Page 63 of Bridesmaid for Hire
Please, if I was flirting, he’d know it.
We head back to the group where the whiteboard has our first round of points calculated. Currently we’re third place. Not too bad. Beatrice and her husband are first, followed by Haisley and Jude, us—the loving couple—and then Hudson and Hardy.
While the second game is being set up, I notice the tension in Brody’s shoulders. Any other time—maybe—I’d pull Brody to the side, dust the sand off his stomach, and tell him that I wasn’t flirting. That I signed the contract and will abide by any means necessary.
But guess who poked the bear? Brody did. Now I’m not only feeling very irritated, but vengeful.
I’m irritated with a lot of things.
I’m irritated about last night, when he hovered over me, ran his fingers along my side, and convinced me for a brief moment that he found me attractive, only to then insult me and wipe that thought clean out of my head.
I’m irritated that he’s irritated when he should be focusing on what he’s here for…rather than focusing on me.
And I’m irritated that he looks so freaking good in his black shorts that hang stupidly low on his hips. Jerks, idiots, and morons should never look good in a pair of board shorts. They should look like one-eyed trolls with long toenails and oddly-shaped belly buttons that resemble more of a broken chip than a circle.
And of course, my irritation gets the better of me.
A plan starts to form in my head.
A vengeful, devious plan.
“You know your scowl is very unbecoming. Maybe if you scowled less and actually put in the work, you wouldn’t be in your current position.” I fold my arms over my chest.
I feel his eyes land on me. “You know nothing about my position.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but coming from someone who works more than the average person, I’d think if this mattered that much to you, you wouldn’t be scowling over the fact that you thought I was flirting. You’d be networking, getting to know the guys. Joking around with them about a freaking egg cracking on Hardy’s head. The opportunity was there for you, but instead you’re worried that I might be flirting with someone else.”
“Because you were.”
I turn to him, keeping my voice down, “I wasn’t flirting, Brody.”
“Sure as fuck looked like it.”
Ooh, he’s in a mood. Makes me want to kick him in the shin. Teach him not to mess with me, but I don’t think a kick to the shin of the man I’m supposed to be madly in love with is a great look.
“I wasn’t. I was trying to be friendly. I’m here to make sure the Hopper family likes me, appreciates me, sees how smart, talented, and kind I am. You’re here for the same reason. Act like it.”
And for any spectators who might be watching us, I brush the accumulated sand off his abs. Each and every single one of them.
Every.
Single.
Delicious.
One.
It started as a way to save face for the crowd, but now that I’m in the middle of dusting, I can’t help but want to fondle his stomach, lick it, rub my cheek along the ridges. His abs are so hot. They’re like their own personal island on his stomach.
His body contracts beneath my touch, defining his abs even more and when I glance up at him, I no longer see anger, but more like heat…hunger.
Dude is all over the place.
Then again, I might be too.
Not wanting this to go any further because, Jesus Christ, we all know I’m a loose cannon when it comes to this man—with my luck, my hand would end up down his pants, all the way through his leg hole where I would be waving to everyone around us. Nope, I’m not to be trusted, so I remove my hand and clear my throat. “I just wanted you to know I wasn’t doing anything to make you look bad if that’s what you were thinking. But if youwantme to make you look bad, I have no problem doing that. Take your pick, a story, actual flirting…maybe I trip and fall, and a breast pops out. I’m not opposed to any.”
“Just act normal.” He pushes a stray hair behind my ear. “You might be vying for popularity, but this is my goddamn job that’s at stake.”
