Part 2 (1/2)
”Tell Mom to stop ha.s.sling me, Gwen. I'm not bringing an inappropriate date to Tricia's wedding because I won't be bringing a date at all. Problem solved,” Brody snapped at his sister.
It was Monday evening and he was testy after the Blaze were narrowly defeated by the Patriots the night before; the loss resulting from a controversial play with seconds left in the game. The winning touchdown should have been his, had it not been for a defensive player's hand glued to Brody's back, knocking him off his route. A hand that was apparently invisible to the referee because interference hadn't been called. Adding salt to the wound, the Blaze players watched in disgust as the scene was replayed on the jumbotron, the infraction glaringly obvious, as the Patriots trotted off the field in victory.
”Do you think going dateless is such a smart idea?” The humor in Gwen's voice traveled through the cell phone mounted in the dash of Brody's Range Rover. ”You'd be fair game for every woman there. I think Mom just wants to make sure you don't detract attention from the bride. Like when one of the Kennedy kids tried to bring Taylor Swift to his cousin's wedding. She's worried you'll bring Candi the p.o.r.n star or someone equally scene-stealing.”
Brody gritted his teeth. ”For the one millionth time, Candi is an adult-film actress.”
”There's a difference?” his sister teased.
Braking at a red light, Brody ma.s.saged his left s.h.i.+n where another player's cleat had left a painful bruise. He'd spent the last couple of hours with several of his teammates at the practice facility letting the training staff administer to his various aches and pains. ”Do you have anything work related to discuss? Because, if not, I'm gonna hang up now.”
Gwen laughed. ”You are such a poor loser.”
”Bye-bye.” He reached out a hand to disconnect the call.
”Wait! I do have some decisions I need your okay on. I'll be nice, I promise.”
Twelve years and three sisters separated him from his oldest sibling. But Brody felt closer to Gwen than he did to his parents; probably because while he was growing up, she'd been the one to intervene when his other sisters insisted on using him as their own personal plaything. The mother of two school-age children herself, Gwen was responsible for handling Brody's personal correspondence and other publicity issues. It was a job she could do from her home in Boston, which suited them both perfectly. Brody loved his four older sisters. He just loved them more when they were eight hours away.
”Get to the point,” he said as he punched on the gas, merging with the cars on Central Avenue. ”I'm on my way home to watch Monday Night Football.”
”I know tomorrow's your day off, but please go over the proposal for the charity auction. You have a meeting with the board next week and they'll want your agreement.”
”More like they want my money,” he grumbled. Brody didn't mind sharing his wealth with those in need, but lately he was beginning to feel like a blank check, autonomous in the whole operation of his own charity.
His sister ignored his comment. ”Menswear magazine wanted you to do a resort spread on your bye weekend, but I had to nix that since Tricia's wedding is the same day. They won't give up. They were wondering if you'd do a shoot for their holiday issue, but it would have to be before the end of this month. And they'd need you in New York. Should I tell them they'll have to come to Baltimore if they want you?”
Brody scrubbed a hand down his face. One of his other sisters, Ashley, was a buyer for Nordstrom. She'd been dressing Brody his entire life. Fortunately for him, he'd outgrown her doll clothes by the time he was eighteen months old. Ash was talented, though, and thanks to her critical eye, he knew he always looked his best, unintentionally finding his way onto many best-dressed lists. But he was getting tired of being known as just another pretty face.
”No.” Time to draw the line on the turf. ”Tell them I'm not interested in doing any more photo shoots. I'm done modeling.”
”Crikey, Brody, you are grouchy today.”
He remained silent, easing up on the gas as he entered a school zone.
Gwen blew out a breath. ”Okay, as you wish. I'll tell them the holiday spread is a no, but I'm not closing the door on future shoots in case you're less hormonal tomorrow and you change your mind. Now, about this personal chef person you want; are you serious? It's not like you to be so pretentious as to want someone to cook your meals for you. Did I misunderstand your text? I already order all your groceries for you every week. Is there a problem with the delivery service?”
”No, Gwen, you're the perfect mommy. I just want someone to actually prepare the food you have sent in.”
”Well, jeez, Brody, if you're that lazy, I'll tell the company to deliver the food already prepared. They can do that, you know. It just gets a little pricey, but, hey, if that's what you want.”
It wasn't what he wanted. Because then he'd have to tell his sister about his blood sugar issues. If his coven of motherly sisters found out, he'd be toast. And that was before they'd rat him out to their mother. Just the thought gave him the w.i.l.l.i.e.s.
