The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  “It’s falling apart.” Brody holds out his hand, palm up. “Give me your keys.”

  “What? No!”

  His eyes narrow and suddenly it feels like game on. “Fine. I was going to get Jax to drive it to the junkyard, but we can just leave it here. I can get it towed or maybe you’ll get lucky and a meteor will shoot down from the sky and crush it flat.”

  My mouth falls open. “I paid good money for that car.”

  Technically I didn’t. It didn’t cost much at all, but when your brother works his backside off and eats cheese toasties for dinner every night just to save money to send you off overseas, you tend to appreciate the value of a dollar.

  “Then you got ripped off,” he retorts.

  The urge to jab him with my crutch is strong. “It works perfectly fine.”

  His brows shoot sky high.

  “Actually it makes this weird kind of juddery noise when it goes above forty,” Leah contributes. “And the air conditioner doesn’t work. Neither does the passenger side window. Or the remote central locking.”

  “Are you finished?” I snap at Leah without taking my eyes from Brody. “My car gets me from A to B like it’s supposed to.”

  A gleaming black SUV pulls up beside us. The door opens, revealing cream leather seats and a spotless interior. Jaxon alights. With him he brings the indescribable scent of ‘brand-new car.’ It’s heady.

  Jaxon tosses the keys at Brody, who jerks his chin toward it. “Get in.”

  “No.”

  His eyes fall to my mouth for a long, uncomfortable moment. I have to stop myself from swaying forward.

  “Really, Jordan. Your car isn’t safe.”

  Neither are you.

  I don’t let him win and I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s my rationality clutching at the last straws I have left. Whatever it is, our standoff ends with Leah driving me home. It’s a hollow victory. I got my way, but I didn’t get Brody and it seems he’s all I want right now.

  Brody

  The bus jolts and quakes, coming to a stop on campus Sunday night. Our away game ended with a solid victory and spirits are high. Not me. My head is all over the place.

  The apartment’s empty when I get home, so I go for a run to try and gain some focus. After a ten-minute warm-up, I head out. It’s late, the dark streets filled with students coming from or going to parties. I keep my head down and cap low as I dodge them, focusing only on the thump of music pounding in my head.

  An hour passes before I’m a tired, sweaty mess. It should’ve been enough to get my head straight, but it’s not. I have an icy shower to cool off. With my skin covered in goose bumps, I pull on a pair of boxer briefs and grab a beer from the fridge. With Damien and Jaxon not around, it’s a good chance for me to do the reading Jordan expects of me.

  Setting the beer on my bedside table, I stretch out on my bed and shove a couple of pillows behind my back, resting my laptop on my thighs. I open my email first and catch Jordan’s name amongst an inbox full of junk. Finding the subject line, I double-click to open it.

  Brody,

  We need to go through the material for midterms so we know what areas to focus on. When do you want to do that?

  Jordan

  Brief. To the point. Jordan couldn’t be any less personal if she tried. Bringing the bottle to my lips, I tip it back, my throat working as I swallow down half the contents. It cools my chest, but not other parts of my body. My mind is stuck on our kiss. It’s obvious it affected Jordan as much as it did me. Her body trembled and the heat in her eyes almost rivaled my own. Jordan wants me and she’s denying herself. Now she’s going back to her predictable game plan of forcing distance.

  Setting my beer back down, I hit reply and slowly type my response.

  Jordan,

  Sounds like fun. Can’t wait.

  But we should go on our date first.

  When do you want to do that?

  Brody

  PS What are you wearing???

  Hitting send, I go in search of reading material. I don’t have any trouble. There are so many erotic stories available on the internet I don’t know where to start. I click on the first one I find that doesn’t include weird or creepy fetishes and begin to read. I get through it, coming to the slow realization my plan has backfired. My chest is damp with sweat, and I’m hard like an iron bar. I let out a harsh breath and type out my summary. It’s uncensored and wildly inappropriate, but that doesn’t stop me sending it.

