by Aven Ellis
“Ball one,” Chris says.
“One thing I really like about Brody is his patience at the plate,” Andrew adds.
The Owls pitcher delivers again, and Brody doesn’t move.
“Ball two,” the other announcer calls.
“Come on, Brody! Hit something!” I yell out.
Katie snickers. “I never thought I’d see you watching baseball, let alone yelling about it.”
I blush. “I’m not oblivious to the fact that Brody gives baseball life-affirming attributes.”
“I see,” Katie says. “Well, Brody is an intelligent baseball player. He’s waiting for the right ball to hit. The fact that he’s not swinging at bad pitches is a smart thing.”
He is smart, I think as I watch him, yet he doesn’t believe that himself.
Which is something I vow, if things progress between us, to help him see.
The pitcher once again pitches to Brody, and whack! This time, Brody hits the ball hard.
“Yes!” I yell.
The ball goes to left center field and drops on the grass.
“Run, Brody!” I yell.
Brody isn’t content with first base. He turns the corner and runs all out toward second. His helmet goes flying off, and his dirty-blond hair flies back as he runs at full-speed.
“Go!” Katie cries.
I hold my breath as Brody throws himself into a slide, and the dirt flies as he tries to reach base. At the same time, the outfielder has thrown the ball to the second baseman, but it’s not in time. Brody slides into second and jumps up, safe.
“Yes!” I cheer, excitement surging through me.
“Safe!” Katie cries at the same time.
“Safe!” Chris yells right after Katie does. “Brody has turned a single into a double!”
They show Brody retrieving his helmet, taking a moment to rake his hand through his dirty-blond hair, and putting it back on. The camera has zoomed in, showing his wonderful scruff and his intense blue eyes.
Oh, that’s all kinds of hot.
And I can hardly wait to be with this all kinds of hot baseball player later tonight.
***
“Hayley,” Katie gasps as I step into the living room, “you look absolutely gorgeous.”
I do a faux fashion model twirl in front of Katie. Since the lingerie shopping took up all of lunch, I had to make a mad dash after work to another boutique for an outfit for tonight. I have to admit, it was so much fun buying something for . . . well, fun instead of work. I went totally out of my comfort zone—which bonus, is good for my personal growth according to my workbook—and got a delicate, white, floral crochet bell-sleeved top with black contrast trim up the buttons. I layered it over a white camisole, and it looks wonderfully feminine. I paired it with a pair of ankle-length black jeans and black Tory Burch ballet flats that I snagged on Poshmark earlier this year. A stack of delicate chain bracelets in hematite, along with matching drop earrings, finishes my look.
“Thank you,” I say. “I hope Brody likes it.”
“Oh, he’ll like it. It’s sexy and flirty, yet polished. Speaking of him liking things, do you have your sex-ay underwear on?” Katie teases.
Heat flames in my face. “Yes, but he’s not going to see it.”
“Then why do you have it on?”
I frown. I hate when she has good questions.
“To complete the outfit,” I say.
“Okay.”
“He’s not seeing it!”
“Sure.”
“He’s not,” I insist, twisting my bracelets.
Not yet, anyway, I think to myself.
There’s a knock at the door.
My stomach flips upside down in excitement, and Katie’s dark-brown eyes go wide.
“He’s here!” she cries. “Oh my God, Brody Jensen is here!”
“Shh!” I urge, praying Brody can’t hear through the door.
I walk over to the door, trying to calm my nerves, which went haywire the second I heard him knock. The thing about waiting for a baseball player to pick you up on a game night is that it’s always after ten thirty in the evening.
But just to be sure, I press my eye to the peephole.
Brody is indeed on the other side, restlessly swinging his arms. My heart flutters seeing that he is just as anxious and excited to see me as I am to see him.
I open the door, and Brody’s eyes light up when he sees me.
“Hayley,” he says in his oh-so-sexy raspy voice. “Wow. You look beautiful.”
I feel radiant from the way he’s studying me.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling at him. “You look rather handsome yourself.”
Brody rakes a hand through his hair and flashes me a grin. “Glad you think so.”
I take him in, from the stubble trimmed just right to the thick, tousled hair down to the slim-fitting madras shirt in shades of navy and turquoise, which make his eyes look even bluer. He has on jeans and a pair of distressed leather sneakers, and I love his whole vibe.
“You look amazing,” I say, smiling. “Come on in.”
Brody steps through the door, and Katie is staring at him like he’s a mirage.
I clear my throat. “Brody, this is my roommate, Katie McKenna. Katie, this is Brody Jensen.”
Brody walks over to Katie, and she rises from the couch. He extends his hand and smiles at her. “Hi, pleasure to meet you.”
It’s all I can do not to laugh at Katie, who is staring bug-eyed at Brody. I know why. It’s because to her, he’s professional baseball player Brody Jensen.
But to me, he’s Hot Guy Brody Jensen.
And he always will be.
“Likewise,” Katie says, shaking his hand. “I’m a huge Soaring Eagles fan, so I’m really excited to meet you.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that. You’re finishing up at Georgetown, right?” Brody asks.