”No, I want someone to cook the meals fresh. Someone who understands nutrition. I'm trying to eat a more balanced diet to keep my body at its peak.” As lies went, his was easily sustainable.
His sister let out a snort, which Brody ignored.
”Just figure out how I hire such a person, Gwen.”
The laughter was back in her voice. ”Are there any other specifications you have? Blond? Brunette? Maybe a redhead? Ooh la la, should she be French?”
”Hanging up now.” Brody punched the disconnect b.u.t.ton, silencing his sister's laughter.
All the talk of food made his stomach growl. He'd ventured into the commissary at the practice facility earlier to grab a snack, telling himself he wasn't looking for a certain whiskey-eyed, leggy woman in a hairnet. But when he didn't see her there, he'd left without eating anything. Now he wanted a sandwich. A meaty concoction from Santoni's deli.
It was dinnertime in suburbia and the parking lot of the gourmet market-deli was full. Navigating his SUV into a spot, Brody tried to stroll inconspicuously into the store, but a buzz went up immediately as he was recognized by the shoppers.
”Tough game last night.”
”d.a.m.n refs. They're all blind.”
Brody acknowledged the comments of the Blaze faithful with a head bob and a slight smile as he made a beeline for the deli counter.
”Hey, hey, number eighty, where you been?” t.i.to, the deli manager, greeted Brody with a booming voice. ”Those freakin' refs were all a bunch of homers last night. They need binoculars, for sure. You want your usual?” He was already slicing the bread before he'd finished his question. Despite the fact he liked celebrities in his store, t.i.to knew Brody didn't want to stand around and field questions from fans after a loss.
Trying to look busy, Brody was scanning his cell phone screen when a pair of familiar legs, decked out in formfitting yoga shorts, pa.s.sed through his peripheral vision. His heart rate sped up as he followed her with his eyes. Unfortunately, his weren't the only ones trailing the cafeteria ladybartender. He watched as three college-age twerps tailed her down an aisle, their body language shouting they were up to something.
”Be right back,” he said to t.i.to as he rounded the corner of the endcap stacked with Goldfish crackers.
”Aww, come on,” one of the frat boys was saying. ”I know you were into us the other night at the bar. Why don't you come by our place tonight and hang with us. We can do some shots and watch some football.”
Brody could only imagine what the three idiots wanted to do to her once they'd gotten her drunk. Whiskey Eyes-he thought he remembered Nate calling her Shannon-was tougher than she looked, though; something he'd already figured out about her. Sporting a ”Don't Mess with Texas” T-s.h.i.+rt, she kept her stance casual even as the three boxed her in.
”Sorry, fellas. I have cla.s.s tomorrow. But thanks.” Her s.e.xy drawl lulled two of the boys into dazed adoration.
Frat boy number three wasn't taking no for an answer, though. Belligerently s.h.i.+fting closer, he reached out and grabbed her elbow. Before she could yank her arm free, Brody was heading down the aisle. He grabbed a random box from the shelf and stepped around to her other side.
”Babe,” he said as he slipped the box-a brownie mix-into the handbasket she was carrying. ”Do we have any eggs? I thought we could make these tonight.” Placing his palm on her lower back, he pulled her closer toward him, the gesture a universal signal of possession among males.
Brody wasn't sure who was more startled, the bartender or the three guys hounding her. Her eyes dilated briefly before her long lashes blinked closed. When she opened them again, she seemed to recover a bit of her equilibrium.
”Umm . . .” Her tongue darted over her lower lip, and Brody's whole body went on alert. ”No. No, we, um, we need eggs.”
Giving her back a rea.s.suring rub, he took her basket and guided her away from the three, treating them to the cat-ate-the-canary grin he gave defensive players when he'd beaten them to the football. Once they'd rounded the corner, she blew out a breath, stepping away from his hand at her back.
”Whoa there, Texas.” Brody wrapped his arm across her shoulders. ”Keep playing along until they leave,” he said quietly as they made their way toward the dairy section. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the rest of the shoppers who'd begun to take notice of him again.
”That's Brody Janik,” college boy number three yelled out to his friends. ”No way he's tapping someone like her! Not when he's got hot models and p.o.r.n stars to choose from.”
He felt her cringe beneath his arm.
”Ah, h.e.l.l. Now I'm gonna have to hit that guy,” Brody muttered, his body teeming with anger.
She turned on him, those whiskey eyes filled with alarm. ”No! You're not going to fight over me,” she cried as her hands clenched on to his s.h.i.+rt, the tips of her fingers brus.h.i.+ng his chest. Heat surged through him.
”Fine, we'll do this the pacifist's way,” he said, just before he dropped the basket and pulled her in for a kiss.