Chapter 14
brIELLE
Staring down at my notebook, I roll my eyes at the half-assed attempt at a new romper design before roughly erasing the hemline.
I bring it lower this time, having it flirt with the inch of thigh above the knee.
From experience, I know how annoying it is when a romper crawls up your ass while you walk. That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid.
From the prior three prototypes I’ve put together over the last few weeks, I’m failing.
I tune out the roar of the stadium around me and lean down to blow the eraser shavings off the page. The pink pencil in my hand feels more like a five-pound dumbbell as I add some dimension to the waistline. It’s still too form-fitting, which isn’t my vision, either.
Soft Body is supposed to be about representing all bodies, regardless of their shape and size. Each piece I create is stitched together with comfort in mind, and that’s one thing I won’t budge on, regardless of how many times I need to erase and resketch a design.
I’ve lost count of the number of brands I’ve seen that don’t give a shit about larger bodies.
There are very distinct differences that come when making clothing for the extra-small to extra-large size range versus plus sizes.
What flatters a small body is not always going to flatter a larger body, and business owners need to start investing money and resources into making sure they’re not just adding more material to a design and calling it a day.
There are parts of every piece of clothing that need to be adjusted and crafted a bit differently to flatter someone who’s plus-size.
And that’s the gap in the industry that I’m trying to fill.
No more tight busts, sleeves that pinch the thickest part of the arm, or the gaping in the back of jeans because they were made without thought of someone who carries more of their weight in their ass and thighs rather than their stomach.
With a sigh, I flare out the bottom portion of the hem and create more of a skirt-type bottom around the thigh.
“Earth to Brielle. Are you with me?”
I snap my head up and flash Aubrey a broad smile. “Of course I am. Why, did something happen?”
“You’d know if you were actually watching the game.”
“What do you think about this?” I ask, twisting and lifting the notebook directly in front of her.
My best friend pushes up in her chair and takes the book from me. Her eyes move all over the page, and my smile grows less showy and more genuine as I watch her actually give it a real look over. She’d never do anything just to placate me, though. Especially when it comes to this.
“I like it. You should bring the waist out a bit more. The shape is good in the first sketch, but it’s still just a bit too tight in the second.”
“How much?” I snag the book back and erase those specific lines before redrawing them. “Like this?”
“Much better.”
“The top is good, right? I let out the arms a bit and deepened the neckline.”
She reaches up to tighten her ponytail. The thick mass of black hair is curled, and there’s a green ribbon tied around the elastic band holding it up.
It matches the Avery jersey she’s wearing and the Rourke jersey I yanked out of a box beneath my bed and threw on earlier.
I’ve never worn Beck’s jersey before, but considering how much Wes has been pissing me off these last few days, this was the perfect payback.
“Yeah, I love that. It’s flirty but not too much,” she says, looking out at the field again.
Her leg starts bouncing, and I frown when I follow her line of sight to see my brother currently talking to Finn on the mound.
I’ve been so focused on my sketching that I seem to have to missed the Havoc choking.
There’s a player on second base giving the two of them oogly eyes while the batter twirls his bat eagerly.
Tucking my notebook between my thigh and the seat, I ask, “What’s up with him today?”
“I don’t know. He’s been shaking off all of Wes’ pitch calls.”
My brows jump. “Oh, I’m sure he’s loving that.”
“We’ll both hear about it later, I’m sure.”
“If anyone can shake Finn out of a funk, it’s my brother. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
She nods subtly and blows a raspberry. “Let’s hope so. Kellan’s planning a party to celebrate a win tonight, and it’ll be way too awkward if they end up losing.”
“Are you going?”
“He guilted me into it earlier. You?”
“And be forced to spend more time with my brother? Not a chance,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
The sun bathes my bare thighs in the jean shorts I paired beneath the oversized jersey. It feels amazing after being stuck inside the last few days.
My brother isn’t to blame for that. Rather, he’s been trying to get me to leave my apartment since the morning after the concert. He seemed to be feeling rather apologetic after learning that he blasted my personal life to all of his friends because he was too intoxicated to know better.
I’m petty, though. Too petty to accept his texted apologies the last few days. If he wants my forgiveness, he’s going to have to do more than that. Like agree to his damn birthday party dinner already so that I can no longer be the messenger between him, Dad, and Mom.
“He’s still being a douche?” Aubrey asks.
“Not entirely. I’m just making him work for my forgiveness a bit.”
That makes her laugh, even as her gaze stays fixed on the field. I reach for my diet pop and take a sip. The duo breaks apart finally, and Wes makes his way back to home plate. Finn tilts his head back and forth a few times before rolling his shoulders back and giving the ump a nod.
