2. Brody
Brody
What the ever-loving—?
I stumble backward like someone just yanked the rug out from under me.
Tami.
My Tami, standing here like a sweet, sugary temptation. My brain short-circuits. My heart decides to audition for the role of jackhammer. And my mouth? Yeah, it’s officially on vacation.
She’s gorgeous. Ridiculously gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that makes a guy question every life choice that ever led to this moment. And, oh yeah… she’s the gorgeous woman I had beneath me a little over a month ago.
I scratch my head. What is she doing here? “Uh…”
Christ, Brody. Say something. Do something. Breathe.
Wait. Hold up. My gaze goes from her to Jaxon, as one brain cell kicks in.
Tami is…Jami?
Jaxon’s sister?
No. No way. No fucking way.
“Jami,” Jaxon begins. “This is Brody. Brody, this is Jami.”
My brain performs a rapid-fire loop of all possible disasters.
Bobblehead on steroids has nothing on me right now.
Do I pretend I’ve never met her? Do I confess I went to Halifax and…
well, let’s just say she didn’t leave the pub alone?
Do I gamble my entire friendship with Jaxon—a guy who treats his little sister like a medieval knight guarding the crown jewels—on the honesty card?
Before I can formulate a single coherent strategy, Jami comes to my rescue by extending her arm. “Nice to meet you, Brody. I’m Jami. Jaxon’s told me so much about you, it’s like I already know you.”
Then she mutters something under her breath. I almost—but not quite—catch it.
Big dill?
I blink.
Did she just say…big dill?
My eyes snap to Jaxon, who’s looking at me like I might have a pickleball paddle sticking out of my head. His brow furrows, bewilderment vibrating off him, and I realize he knows something’s up. He just doesn’t know what.
Please Lord, don’t let him figure it out.
“Yeah,” I choke out, attempting casual. Casual is a lost cause. My coat is suddenly 10 pounds too heavy, the airport terminal feels like the Sahara, and my damp T-shirt is going to stiffen the second I walk out into the cold.
Stiffen.
Jesus.
I’m in bad shape here.
“Same. Jaxon…know you,” I continue, struggling for words as my brain encourages me to wave a white flag. “Told me a lot. Well not a lot. A little.”
The rest I figured out for myself…that night.
That night.
Oh God, that night…
If Jaxon knew about us—that hot, impulsive, one-night—I might as well hand him a ‘kick me in the arse’ sign. And if I’d known Tami—Jami—sweet, slightly sarcastic, dangerously sexy Jami from the pub, was his sister, I wouldn’t have touched her with a ten-foot pickleball paddle.
It doesn’t even matter that our original meeting was a total accident.
I’d flown to Halifax for a mini-vacation and to help Jaxon pack for his move.
He got tied up, I ducked into a local pub for a beer…
and there she was. My hotel just next door.
Fate? Poor life choices? Comedy gold? Maybe all three.
And now here I am standing in the middle of an airport terminal, trying to act like nothing happened as they stare at me, while my internal monologue screams, Run. Hide. Pray. Repeat.
“Yeah, uh, nice to meet you too, Jami.”
Just saying her name makes my brain short-circuit.
She was the sweetest, most dangerous little thing I’d set eyes on in…
well, in a long time. And apparently, the feeling had been mutual.
One night. One ridiculously hot, needy night where we were either chasing some deeper longing—or running from something in life we didn’t want to face—and then poof.
She vanished before the first rays of sunshine slanted in through my window.
I honestly never thought I’d see her again, and as strange as it sounds, I wasn’t entirely sure I was okay with that.
Which is insane. I’m not looking for a relationship.
I’ve got pickleball on my brain—business, training, upcoming championship—not to mention a bad breakup.
I’d convinced myself waking up without her was exactly how it should be.
Yet here I am, staring like a complete idiot, my chest doing interpretive dance moves while my brain goes off the rails.
What is happening to me?
I mean, come on, universe. Are you trying to gift me a second chance with a drop-dead gorgeous woman?
Or did I do something so horrible in a past life that you’re taking your cosmic hammer and whacking me square in the nuts because there’s no way we can be together?
Honestly, I don’t think I’m ready for the answer either way.
“For a second there, I actually thought you two knew each other,” Jaxon’s voice cuts through my existential crisis, pulling me into reality long enough to notice the chaos around us.
A loud squeal of rubber-on-floor draws my attention. A couple of kids have commandeered a luggage cart and are zooming from one end of the terminal to the other, completely oblivious to the laws of physics.
