Page 7 of Dirty Like Brody
I was judging by the number of F-bombs in that little tirade that he was pissed.Atme.
Not that I hadn’t expected him to be a little mad. Among otherthings.
But the fact that he obviouslywasmad just proved that he still cared,right?
“Six-and-a-half years,”Isaid.
“What?”
“It’s been… six-and-a-half years,” I repeated, my voice fading, “since we… saw eachother.”
He saidnothing.
It’s just because he cares,I told myself.And he probably won’t be the only one who gives you attitude this weekend, so get usedtoit.
But I couldn’t get used to it. I had no experience with mature, pissed-off Brody. I’d barely been able to deal with the Brody I used to know. Young, wild, too gorgeous for common sense and angry at theworld.
At all the world…exceptme.
We took a turn to the right, continuing back into the airport, and I struggled to get my bearings; it had been years since I’d been here, but this was definitely not the way to the ferryterminal.
“Where are wegoing?”
“To your brother’swedding.”
“But… I’m supposed to meet Roni at theferry.”
He shot me a look that could only be described as scathing. Come to think of it, it was the first time he’d looked at me since I got in the truck. “And I’m supposed to trust you not to skip out on the dinner tonight, or the wedding tomorrow? You’re already missing therehearsal.”
Oh.
Jesus.
That’swhat this wasabout?
He didn’t pick me up at the airport because he wanted toseeme?
I studied his angry profile and it all became soclear.
No. He didn’t want toseeme.
He’d only come to get me because my brother, the big rock star, had asked him to drive out here in the rain and deal with me. Brody was one of my brother’s best friends, so why not? Worse; Brody managed my brother’s mega-successful rock band, Dirty, so this was probably some sort of business deal. Like somewhere in his contract, my brother had snuck in a clause that it was Brody’s responsibility to deal with all the most tedious bullshit in his life, up to and including escorting his little sister to his wedding so shewouldn’tbail.
Definitely something my brotherwoulddo.
Well, if they had a contract. In their many years of working together, Brody and the band had never had a written contract between them. Because that’s just the kind of friends they were. A verbaldeal,then.
You deal with Jessa. I’ll owe you onelater.
“It’s really none of your business,” I told him, “if I go to my brother’s wedding or not.” And it wasn’t. Brody wasn’tmymanager—much as he’d wanted to be, back when I was writing music with the band… but that was neither here nor there. He wasn’t the boss of me either, any more than mybrotherwas.
Yeah, try telling either ofthemthat.
Whatever. This was ridiculous. Offensive, actually, that they both seemed to think I needed some kind of chaperone for this event. That they were treating me like I was still a fuckingteenager.
Yes, I’d screwed up six-and-a-half years ago—and okay, every day since then—but today was a new day,right?
“Jesseismy business,” Brody ground out. “Literally. If you skip out on his wedding or any of the other romantic bullshit Katie has planned for the next forty-eight hours, that shit willnotfly.”