Aubrey reaches for my hand at the same time he throws his next pitch. I let her squeeze it as hard as she needs to while watching alongside her, praying for both our sakes that he pulls his shit together.
The stadium always empties insanely fast, considering the tens of thousands of people who come to watch the games.
There are the lingering fans who try to stay a bit later on the off chance they’ll get a random extra viewing of one of the players or just so happen to stumble upon one who’s made the poor decision to prowl the stadium after a game. They always leave disappointed.
Tonight is no different.
I enter the clubhouse and ignore the two pairs of curious eyes that flick my way for half a second before moving away again. My brother’s orders keep the Havoc players on a pretty short leash when it comes to me. I assume it’s the same with Evie.
My lips purse when I think of her uncle and the last time I saw him.
It’s been three days, yet it feels like just yesterday I had him pressing me into the wall with his hands on my body and lips so close I could almost taste them.
I’ve thought about that night on several occasions since, to the point that I even debated asking Evie for his number.
Obviously, I demolished that idea before I could send any of the messages I’d typed out.
I should just take the hint by now and let it go. It’s the obvious option, considering how obvious he’s been about never giving in to the chemistry between us. That’s not me, though. I don’t give up on anything, even at the risk of having a man reject me yet again.
Shaking my head, I ignore the curious gaze of the team’s shortstop, Jett Ellington, and bypass him to my brother’s locker. His helmet is already tucked away inside, along with his chest protector and glove. I huff, turning to the snoopy single dad a few feet away.
“Where’s my brother?”
Jett pulls his hoodie down over his head and swipes his dirty-blond hair back and out of his face. “He left right after post-game interviews were over. Do you need a ride?”
“Are you being serious?” I snip in disbelief.
“I can give you a ride. It’s no problem.”
“I don’t need a ride. What I need is to smack Wes upside the head.”
His wince is sympathetic. “Sorry, Elle.”
“It’s fine. I’ll have to rake him over the coals tomorrow instead.”
I take another look at his equipment and curl my fingers into a fist. Beside me, Jett’s lingering when he’s clearly ready to leave, and that’s not helping my annoyance. As much as I appreciate the thought, I don’t need him to do a thing for me.
“Go home to your daughter, Jett,” I say as nicely as possible.
Still, he hesitates, ever the father figure of the group. “I don’t have her tonight. It’s really no big deal for me to give you a ride—”
“Jett, go the fuck home.” I give his arm a friendly squeeze. “I drove myself here, and I’ll take myself home regardless of whether I’ve spoken to my brother or not.”
His mouth twists as he bends down to grab the ball cap from the chair in front of his locker. “Roman might know where Wes went. I doubt he just abandoned you here if you two were supposed to talk.”
I pause, tapping my thigh. Now, that’s an idea.
“He’s still here?”
“Rome? Oh, yeah. He’ll be here for hours rewatching the game. You know where his office is, right?”
While I’ve never been inside it, I’ve passed the door with his name stuck to the glass more times than I can count. I can’t say I’ve ever been as curious as I am right now to change that.
“Thanks, Jett. I’ll do that,” I say, flashing a grin.
“You’re welcome. Have a good night, Elle.”
I wiggle my fingers at him before he finally stalks out of the clubhouse.
Puffing out a breath, I spin on my heels to face the rest of the players, only to find myself the last person here.
It’s suddenly silent enough to make unease climb up my spine as I push away from Wes’ spot and speed up on my hunt for Roman’s office.
His door is shut like always. I lean closer to the window to try and see through the blinds on the opposite side. A soft light glowing from inside the office is all I can make out.
My neck is warm and honestly a bit damp as I swipe my palms down my jersey. All I need to do is not flirt with him. As long as I keep it in my pants, he’ll at least talk to me. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to make him see me as more than just a horny girl who’s fifteen years younger than him.
He can say it’s my brother keeping him from letting us enjoy our connection, but I know it’s more than that. And whatever it is, I want to eliminate it before it grows to be an even larger pain in my cooch.
With a thick swallow, I adjust the hem of my jersey and shake out my hair a bit. In the window, I use my reflection to adjust the part in my bangs and nod to myself when I’ve decided I look good.
I knock my knuckles against the door and wait.
“Come in.”
His deep, husky voice hits me hard, as if he’d growled into my ear. It’s all I can do not to shove the door open and crawl right onto his desk when I slowly grip the doorknob and give it a twist.
The moment I give it a small push and take a step into the dark office, I’m staring directly into his eyes. His slightly widened, tired eyes. The deep blue bags beneath them cause a spike of concern to cut through me.
The surprise leaches from his expression quickly. When it’s replaced with confusion, then concern, I force myself to speak.
“Do you have a minute?”