20. Jami #2
He braces his elbows into the mattress, lifting just enough of his weight to give me air. His face softens as he kisses my nose, my eyelids, my mouth, slow, unhurried, tender. It’s that tenderness that wraps around my heart and gives it a quiet, terrifying tug.
Careful, Jami.
“I guess you were right,” I say, forcing playfulness into my voice before my emotions can spill over. “It could only go up from last time.”
“Up,” he repeats with a grin, his gaze drifting between our bodies as he carefully pulls out of me. “We might need to wait a minute. Or two.”
I snort. “Wow. Not only is your short-term memory failing, but your recovery time is officially underwhelming.”
“Hey.” He retaliates, fingers playfully pinching my sides. I shriek, laughter bursting out of me as I twist beneath him.
When he finally stops, he glances at the clock on the nightstand, and just like that, the teasing fades. His expression turns serious, in a way that reminds me of my brother, the damage I could be doing.
“As much as I’d love a round two,” he says as his phone pings. “We should clean up and get some food into you.”
“Pizza,” I murmur, suddenly ravenous.
He smiles and rolls to check his phone. He stares at it for a moment, then climbs out of bed, reaching to help me up, and all the while I want to ask who texted, but it’s not my business.
We clean up quickly, pulling on soft, comfortable clothes.
When he slips back into his flannel shirt, I shake my head helplessly.
“Is it any man in flannel?” he asks, smirking as we head downstairs. “Or just me?”
“Any man,” I lie, lifting my chin. “Ego much?”
He laughs. “Guess I’d better hit the department store and buy out what’s left.”
I chuckle. “Worried about me seeing Liam in one?”
He stops short and grabs my waist, pulling me into him. “You’re mine, Little Birdie.”
I suck in a breath and remind myself that this is sex. Nothing more. Nothing complicated.
But God help me, when he gets possessive like that, it’s hard to remember.
He kisses me quickly, like he knows he shouldn’t linger, and we step into the kitchen. He opens the pizza box and peers inside.
“It’s cold,” he says. “Want me to heat it in the oven?”
“I like cold pizza,” I tell him, reaching into the cupboard for plates. I stifle a yawn as I set them on the counter, still feeling the pull of drowsiness from a busy day, week really.
“I’m sorry,” Brody says suddenly, tugging me close.
“Sorry for what?”
“For keeping you up. I took you home so you could get a good night’s sleep.”
“Are you saying you weren’t ready to come home?” I tease lightly, though my pulse skips.
He tilts his head, eyes softening. “If coming home early meant being here with you… alone, I’d choose that every time.”
My chest tightens. God. This man has a way of making me feel like I matter. Like I belong.
Then a small, nagging thought creeps in, sour and sharp.
“Elise looked like she was trying to talk to you all night.”
Elise.
His ex-girlfriend.
The one who designs clothes.
And surprisingly looks a lot like me.
Brody shrugs, casual, but the tension in his jaw tells me more than his words. “We decided to be friends. She texted me earlier.”
She texted him.
“I haven’t responded yet. I don’t really know what to say to her.”
“You still hurt,” I murmur, testing the waters.
Another shrug. “I’m over it.”
“What…what was she texting about?”
“My birthday, asking if I have plans.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“June fifteenth.”
“Oh wow, not too far off.”
He picks up the pizza box and starts toward the living room, closing the conversation as if shutting a door. I shut it too. None of it is really my business, and sure, maybe I thought we had a deeper moment during sex, when he asked if I was a mess too, but he meant physically, obviously.
I grab the plates and follow him. He flicks on a late-night talk show, slides a slice onto each plate, and smiles a little at my eagerness.
My stomach grumbles audibly. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“You did work up an appetite,” he teases, nudging me lightly.
I bite into the slice and moan, eyes closing in pure delight. Brody catches me, eyebrow raised.
“What?” I laugh.
“Moan like that again, and you won’t be able to finish that slice,” he warns, voice low and playful.
I push Elise out of my mind. Honestly… even if I remind him of her, even if he’s using me to untangle his past, does it really matter?
I’m using him for the sex. So if I can help him work through his demons along the way… well, that’s a bonus.
“Good?” Brody asks, lifting a slice of pizza in mock seriousness.
“Yeah, good,” I reply, even though he’s talking about the food.
I’m fine.
Everything is fine.
Everything will remain fine… as long as I don’t fall for him.
A man who’s still in love with his ex.
Light flares through the front window, and Brody gestures with a nod. “Jaxon is home.”
We both tense, shifting slightly. I smooth my hand through my hair, trying to look like I didn’t just crawl out of bed, or worse, like I wasn’t sprawled across Jaxon’s bed with his roommate.
The door bursts open, a cold gust spilling in. Boots thunk against the floor, the closet door opens and closes, and heavy footsteps approach.
“Hey,” Jaxon calls as he finds us in front of the TV, pizza in hand. “I thought you two would be in bed by now.”
Heat zings through me, and I bite into my slice, praying my cheeks aren’t giving me away.
“Help yourself,” Brody murmurs, nudging the box toward him.
Jaxon grabs a slice, takes a big bite, then sinks into a chair, feet landing on the coffee table.
“Damn, this is good,” he says, gaze flicking between Brody and me. Then he frowns. “But why is it so cold?”