I nod toward the luggage. “We should probably get your things before they start using them for sleds.”
Jaxon, ever the charming older brother, drapes an arm around Jami. “Hungry?”
“Starved.” Her gaze flickers to me. Just for a second, but enough to make me feel like someone turned the heat up to nuclear.
Jesus. Get it together, Brody.
A month ago, we knew the deal. One night only. That was it. Simple. Clean. No complications.
Tonight, the way she pretended not to know me, that was her subtle message that nothing has changed. My racing heart and brain finally land on the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, it’s all for the best. Especially since she’s only around for the summer, and, well…a million other complications.
Jaxon grabs the zipper on her white coat and pulls it all the way to her neck, a display of big brother love that is equal parts adorable and terrifying. Yeah, if he knew what I’d done to her… Let’s just say his boot would tattoo my arse for years to come. That’ll be one of the nicer outcomes.
The cold air hits us the second we step outside. Jami shivers, and every instinct in me screams, shield her from the wind. I resist the urge to throw an arm around her, partly because I’m trying to play it cool, mostly because I might combust on the spot if I touch her.
Problem is, I was raised by a single mother and have an older sister. Protecting people is literally hardwired into me.
Jami does not need your care, Brody.
It’s true. She doesn’t. But that didn’t stop me from taking care of every inch of her sweet body in that hotel room. Nope. Didn’t stop me at all. I work to get myself together, and I think I’m successful until my foot hits the curb and suddenly gravity reminds me it’s in charge.
Jaxon’s hand grabs my arm just in time, saving me from face-planting in front of my best one-night hook-up. And then I hear it. That small, mischievous little chuckle from Jami.
Oh, she thinks this is funny, does she?
I’ll show her funny.
No, Brody. You will not be showing her anything.
We reach my truck, and Jaxon opens the passenger door for her before dropping her things into the back.
She slides in, clicks the seatbelt across her lap, and my brain goes into full shutdown mode.
I climb in on the driver’s side, trying not to think about how close she is, how good she smells, how torturous this summer is going to be.
Painfully, agonizingly…deliciously torturous.
“Are we still stopping at Verna’s?” I ask, turning my gaze toward Jaxon, but of course I find her instead. Big blue eyes, tired but vulnerable. Just like that, something inside me tightens. At least now I understand a little bit of that desperate need from the night we hooked up.
Jaxon had told me everything—her situation, her ex, why she needed this job.
We weren’t exactly hiring, financially speaking, but after hearing her story there was no way I was going to say no.
My only regret was not tracking that bastard down back in Halifax and delivering a personal ‘hello’ with my fist.
“Verna’s?” Jami asks, her arm brushing mine as she shifts. Instant jolt. Painful. Electrifying. Christ, why do I still want her so badly?
“Verna is my aunt. She owns the restaurant on Main. Good food. Nothing fancy like the city, but homey and delicious.”
Her brow furrows, echoing her brother’s expression. “I don’t need fancy,” she mumbles.
Shit. Did I say something wrong? Did I insult her somehow?
Jaxon rubs his stomach. “Best jiggs dinner you’ve ever tasted.”
Jami stifles a yawn behind her hand. “Jiggs dinner?”
“Traditional Newfoundland meal,” I explain. “Corned beef and cabbage.”
“Oh, right. I remember you saying something about that, Jaxon,” she says as he leans over and turns the heat up.
“I think you’re really going to enjoy the local cuisine,” I say.
Her gaze snaps to mine, and I swear my body decides it’s on fire. I try not to shift—or breathe too loudly—because one look at those hungry eyes and suddenly the temperature in the truck spikes by about fifty degrees.
I don’t know her that well, but I can’t help but think her reaction, everything about her gaze, screams that she’d like to sample more than Newfoundland cuisine tonight (read: me).
But that could just be wishful thinking.
The truth is, we both need to get ourselves together, because if Jaxon picks up on even a fraction of this tension, my life is about to become very complicated.
“Verna’s sounds great. That’s your aunt’s name?” she asks, her voice low, casual, while my heart continues to do gymnastics.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll like her.” Her soft smile and tight nod wrap around my body and squeezes the air from my lungs, reminding me this woman could use a break and a few good friends.
Remind me again why I didn’t beat the crap out of the guy who hurt her?
“I’m sure I will.”
“She usually makes jiggs dinner on Sundays, but I asked her to make it for you tonight.”
Her eyes widen like I just told her I’d personally wrestled a moose for her meal. “You…did?”
“Yeah. A welcome-to-Churchill-Falls meal.”