  Her reply comes through soon after and makes me chuckle.

  Brody,

  Your choice of reading material is inspired and your summary graphic. Kudos for making me blush. Unfortunately, it needs work. I’ve included my corrections. Please look them over. Interested to see what you choose to read next …

  How do you feel about sushi?

  Jordan

  PS Clothes.

  Pleased she isn’t trying to wriggle out of our date, I write back immediately.

  Jordan,

  I hear every sushi restaurant in the greater Austin area got shut down. It’s unfortunate, but what do you expect? This is cow country.

  You prefer steak? Good. Let’s do that.

  Tuesday night.

  Brody

  PS What kind?

  I yawn and stretch. After finishing off the bottle beside me, I toss it toward the trashcan in the corner. It hits with a loud clang. I holler a victory at the same time Jordan’s next email comes through.

  Brody,

  Pizza it is. Thursday night.

  Jordan

  PS The kind that is none of your business.

  Unwilling to concede a single inch. I shake my head.

  Jordan,

  Done.

  Brody

  PS From now on, everything about you is my business.

  That will get her hackles rising. Another yawn overtakes me. The screen blurs before my eyes. If Jordan writes a response it will have to wait for morning. I close the lid of my laptop and set it on the floor.

  My eyes blink open when the alarm pierces my deep sleep. Picking up my phone, I switch it off with one hand and rub my face with the other. It’s dark out but it’s Monday morning and gym time.

  Before getting dressed, I take an extra minute to check my computer. Jordan’s first on my mind this morning and seeing a new email in my inbox brightens me instantly.

  Brody,

  I should let you know I won’t be in class this week. I’m doing course work from home so I can rest my ankle. It’s not healing like it should and has me a little worried.

  See you Thursday. Shall I pick you up?

  Jordan

  PS That kind of caveman talk could see you lose a couple of teeth. Just sayin’.

  I chuckle under my breath as I drag on my workout gear. I can’t reply right now but I will later. Jordan’s not the only one concerned about her ankle. I’m happy she’s taking the week to rest it. That kind of simple injury can escalate from a molehill to a mountain if it’s not dealt with quickly, and in the right way.

  My day goes fast but it’s not until later in the night I get a chance to send her my reply.

  Jordan,

  I’ll give you one word about resting your ankle. Good.

  Two words about seeing you Thursday. Can’t wait.

  Three words about picking me up. No fricking way.

  Brody

  PS Threats of violence get me hot. Just sayin’.

  Tuesday night comes and I’m tired, irritable, and can’t focus. I want Jordan. Badly. I feel like a tightly coiled spring ready to explode.

  Already in bed, I reach over and pick up my phone, scrolling my contacts. I’ve kicked off my sheets. My skin is hot and too itchy for me to find sleep. I put the phone to my ear and wait, not having a clue what the time is and not bothering to check. It could be late. It could be early morning. I don’t care. I just want to hear Jordan’s voice.

  “Hello? Brody?”

  There it is. That low, husky accent. It almo
st centers me it’s that good. I breathe it in like I’m drawing Jordan inside my lungs. I exhale slowly and say, “Hey.”

  There’s a pause.

  “How are you?” I ask and then wince, covering my eyes with my hand. So stilted and polite. Usually I’m a lot smoother than this, but I don’t want to be that guy with her. I don’t want to hide behind a wall of confidence that I’m not feeling.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I assure her. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  Another pause follows. It’s long and its silence is louder than a herd of elephants.

  “Brody, that’s …” Jordan sighs, the sound soft and silky. “I like hearing yours too.”

  I rub fingers across my lips. I can feel the smile on them. “Were you sleeping?”

  “Not really. I’ve been sitting around for days. It’s making me crazy.”

  Her tone is one of frustration. I know it well. Waiting for injuries to heal is an excruciatingly slow process. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Much better. How’s your reading?” she shoots back.

