Part 13 (1/2)
He glared at Skip while directing his comment to his mother. ”I'm sure it's just that my tastes in food have grown as I've grown, Mom.” He reached under the table and squeezed Shannon's hand in an effort to offer rea.s.surance. ”Besides, she does amazing things with vegetables.”
Somehow, the words didn't come out exactly how Brody intended them. Judging by the way Shannon yanked her hand back and the accompanying groans from Bridgett and Julianne, he wasn't the only one who thought so. Skip was laughing openly now and no amount of Gwen's shus.h.i.+ng was going to shut him up. Connelly shook his head in disgust.
”Dessert!” His mother sprang to her feet to help the waiter serve the warm apple pie, and Brody thought he heard a mumbled ”thank G.o.d” from his father. Waving off the piece of pie the waiter set in front of him, he breathed a sigh of relief when the pastry distracted the attention of the guests. He glanced at Shannon, but her face was impa.s.sive. Once again, he found himself wondering what she'd had to endure growing up to develop such a thick skin.
Thirty minutes later, the rehearsal dinner mercifully ended. Gwen dragged Skip upstairs under the guise of helping put their two kids down to sleep, but everyone knew he was being sent to bed as well. Ashley and Mark had taken their son up long before dessert. Brody's parents and their friends gravitated to the parlor, where a makes.h.i.+ft bar had been set up, while the rest of the wedding party headed out to a pub in town. Julianne and Will made their excuses and wandered upstairs hand in hand, leaving Brody sitting in the dining room with Shannon, Bridgett, Robbie, and his fiancee, Faith.
”If y'all will excuse me,” Shannon said. ”I've got some studying to do.”
Brody was relieved, standing to make his exit, too. He needed to apologize to her for the remark earlier and clarify the sleeping arrangements for the night. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was to hear about Robbie-Rob's-perfect wedding and his perfect life. Shannon's hand on his arm stopped him, though.
”No, Brody. You stay and catch up with your family and friends.”
He wanted to shout, The h.e.l.l with my family and friends, but her eyes told him she needed some s.p.a.ce and once again his guilty conscience niggled.
”Sure,” he said, sliding back into his chair reluctantly. ”I'll be up in a little bit.”
”Oh, don't worry about me. Take your time. I've got lots of reading to do.”
As brush-offs go, Shannon's couldn't have been clearer if she'd kicked him in the nuts.
She slipped away amid a chorus of ”see you in the morning,” and Brody was left to face down Bridgett's scowl.
”You sure fumbled that pa.s.s, little brother.”
Brody flipped her off as Robbie-now-known-as-Rob laughed. ”You'd better hope she doesn't have any sharp vegetables in her suitcase,” his friend joked.
”Funny,” Brody said. He turned to Faith to initiate the one conversation that would send his sister to speeding to her own room. ”So, how are the wedding plans coming?”
Sure enough, Bridgett was on her feet in ten seconds flat. ”I'm out. I think grandpa Gus wanted to play gin tonight.”
Fortunately, he was saved by the arrival of Rob's father. ”Brody, I need your advice on my fantasy football roster. Step up the bar and help an old man out.”
Brody managed to escape his father's cronies an hour later. The main inn building had twenty guestrooms and as he wandered the long upstairs hall to the room he was sharing with Shannon, he hoped she'd already gone to sleep. His body rebelled at the thought of bunking down on the hard floor, but sharing a bed with her would be even more punis.h.i.+ng. If he had to endure any pillow talk, the night would progress to torturous.
Too bad he hadn't packed his body armor because the scene greeting him inside the bedroom was more intimate than he imagined. This wasn't the first time Brody had walked into a hotel room where a woman waited for him. But on those occasions, his guest would be wearing nothing but a G-string and stilettos. Tonight, the sight of Shannon innocently seated on the bed, wearing purple flannel pajamas, her face scrubbed clean, and her hair twisted up on her head with-he did a double take-a number two pencil stuck in the knot aroused him more than any other hotel tryst. Instead of mood lighting and silk sheets, a laptop rested on her crossed legs and she'd spread out papers containing her data around her on the comforter.
”Hey,” she said quietly.
Closing the door behind him, Brody leaned a shoulder against the mantel as the fire crackled inside the grate. He swirled his Scotch-now diluted with melted ice-in the gla.s.s in his hand. ”You weren't fibbing about having to work. I thought you were just saying that to escape.”
