only had to fill a twenty-two-minute segment, after factoring in commercials, for the half-hour feature.
We were up to the last question: “Available or taken?” His answer had been “neither” during the pre-interview, which I thought was a pretty interesting and accurate description of his dating life. He wasn’t taken, but he also wasn’t available.
Only this time, when I asked the question, his response caught me off guard.
“Taken.”
He could see the confusion on my face, but I quickly jumped back into reporter mode. “Really? Is this new?”