  “You tell me. I sent through my summary earlier. You didn’t get it?”

  The sound of movement comes through the phone and the beep of a computer coming online echoes. After a few taps I hear her chuckle. “Oh you mean this one, your ‘Ode to Frosty Flakes’?”

  I grin. “That’s the one.”

  A few minutes of silence follow. It’s a comfortable silence because I know she’s reading. I can hear her breathing softly when I close my eyes and press the phone hard to my ear. It’s soothing and I drift a little. She jerks me out of it when she speaks. “Have you ever tried reading upside down?”

  “Ummm …”

  “I know spellcheck is your friend, but it doesn’t stop you getting your words mixed up. Next time try reading your work upside down and let me know if that helps.”

  “Is this some kind of wax-on wax-off mumbo jumbo?”

  Her laughter comes through the phone. The sound heats my skin like a brush fire. “That’s right,” she replies as I snuggle further down on my bed. “Just call me Mr. Miyagi.”

  “I’ll call you whatever you want as long as I can do wicked things to you.”

  My tone is teasing, but Jordan’s sharp indrawn breath tells me she knows I mean every word. She’s thinking about those wicked things. And wants them.

  “Wicked things?” she echoes.

  Are we venturing into phone sex territory? My lips dry out. I run my tongue over them. “You want me to list them?”

  Another pause comes, this one setting me on edge.

  “I don’t think so. Night, Brody.”

  Disappointment slams me harder than a defensive linebacker. Damn.

  “I’d rather you show me one of those wicked things Thursday night,” she adds before cutting the call and leaving me with nothing but a dial tone in my ear.

  Jordan

  Brody’s palm is splayed on the small of my back. It’s all I’m aware of as he steers me down the back of the restaurant, mindful of my injury. His proximity makes it hard to breathe. When I’m directed to the last available booth, his hand falls away and I slide in with a sigh of relief.

  I scan the room while he takes the seat opposite. It’s small and aged but it’s bursting with college students—most with curious eyes that watch us with interest. The floor is black and white check, the tabletops Formica, and the booth seats bright red and a little worn. It’s unpretentious and the noise loud. It puts me at ease and I shoot Brody a smile as our waitress arrives to take drink orders. I look up into the sullen face of Lindsay. Suddenly I’m thankful of the short, sexy dress Leah bought for me and the soft waves she helped put through my hair.

  I look over to Brody, not realizing she worked here. “Um, maybe we should—”

  “Leave?” He looks at Lindsay, his eyes hard. “Nope. This place has the best pizza in town, and Lindsay was telling me just today how much she was hoping to talk to you.”

  “She was?” My gaze returns to Lindsay, confused.

  Lindsay clears her throat, notepad and pen poised in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she says through gritted teeth. “About your ankle.”

  Brody arches a brow. “And?” he prompts.

  Her pretty green eyes shoot sparks. “And it won’t happen again.”

  My mouth falls open, speech escaping me. Brody knew? He reaches across the table and takes both my hands in his. “My girlfriend appreciates the apology, Lindsay. You can bring us two cokes now, please.”

  She makes a rapid escape and Brody lets go of me and sits back in his seat, amusement flashing across his face.

  “How did you know?”

  He shrugs. “I have my sources.”

  My eyes narrow. Leah. “You’ve probably just riled her even more, you know. She won’t let this go now.”

  “Oh she will. I told her if she didn’t leave you alone I’d have her kicked off the cheerleading team.”

  “You can do that?”

  Brody cocks his head and drawls, “I have a bit of power to wield around these here parts.”

  It seems he does. “So now what?”

  His eyes dance. “Do I get to tutor you on how a date works?”

  I’m interested in hearing how it works for him, since he’s told me he doesn’t date. Leaning forward, I place my elbows on the table and give him my undivided attention. “Please. I’m all ears.”

  Brody shrugs. “We share life stories while we eat dinner. Then I get to take you home and you let me kiss you.”