She piled her papers into a neat stack before slipping them into her book bag. ”Sorry to abandon you down there, but the weekends are when I get most of my schoolwork done. I need to get ahead if we're going to be spending all day tomorrow at the wedding.”
”Still think my family's delightful?”
”I think you could have left the remark about the vegetables in the locker room where it belonged.”
He pushed away from the fireplace, charging toward the bed. ”Ah, come on, you know that didn't come out the way I meant it. Besides, it would have sounded innocent if they weren't all thinking you're some kind of bimbo.”
She chuckled softly. ”Actually, that's a first for me, so I was kind of enjoying it.”
Brody stared down at her as she closed her laptop and placed it on the trunk that doubled as an end table. Maybe he'd mistaken the desire in her eyes earlier because she was cool and composed now, reclining against the pillows as if sharing a room with him wouldn't affect her at all. She'd arranged a row of throw pillows along the length of the bed, forming a bulkhead of sorts to separate the two halves.
Sighing heavily, Brody flopped down on the mattress, crossing his wingtips at the ankles, the Scotch slos.h.i.+ng in the gla.s.s as he rested it on his stomach. ”Glad we can provide you with some cheap thrills. But my family should at least take you seriously, even if they can't do the same for me.”
Shannon gazed at him speculatively. ”Your family adores you, Brody.”
”Sure they do. They treat me like the overindulged puppy that never grew into his feet.”
She laughed merrily, the sound stirring something inside him. He looked over at her long feet, her slender toes painted a s.e.xy bright red. Stifling a groan, he forced his eyes up to study the crown molding.
”I'm serious. I just spent the last hour with my father, my uncles, and their friends, and all they ever want to talk to me about is football, my stats, or their fantasy teams. Almost as if I'm not capable of conversing in any other subject.”
”Doesn't that kind of come with the territory?”
”Even you do it. You did it the other day when you were explaining your research to me.”
He saw from the corner of his eye that she had the grace to cringe before she rolled on her side to face him, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. ”I did. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made a.s.sumptions. But don't you like being a professional football player, Brody? You're one of the best in the game.”
”Not one of the best. I am the best.” He took a swallow of the Scotch, its bitterness burning his throat, before turning his head on the pillow to glare at her. ”I'm the best tight end in the league. And I don't like being a football player. I love it. I love being on the field, outmaneuvering the defense and making the catches no one else can.”
A slow smile spread over her face as she took the gla.s.s from his hand. ”But?”
And there was the million-dollar question. Brody had been struggling with the ”but” issue for months now. The problem was, he couldn't articulate why he was so unhappy. ”I just wonder if it's enough, you know. I know it sounds selfish to you. I get paid millions to play a game. Little boys-and big boys, too-dream about having that opportunity all their lives.” Sighing, he shook his head, unable to come up with anything else.
He reached for the gla.s.s back, but Shannon got up, walked to the bathroom, and poured the contents into the sink. When she came back to the bedroom, she stopped at the minibar and pulled out an apple she'd cut up and a small tub of peanut b.u.t.ter. She crawled on the bed, sitting Indian style as she placed the tub of peanut b.u.t.ter on one of the barrier pillows.
”Did you always want to be a jock?” she asked as she handed him the bag of apple pieces.
Brody sat up against the headboard. ”Didn't every boy?”
”No, some want to be firemen or astronauts or forest rangers.” She took an apple from the bag and dipped in the peanut b.u.t.ter.
He scoffed. ”First, they want to be pro ballplayers. All those other occupations are second choice.”
”So you're one of the lucky ones who got their first choice,” she said matter-of-factly, making his life sound so simple.
Her tongue darted out to lick a piece of peanut b.u.t.ter off her lip and Brody's c.o.c.k jumped. In his current circ.u.mstances, he didn't consider himself lucky at all. He was sharing a bed with a woman he shouldn't find s.e.xy, but he did, with nothing but a retaining wall of throw pillows separating their two bodies.
”I told you it didn't make sense.” He crunched on his own apple in aggravation.
”Actually, it makes perfect sense. You're trying to figure out who Brody Janik is without football. You don't want to be defined by the game you play. I get it.”
A bit of apple got lodged in his throat at her words and he coughed. ”Yeah, something like that,” he said when he finally found his voice.
”Nothing is going to happen to your career, Brody. You're controlling your blood sugar and you'll get your contract extension. You have years to worry about who Brody is post-football.” She spoke the words with such conviction, he almost believed her.