17. Jami #2
“I’m just going to have a fast shower,” I say, tugging at my damp shirt. “I know I’m going to sweat on the court, but I just did hot yoga.” My hands fumble with the fabric. “You won’t want to play next to me like this.”
I try to make it light, but the words tumble out faster than my brain can keep up. I ramble, as I always do when I feel awkward, flinging out half-baked excuses. “I’ve yet to try out the showers here. Might as well do it now.”
He stays quiet, letting me fill the space with my nervous chatter. When I finally run out of steam, he rises, moving around his desk with quiet authority.
“Come on in,” he says, his tone calm, but with an undercurrent that makes me pause.
“I…uh.”
“Come in, Jami.”
My shoulders slump in surrender, and I step inside, shutting the door behind me. The small sound echoes in the space. I lean back against the door, feeling suddenly aware of the quiet hum of the office, the faint scent of his cologne, the rhythm of my own heartbeat.
He nods toward a closed door across the room. “I have a private shower in here. You can use it.”
“Oh…thanks.”
We stand there for a moment, neither moving, and the weight of the unspoken settles over us. I finally address it, needing to get the thought out of my head.
“So…that was Elise.”
He perches on the edge of his desk, arms loose at his sides. “That was Elise.”
“You were surprised to see her.”
“Very. Although it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. She has family here and visits.”
“Seeing her in your social…your space…” I trail off, words catching in my throat.
“Yeah. That threw me off,” he admits, and there’s a brief pause, his fingers brushing his chin as he glances down, lost in thought.
I nod, letting the silence stretch. “Yeah…if I saw Tristan walk through those doors, it’d throw me off too.”
“Right.”
“She’s just visiting, then?” I ask. No, I am not fishing for information. Much.
He nods. “Just visiting.”
I shake my head slightly, almost scolding myself. “Not that it’s my business, but…she said she wanted to talk. Is everything okay?” (read: Is she hankering for a lumber-snack?)
I stop breathing for a second, waiting for his response, aware of how invested I’ve gotten in a corner of his life that probably shouldn’t concern me.
He pushes off the desk. His movement is deliberate, steady, and suddenly he’s closing the space between us. He pulls me against him, and the heat of his body presses into mine. The office fades into background noise.
“Everything okay between us?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” My voice squeaks as I say those words without breath.
“Breathe, Jami,” he murmurs.
I tilt my head toward him sucking in a shuddering breath. “Right.”
“This is hard, isn’t it?” he whispers.
“You mean…you and me. Wanting each other and not being able to do anything about it.”
“Yes. Exactly.” His brow furrows. “But we…kind of, sort of did something about it.”
I give an easy shrug. “I guess I must have forgotten.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he asks. “It was so underwhelming.”
“Unremarkable,” I murmur, and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.
“Insignificant at best,” he teases, leaning closer. “Which is why you completely forgot about what we did…in your room.”
The room.
“Brody,” I whisper, lifting my face to his. His gaze roams over me, slow, deliberate, and then his lips drop to mine—a soft, lingering brush. His breath warms my cheek, stirs something in my chest.
“She had a bad breakup with her boyfriend,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at me, but not too far. “Apparently he was cheating.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “There’s this little thing called karma…” He angles his head, brow furrowed, and I realize how snarky and sharp that sounded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. She’s hurting.”
And Brody…he’s too kind for words like go to hell. Too decent to just tell her to move on.
“She asked if we could be friends,” he says.
Friends.
Right.
That’s how it all starts. I can’t explain why I don’t trust her. I just don’t. Maybe because Brody is…Brody. A good guy, a great catch, and she probably realizes just how badly she blew it.
“You said…?” I ask, almost breathless.
“I said yes. We can be friends.”
My heart squeezes tight. “What if she wants—”
“She doesn’t,” he cuts me off quickly, his hand cupping the back of my head, pulling me a fraction closer. A gorgeous lumber snack grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
I plan for a smart assed remark, I open my mouth to say it, but instead I mimic his words from two weeks ago, the last time he really touched me. “So what if I am?”
His eyes darken and I quickly say, “But we’re not doing anything about that.”
“Right, because when we did it was 10/10—”
“On the disgusting scale,” I supply.
“Only reason we’d do it again is because it couldn’t get any worse.”
“Right, but we’re not. Jokes aside, Brody. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
“Aww, I appreciate that Jami.” He takes a small step back. “Even if she did want to get back together. It would only be temporary. She’ll eventually leave.” He frowns, glances down and under his breath whispers. “Everyone leaves.” Eyes back on me he continues, “She’s not made for this town, Jami.”
My heart jumps into my throat.
What I’m not hearing is: even if she did, I’m not interested.
Even if she did, I don’t love her.
Even if she did, long distance wouldn’t work.
But what I am hearing…is: if she were made for this place, we’d be together.
And something in me tightens at that thought, a pull I can’t fully untangle.
Jealous.
But I don’t want long term with Brody so I have no right to feel that.
“Okay,” I croak out, hating the hollow ache in my chest. I have no right to feel it. I’m leaving here in a few months. We both know it. People leave. Brody knows it too—feels it deep in his soul.
Elise left.
Ah, but now she’s back.
“We could always set her up with Liam,” I joke, forcing a laugh to lighten the mood. “Something fun to do to get her mind off her ex.”
“They’re partnering up out there,” he says. “Could be a good idea.”
“Does she like ferrets?” I add, grinning despite myself.
He smirks. “She actually has a thing for otters.”
I cock my head, wanting—needing—to hear more, but he chuckles and gently spins me around. “Go grab your shower. You’ll find soap, shampoo, and towels in there.”
I nod and walk away, heart still buzzing from the tease.
The bathroom smells faintly of eucalyptus and Brody.
I strip off my clothes, the heat from hot yoga clinging to my skin, and step under the shower.
The water hits, washing away sweat and tension.
I lather with his soap and shampoo, letting the familiar scent wrap around me.
When I finally finish, I realize I smell like him again.
I don’t hate it.
I tug on my clean clothes, tie my damp hair back into a ponytail, and pause in front of the mirror. I consider makeup. Elise wore makeup. She looked…very pretty.
Stop it.
Why am I suddenly sizing myself up against a woman I’ve known for thirty seconds?
Absolutely ridiculous.
Brody’s clinic is empty when I step back inside, and somehow that hollow feeling in my stomach grows. My eyes scan the room, half-expecting him to appear from nowhere.
Then I spot a kale smoothie on his desk. My eyes dart to a note in his handwriting:
Take a minute to replenish, and I’ll see you on the court. Let’s kick some Team Ferret and His Otter Half.
I laugh, dropping into his chair and taking a slow sip. I reread the note, smiling so wide it hurts. The guy is funny, kind, considerate…basically an all-around lumber-snack.
Careful, Jami. You’re not here to fall for Big Dill.
Which is good. Because I’m not falling for him.
Not even a little tiny bit.
Okay…maybe a little tiny bit.