Page 5 of Dirty Like Brody
“You’re late,” he said, his voice flat. He took a few steps toward me, then stopped, his gaze flicking down to my breasts. “Is that myshirt?”
Iglanceddown.
It was an old Led Zeppelin tour T-shirt. It saidUnited States of America 1977and had a rockin’ angel on it, a naked dude with outstretched wings. It wasn’t the kind of T-shirt you paid too much money for in some hipster boutique because it looked old and distressed. Itwasold. It was large on me to begin with and was now so stretched out I tied it above one hip to make it fit. The neck fell off one shoulder. It was worn to hell and had a fewholes.
And yes, itwashis.
I’d picked it up off his bedroom floor one sketchy morning when I was eighteen, and never gave it back. He’d never asked for it back. And even if he wanted it back after I’d worn the hell out of it, I wasn’t givingitback.
It was a piece of him. The only pieceIhad.
“No,” I lied, pulling my jacket shut. Butterflies skittered in my stomach as he reached past me, scooping my bags offthecart.
“Had a shirt just like that. Disappeared around the timeyoudid.”
His blue eyes met mine and I felt the almost-electric jolt all the way down my spine. I felt itbetweenmylegs.
Holyhell.
Istillfeltit.
That same thing… that thing that should’ve died with all the years and all the miles between us… all the silence… all the time I’dwastedtrying like hell to fight it, to deny it, to just plain numb it out. Coiling fast, hot and tight at the base of my spine… in my lungs, at the back of my throat, every cell of my body catching fire… as every nerve, every fiber lit up in protest of every second we’d beenapart.
It was exactly the same. Only…worse.
Itwasmore.
That crazy, irresistible pull I’d felt around him back then had only grownstronger.
His eyes darkened as his pupils dilated… and I knew he felt it, too. Then his gaze dropped to my lips. He breathed in, his nostrils flaring. His jawclenched.
Then he turned and walked away. Withmybags.
OhmyGod.
I just stood there, watching him go, the air between us stretching thinner and thinner the farther he got, until I couldn’t breathe.Atall.
I allowed myself two-point-five seconds to freak out. Then I forced some air, shuddering, into mylungs.
Then I wentafterhim.
I caught up only when he stopped to toss my things in the back of a black Escalade parked at the curb, hazard lights flashing. I stood there, awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around, every part of me throbbing with the force of my heartbeat; my lungs as I fought to breathe, my brain as I fought to think,myclit.
My knees wereshaking.
No man had ever made my knees shakebefore.
Well, nootherman.
This was not how my body had ever reacted toothermen.
And yes, I was aware that deep, deep down, there was still some part of me—maybe larger than I’d like to admit—that was still that skinny, dorky, lonely girl who’d been bullied on the playground. But making my living as a model over the past decade meant I’d grown a thick skin. Very thick. I’d also learned that no matter how I felt inside, the world did not see me as that skinny, dorky girl; that men, in general, found me beautiful. Way more beautiful than I’d ever felt. I still had a hard time reckoningmewith those pictures of model-me in designer lingerie, my long brown hair highlighted with caramel and honey, my eyebrows perfectly shaped, my cheekbones and chin all somehow grown in to balance what I’d feared would always be an awkward nose, my full lips and long limbs somehow all working together to create an image that was something far and away from that girl inside. Even so, I’d learned how to carry myself with confidence, how to compete, perform, win and even lose with grace. I’d learned how to keep my cool under intense scrutiny, and mercifully, how to handle rejection. Because the world I lived in, even for beautiful girls, was rife withrejection.
What I’d never learned how to do, apparently, was look Brody Mason in his deep blue eyes and not losemyshit.
Lucky for me, he barely spared me a glance as he slammed the back of the truck shut. “Get in,” he said, disappearing around thedriver’sside.
I walked up to the passenger side door as he got in the truck. Then I stood there, in the misting rain, still kind of in shock, just trying to get a handle on all the reactions set off by his suddenpresence.