Katie nods and engages him in conversation. I give Brody serious credit for two things as I watch them interact. One, he’s not half-assing his conversation with Katie; he’s genuinely interested in her. And two, he remembered what I said about her being at Georgetown. A lot of guys would have filtered out all my ramblings, but Brody didn’t.
My heart falls a little bit more for him.
Pissy saunters into the living room and lets out a whining meow. Brody’s head turns toward her, and I see his face light up.
“You have a kitten!” he says excitedly.
“Okay, don’t get too excited,” I say. “That’s my kitten. She’s a Russian blue mix, and her name is Pissy because she’s always pissed off. She will claw, and hiss, so don’t take it personally if she does that to you.”
Brody shoots me a quizzical look. “Did you know this when you adopted her?”
“Well, yes,” I say. “She’s not like that with me. She was so tiny and vulnerable when I saw her at the pound, and I couldn’t leave without her. Despite her issues, I love her to pieces.”
I get emotional thinking about it. She was so scared when I found her in her cage that day. No matter what her issues are, I was meant to have this cat.
“You had to save her,” Brody says, “because you like saving and helping people, and animals.”
I take in his words. I never thought of it like that before.
“Yeah, I do,” I say.
Brody studies me for a moment. “I like that about you.”
Oh, swoon.
Brody clears his throat. “May I pet her?”
Katie snorts. “At your own risk. I’ve lived with her for two months now and she still thinks I’m evil.”
“Yes, you can try,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
Brody kneels down on the floor, which I’m sure is difficult after his baseball game, and taps his fingers on the hardwood.
“Pissy, come here,” he says using a gentle voice.
I shoot Katie a look. Pissy stares him down for a moment, being a badass little ball of gray fur.
“Come here,” Brody en
courages again.
Then, to my surprise, Pissy slowly moves toward him.
“That’s a girl,” he urges. “Come here.”
Pissy stops right in front of his hand and gazes up at him, her blue eyes wide. She leans forward and sniffs his hand, and then ever so slowly, Brody grazes his fingertips against her face and under her chin.
Then she rubs against his hand, and her motor goes off. I can hear her purring from where I’m standing.
“You’re a sweet girl,” he says to Pissy, who is now rubbing against his leg.
“Oh my God, you’re the Yoda of cats,” Katie says, shocked as I am by what she is seeing.
Brody grins. “I love cats. I’ve always been a cat person. Pissy knows it.”
Then, to my complete surprise, he picks Pissy up and cradles her to his chest.
And she loves it.
I realize Brody is going to be the man who continually surprises me. I can’t believe I would have eliminated him on paper for his age alone, because he is proving to be an absolutely amazing person.
With everything I learn about him, my crush deepens.
And I wonder how much farther I will fall by the end of tonight.
Chapter Fifteen
As soon as I close the apartment door behind us, Brody links my hand with his, sending a shiver of excitement down my spine.
“Congratulations on another win tonight,” I say as we walk toward the elevator.
Brody smiles as he punches the down button. “Thank you.”
“Does your leg hurt?” I ask.
“You saw me get hit?”
I nod. “I watched the whole game.”
“Wow. I’m impressed with your dedication, as I know you’d probably find reading the Magna Carta more interesting. But, no, I’m fine. Stung like hell but it’s all good.”
I stare at Brody in shock. He’s referencing the Magna Carta in casual conversation, yet he doesn’t think he’s smart?
The doors chime open, and we step inside. Brody hits the button for the lobby, and I turn to him as the doors close and the elevator begins its descent.
“I know the name of the document, and that it’s important, but I have no memory of what it actually says or means,” I say.
“It’s called the great charter,” Brody explains, as if this is something he talks about every day. “King John was forced to sign it after barons rebelled in 1215, and it limited his power. It recognized rights for others and introduced the idea of due process. And, as a bonus, it’s the document that was used to help design the Constitution later on.”
“Brody, you’re extremely smart,” I say. “I don’t understand why you say otherwise.”
The light expression evaporates off his face as if my words have upset him.
“Anybody can memorize a textbook,” Brody says. “That doesn’t make me smart.”
“Brody, that’s not memorization,” I insist. “You understand.”
He shakes his head. “It’s reading. It stuck in my head. It doesn’t make me smart. I have proof otherwise.”
The elevator chimes open at the lobby, and I want to dig deeper on this. Why on earth is Brody saying these things about himself? What happened in his past to give him such an inaccurate idea about his intellect, ideas that obviously hurt him?
We enter the lobby, and as if Brody senses I’m about to push further, he clears his throat.
“Enough about that,” he says, officially slamming the door shut on the subject. “How was your day? Other than sending me sexy pics.”
I blush furiously, and I see the happiness return to Brody’s face.
“That was probably the single most embarrassing moment of my life,” I say, cringing.
Brody loops his arm around my shoulders as we walk outside and dips his head down next to my ear. “You are damn hot,” he whispers sexily to me.
I shiver from his raspy voice reverberating against my ear.
He lifts his head, and I smile with embarrassment.
“Work was productive. I’ve found a way to prove my value, which is good.”
Brody leads me over to his Jeep and opens the passenger door for me. Oh, I love how he wasn’t kidding about being a grown-ass gentleman.
