Page 58 of Bridesmaid for Hire
Haisley texted me this morning that if Brody and I have anything black, we should wear it because that will be our team color. I chose a black sports bra and a black pair of bike shorts that ride pretty high on the thigh. Brody went with black board shorts and that’s it. He told me there was no point in wearing a shirt when he knew he was going to end up taking it off anyway.
So now I have to spend all day with a shirtless Brody. Not ideal.
Once the last couple passes us, he tilts my chin up and says, “About last night.”
“Nope, don’t want to talk about it.”
I try to walk around him, but he stops me and makes me look at him again. “Maggie, I’m sorry.”
The apology surprises me. Brody seems pretty stubborn, someone who doesn’t really give in to apologies very easily.
“Sorry for what?” I ask, unsure of what else to say to him.
“For what I said and how I treated you.” He pushes his hand through his floppy hair. “I got some shit news last night and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”
Oh.
I press my lips together as I look up at him and when I see those sincere, chocolate-brown eyes, a wave of emotion pushes through me, shocking me as I feel tears spring to my eyes again.
No.
Oh my God, no.
Do not cry.
Unfortunately for me, he catches it and the concern on his face deepens.
“Maggie…”
I shake my head and take a step back, waving my hand over my eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“Please don’t,” I say as my eyes fill with tears.
He tugs me into the privacy of some bushes and bends at the knees to meet my gaze just as tears begin to fall.
“Did I…did I do this to you?” he asks, his voice breaking, as if he couldn’t possibly stomach the thought of making me cry.
I shake my head and take a deep breath.
“No, just a lot on my mind.”
“What’s going on? I can help.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to get into it, okay?” I dab at my eyes as the tears start to subside. “We’re here to do a job, we’re not here to form a bond, so let’s just keep it professional and not get into each other’s personal lives.”
“You’re still my best friend’s sister, so that gives me the right to care.”
I look up at him. “I’d rather you not. And I don’t mean that to sound rude, but…I just think it’s best that we keep things separate. Let’s do the job, okay?”
He studies me for a few seconds and when I think he’s going to push me deeper into the bushes to ask me more questions, he nods and takes my hand.
“When you’re ready,” he says. I assumed he’s snapped into business mode—like he wants this to be a job, then we can make it a job—but he doesn’t. His expression remains concerned, sincere.
I dab at my eyes again and take a few more deep breaths. When I look up at him, I ask, “Is my makeup smeared?”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s perfect.”
