Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
You know that feeling you get when someone is watching you? Well, multiply the intensity of that times a thousand, and that’s what made me look up. I felt it in my bones, in the acceleration of my heartbeat, in the sheen of sweat that broke out on my skin. The question was definitely not Is Brody looking at me? The only question was Where is he watching from? It didn’t take me long to find out, and I couldn’t look away, even when I should have. When he turned away without looking back again, it was like pouring salt on an open wound that refused to heal.
Staring up at an empty luxury box, I paid no attention as I walked. The mass of people swarmed in all different directions, and I smacked straight into the back of another reporter. It had to be Angie Snow of all people.
“Delilah Maddox.” Her smile was sugary sweet, but the intonation in her tone was false.
“Angie. How are you?” There were very few women in the world of men’s professional sports. It wasn’t like we had a club or anything, yet we all knew each other’s names and faces. I’d met Angie at an event a few years back. We were both covering college games still.
“I’m good. A little disappointed, though.”
“Disappointed?”
“Easton. You’re a lucky girl. I thought you were done with him, and he was back on the market. I didn’t realize you were still together.”
I’d had my nails done that morning. The thought of getting them shaved into sharp points next time suddenly popped into my head. “We’re not together anymore.”
“Oh. Good to know.” She smiled, and I folded my fingers into my hand, digging my nails into my skin. “Well. Good luck today.” The blonde bombshell flipped her hair and turned to walk away.
“Wait. Angie. What made you think we were still together?”
“Well, usually when a cowboy shows me his horse, he lets me take a ride on it.”
I cringed. “And Brody didn’t?”
“Wrapped the towel back around his waist after he intentionally let it fall. And after my interview, when I suggested he give me a private viewing of what was under the towel again—alone at my place that night—he blew me off.”
I breathed a little. “Oh. I’m sure that doesn’t happen often.”
One of her perfectly plucked and dyed eyebrows arched. “Often? It never happens.”
I felt Brody come up behind me before I heard his voice. Angie’s eyes rose above my head as he took my elbow into his hand. “Excuse us a minute, Andy, would you?”
“It’s Angie.”
The next thing I knew, I was being steered out of the arena and into the hall. Brody kept moving, clutching me tightly to his side as if I might run if given the opportunity. When we got to the entrance to the men’s locker room, it was being guarded by Henry Inez.
“Hi.” It came out just as nervous as the first time we’d met, maybe more so.
He nodded. “Dam. Mr. Easton.”
Brody scrunched up his brow. “I need to use the locker room for a few minutes.”
“Not supposed to let anyone in. Even players.”
I sensed Brody’s anxiety. “We won’t be but a few minutes. It’s just impossible to escape all the reporters. They can be pretty annoying,” I joked.
Henry stepped aside, shaking his head. “A few minutes. That’s it. We rotate when the interviews start inside.”
“Thanks, Henry.” Brody wasted no time pushing the door open. But I stopped. “How’s Larissa’s arm doing?”
The security guard smiled. “Cast comes off tomorrow. It’s a good thing, too. She’s threatening to take a saw to it herself to get back on the court.”
“That’s great.”
Brody tugged at my arm, pulling me into the locker room. Inside, I glared at him. “That was rude. I was talking.”
“We only have a few minutes.”
I folded my arms over my chest.
He grinned. “But it never took me that long to get you off.”
“Brody . . . ”
His eyes darkened as he moved to me. With every step he took, I retreated, until my back hit a tiled wall. He lowered his face to mine, our mouths inches apart. “I think you lied.”
“About what?” I had the immense urge to lean forward and press my lips to his.
He shifted and leaned toward my neck, running his nose along the vein that pulsed with my heartbeat. It was beating out of control, and my breath was joining in on the race. “About how you feel about me. I think you lied.” He moved to my ear, his voice raw. “I think you feel everything I feel.”
I said nothing, but the hitch of my breath spoke volumes.
“I bet if I slipped my hand into your panties right now, you’d be as wet as I am hard.”
“Brody . . . ”
He pulled back a few inches and cupped my face with both hands. “And it’s not just your body that has a reaction to mine. I think you feel it . . . ” He slid one hand from my chin, down my neck, and stopped when his palm covered my heart. “Here. I think you feel it here, too.”