He shuts my door and heads around to his side, sliding behind the wheel. “Why do you have to prove anything? They wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t think you were qualified for the job.”
“I need to be helpful. I need to prove to them I’m valuable,” I say as Brody eases into traffic.
“But why?”
I’m confused by his questioning. “What do you mean?”
“I would think you doing your job well would be enough.”
“That’s not how I think.”
Brody grins as he turns on to 15th Street. “Obviously, but explain that to me so I understand.”
“Well,” I say. “Well.”
I stop. I’ve never been questioned on my drive to be helpful or prove my worth before. With a shock, I realize I might not have an answer.
“Well, go on,” he says.
“I don’t know,” I admit, surprised to hear amazement in my own voice.
“You realize you are enough, right?”
Okay, this I can answer with ease.
“No.”
“What?”
“Brody, I have so many things I need to change about myself. I have a book I’m using to help me, as a matter of fact. I have a list of things that need drastic improvement.”
“Hayley, everyone has things to improve on, but you’re pretty damn incredible the way you are. I don’t see you as a woman who needs drastic improvements.”
My heart flutters in response to how he views me, even if his view is flawed.
“Thank you for saying that,” I say, touched by his words.
“I’m not just saying that,” Brody insists.
“I know you’re not, but you also don’t know me that well yet.”
Brody turns on to Queen Street, his expression serious. “I know enough, and tonight is about getting to know even more about you, Hayley.”
As if to emphasize this point, he laces his fingers through mine and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. Happiness fills me. I know Brody means what he says. His mission tonight is to continue to learn more about me by continuing our amazing conversation from last night, not to jump into bed with me.
It doesn’t take long before Brody is pulling into the garage of one of Arlington’s newer apartment buildings. Seriously, the drive was about two minutes. And I might be overestimating that.
Brody lives in an upscale apartment building, but it’s still an apartment. Brody doesn’t seem like a man who makes a fuss about what he drives or if he’s in some multi-million-dollar unit.
He’s true to himself, I think. He doesn’t need to live up to the image of a flashy professional athlete. He is confident in his own skin in this regard.
And I find it oh-so-attractive.
Once Brody parks, we head inside the elevator, and he punches the button for the 11th floor. As soon as the doors close, he reaches for me, bringing me into his arms. He takes my hand in his and draws it to his chest, which sends a thrill through me. I feel the soft fabric of his plaid shirt first, but then I feel the strong, rhythmic beating of his heart, which is nothing short of magic.
I’m feeling his heart, I think as I gaze up at him, while I learn more about it.
It’s a powerful and wonderful thing, this leap I’m taking with Brody. I realize I’m letting myself go somewhere I’ve never wanted to go before.
I’m entering another man’s world.
I’m allowing myself to get closer to him, to see where this goes. I’m opening myself up to the possibility of dating, of forming a relationship, of sharing myself with this man. Sharing my thoughts. My hopes. My awful qualities and vulnerabilities. I know there is risk here. If we continue on this path, we could fall in love. Or I could get hurt. I could disappoint him, not be what he thinks I should be.
He could see my flaws and that might not be what Brody wants in his life.
But when I see the light in his pale-denim eyes, I know it’s a leap I’m one hundred percent willing to take.
“I’m glad you could come over tonight,” Brody says, looking down at me as his huge hand remains wrapped over mine, his thumb sweeping back and forth over the top of my hand and causing my stomach to flip in excitement.
“Me, too,” I say.
Brody dips his head down and is about to kiss me when ding! The elevator chimes on the 11th floor.
He lifts his head and laughs. “You’re saved by the bell. For now.”
I laugh as he takes my hand and leads me out into the hallway. We walk down four units to his, number 1151.
Brody puts the access card in the slot but turns to me before he opens the door. “Before you step inside, you need to remember I’m a twenty-four-year-old baseball player. I’m reading up on the strengths and weaknesses of opposing hitters before a series, not decorating magazines. And let’s just say I grew up with a meditation room in the house, not a living room, so my decorating might not be what you are accustomed to.”
Once again, I’m struck by how differently we were raised. My mom loves Ethan Allen and colonial period pieces, floral prints with coordinating stripes, and custom drapery.
Why do I picture Brody growing up with round tufts on the floor and Buddha statues?
He opens the door and flips on the light. “Here we are,” he says, ushering me inside. “Casa de Jensen.”
I can’t help but smile as I step inside. His apartment is open concept, with light wood floors throughout. The kitchen is all stainless-steel appliances. There’s no kitchen table, so the dining room is empty. The living room has one large couch sectional in taupe, with white and navy blue pillows on it. Two surf boards hang on the wall above it, and there’s a light-wood coffee table with nothing on it. A large TV hangs on the opposite wall, and that’s about it.
“It screams dude, doesn’t it?” Brody asks me.
“I’d say minimalist,” I say, grinning at him. “And dude, you have a spectacular view of the Washington Monument out your window.”
I stare at the beautiful structure that strikes awe in me every time I see it.
“That’s why I got this unit. I love the view,” Brody explains. “Come on, let me show you the rest of the place.”