  My brow arches. “Kiss me?”

  Brody’s voice lowers and his eyes darken. I’m pulled in like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. “Everywhere.”

  I cross my legs, clamping my thighs together. Holy hell, I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Thankfully a different waitress arrives with our drinks. She sets them down and I’m tempted to ask for the check so Brody can take me home and do it right now. Instead, I take a sip of coke. The icy drink pools in my belly, doing nothing to cool me off.

  After placing an order for a pizza to share, the waitress disappears and I give Brody my attention. “So you start.”

  His brows pull together, his answer short but not sweet. “Born and raised in Austin. My father’s a politician and my mother a society wife. Both can’t stand that I play football.”

  “Why not?”

  Brody huffs and picks up his drink. “It’s a barbarian’s sport.”

  I don’t miss the hint of bitterness in his voice. “They don’t want you to play?”

  “Of course not, but they allow it because …”

  “Because why?” I prompt when he trails off.

  Brody shrugs like he doesn’t care but the light in his eyes dims a little. Something inside him is hurting and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

  “Because it’s all I’m good for.”

  The matter-of-fact tone tells me it’s not a pity party he’s having. He believes it with all his heart. “Is that what they tell you, Brody?”

  “They do. But they don’t need to, because it’s the truth.”

  God help me. I swallow the ache in my throat. It slides down slowly, a painful lump that settles in the pit of my belly and makes my eyes burn.

  How could they do that? And how do I tell him otherwise so he believes me? I don’t understand American football, but I know it requires more than just physical talent. It requires a smart, analytical mind. One Brody has. I’ve seen him use it on the field and it’s brilliant.

  “What, you’re not going to sit there and tell me I’m wrong?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “No?” he echoes, leaning back in his seat when the waitress delivers our pizza. Spicy Italian scents the air between us but Brody barely notices. His eyes hold mine while she sets down a plate each in front of us along with napkins and cutlery. Her face colors when Brody eventually gives her his attention, asking her to bring another round of drinks.

 
“Why not?” he asks when she leaves.

  “Because telling you you’re wrong isn’t going to make you believe it,” I say as we slide a piece each onto our plates.

  Taking a huge bite, he chews and swallows before replying. “What will?”

  “Showing you.”

  “And how do you plan on showing me, Jordan Matilda Elliott?”

  Swallowing my own mouthful of pizza, I set it on my plate and wipe my hands before picking up my drink. “I don’t plan on showing you, Brody Abraham Madden.” My lips curve impishly as I eye him over the rim of my glass. “You’re going to do that all by yourself.”

  “So much faith.” Brody gestures with his glass like he’s toasting me. “This date should come with a disclaimer.”

  “Oh?”

  “No expectations.”

  “Expectation is the root of all heartache,” I quote.

  “Yes. That.” He points at me with the hand holding his glass before he takes a sip. We work our way through the pizza and when I’m comfortably full, Brody looks at me from across the table and says, “So it’s your turn now.”

  “Born and raised in Sydney with a soccer ball at my feet. My father was a mechanic. My mother an accountant.”

  The hand holding his pizza is halfway to his mouth when he pauses. Setting it back on his plate, he cocks his head and pins me with his eyes. I know what’s coming and my heart sinks. His voice is soft, yet I hear it over boisterous laughter and loud conversation. “Was?”

  Are all dates supposed to be so deep and meaningful? This one makes me want to run and hide. I try to keep my tone light when my heart feels anything but. “They both died. Car accident.”

  He’s silent for a moment. When he eventually reacts, he doesn’t speak. He simply reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. Tossing a bunch of notes on the table, he slides out and gets to his feet. Even the way he moves off the field is poetic. Biceps ripple powerfully and thigh muscles flex. People around us stop simply to watch.

  On his feet beside me, he holds out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Go?” I echo, a quick glance taking in the leftover food and unfinished drinks sitting on the table.

  “Yes. Go. Now.”