Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

14. Kodi

CHAPTER 14

I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember much about what happened after the game. I do remember Lily leading the charge of the entire team hoisting me on their shoulders and the two rounds of complimentary tequila shots at the Crowbar for the reigning champions. I remember the subsequent margarita that I ordered after that, as well as the first couple of nachos I snatched from the giant table-long plate that Callie ordered us.

What I don’t remember is the two rounds of margaritas after that, the supposed impromptu karaoke competition, or the fact that Lily and Callie had to apparently carry me back to my apartment sometime early in the morning. Ugh. I need a bacon sandwich and a coffee, stat.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand beside me; thankfully I remembered to plug it in before I crashed into bed. A quick glance shows me it’s Mom–again–but I’m too hungover to even think about texting her back right now.

As I stumble out of bed, head pounding, and make my way to my bathroom with heavy footfalls, I feel every one of those drinks I don’t remember.

I flush and splash my face with water, pull my sticky hair into a scrunchy at the base of my neck, and stumble back into the hallway of my one-bedroom apartment. It only takes a few steps to make it to the open space that serves as my living room, kitchenette, and breakfast nook.

That’s when I see large feet hanging off the arm of the couch directly in front of me.

“The fuck!?”

I’m not exactly eloquent when I have a hangover.

“What? Who’s there?” A shirtless man shoots up from his reclined position on my couch, before immediately regretting it. He rubs his lower back and groans, shaking his head. “How’re you feeling, Kodi?”

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment? What–did you–?”

And then I remember more of what happened after the game yesterday. And before. The kiss. Both of them. Lily’s painful matchmaking all throughout the night. And all the curious glances from the team and the bartenders and the crowd and…

And Zeke Chopra.

Brian spins to put his feet on the floor, then walks over to me and puts a large, warm hand on my shoulder. I avert my eyes from his bare chest. He smells like he did that first time we met, only with a greater emphasis on the warm bakery smell that must just be him. It’s so weirdly comforting. And not at all what I’m used to boys smelling like.

“Where do you keep your coffee? I’ll make us a pot. We need to talk.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re doing here. We didn’t–um,” I lift my arms hesitantly and make a weak, lewd imitation of intercourse with my thumbs and pointer fingers. “Did we?”

Brian looks at me slack-jawed for a moment before he chuckles. “No. I don’t do–” he imitates my gesture– “with anyone without explicit consent. And you were a little… beyond consenting last night.”

“Oh God,” I moan, collapsing on a stool at the kitchen island. “What did I do?”

“After your fourth margarita? Basically pass out,” he answers, handing me a mug of coffee, and then cracks two eggs into a frying pan he’s already heated on the tiny kitchenette stove. He still isn’t wearing a shirt, but he’s tied one of the frilly aprons that my mom bought for me as a housewarming present over his sculpted chest. He’s already placed a rack of bacon in the oven, and had two bagels toasting with cream cheese softening beside the pan on the warming stovetop. “Lily insisted I carry you back to your place. You weren’t really walking that well.”

He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee, and then gives me a concerned look. “You really should be taking it easy with your knee.”

I take a sip of my own coffee, hiding from his too-observant eyes behind my mug. Even with the pink ruffles framing his pectorals, his attention is withering. My knee has been killing me all morning, almost as bad as if I’d never had an adjustment at all. “I haven’t been doing anything out of the ordinary.”

“Is that so? No shuttle runs or four-hour long practices of pacing up and down an uneven park field? No dancing on bar tops?” He cocks an amused eyebrow. I furrow mine.

I danced on top of the bar?

“My practices are not four hours long.”

“A few of your teammates at the Crowbar last night said otherwise.”

“Okay, Doctor. If we’re going to shame each other for our sins, wanna tell me why you were gathering intel on me all night long only to spend the night on my couch and make me breakfast, then?”

After kissing me like your life depended on it–TWICE–yesterday?

His expression grows more serious. He focuses on flipping the eggs. “You got sick in the bar parking lot. I didn’t have anyone’s number, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. Except… “Um. Thank you.”

“You are, right? Okay?” And once again, his piercing blue eyes are boring into me under those concerned eyebrows of his.

“Yeah. I mean. My knee is killing me, and I’m hungover, but yeah.”

He shakes his head, a grin tilting up the corner of his mouth. The toaster dings. He grabs the everything bagel from the spring-loaded slot and smears a healthy serving of cream cheese on one side. He butters the other, then spatulas the two eggs on top. “You want the bacon on the sandwich or on the side?”

My mouth waters. Um, if this is what waking up with a man is like, I’m beginning to understand what Lily likes about it so much. “Both.”

“You got it.” He opens the oven to check on the heavenly-smelling strips, then dons an oven mitt and takes them out. As he moves about the kitchen, he hums a little to himself and moves his hips and shoulders a bit–almost like he’s dancing.

No, not almost. He’s totally dancing. It’s subtle, slight enough movements that someone who wasn’t used to watching people move or train wouldn’t really notice, certainly not with the sound of the vent hood blasting and no music playing in the background. But I do.

“What’s the song?” I ask, as he tongs two chewy-looking strips from their pool of grease on top of the eggs. He straightens, surprised, and then gives a quiet, embarrassed laugh.

“Pennies from Heaven,” he says, then starts whistling in earnest as he finishes the sandwich and pops another bagel in the toaster. He hands me my breakfast on the part of the melody that would be “sunshine and ravioli,” and I mouth the call-and-response (macaroni!) when he whistles it. His eyes twinkle at me, and then flicker down to the plate. “Eat up. Then we can talk.”

I let out a breath, defeated. “Okay.”

I take a bite and immediately make a very indecent noise. This is fucking delicious.

Luckily, Brian is already over at the stove again, frying up eggs for his own sandwich and chomping on a piece of bacon. By the time he finishes up constructing his plate, I’m already licking my fingers clean and hopping around the island for another piece. “That was really good.”

“I heard.”

Heat rushes up my neck as I realize that he didn’t miss my moan when I’d taken that first bite. I smile shyly as I chew my bacon strip, shrugging my shoulders. “Good, then. Consider it a compliment.”

“I always do when someone makes a sound like that. Speaking of…”

I shake my head, waving another piece of bacon at him while I work through my mortification. “No, you finish your breakfast first, too. I’ll make more coffee. Did you want milk, or sugar or anything?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p” and taking a giant bite. “Shuit yershelf. Yer jush duh-layeeng the inev’ible.”

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full?”

“Nope.” He shoots me a toothy grin, complete with bits of half-chewed food stuffing his cheeks, and I shake my head.

“You’re ridiculous.” Even more so with that apron hanging from his neck. “Where’s your shirt?” He nods his head toward the back of the couch, where the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday looks like it’s air-drying. I tilt my head. “Why is it wet?”

He winces. “Remember when I said you got sick in the parking lot?”

I freeze. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I think the apron is cuter, anyway. Really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

He bats his eyelashes at me. Despite my mortification, my stomach flutters and my lips curl up in a grin.

“Pink really is your color.”