Chapter 4
Chapter Four
brODY
BACK AT THE HOTEL ROOM NEXT MORNING
My head still pounds like a toddler let loose on a drum kit as I sit in the chair with my wrapped towel barely covering my hardwood and she stands like a sentinel with her hands on her hips.
I try not to grin when I notice her eyes darting to check the towel, and I swear I can’t help it when my dick twitches at her attention.
Clearing her throat, she snaps her head away and checks her watch. Then, turning, she reaches for the hotel phone like it’s the last life vest on the Titanic. She dials and talks to some guy named Bigelow, asking him when my clothes will get here.
We still have thirty minutes until the bus leaves for the arena.
Plenty of time for me to dress. Swiping my hand through my hair, I acknowledge getting dressed for the game is the least of my worries.
I’m far more concerned about the pounding in my head, and not to mention the wedding band that won’t come off my finger.
But hell if I’m going to let on to her that I’m worried. Not my style.
I distract myself by watching her curvy ass sway while she talks. Bianca Brooks is a fucking bombshell, curvy in all the right places, and if I’m not mistaken, she has no fucking idea how mouth-wateringly sexy she is.
She finishes her call and wheels around to face me, looking all business.
I try to concentrate on her face, but it’s hard, and not because my head is about to explode with this headache.
No, but if I keep letting my eyes wander over her killer body, it might inspire an explosion of an entirely different kind.
“I knew this kind of trouble was bound to happen sooner or later,” she says, arching an accusing brow at me. “In high school, you were voted most likely to break hearts.”
My resting smile deepens to a grin automatically, before I have a chance to tamp it down. I’m not sure why my pretty and curvy and far too serious agent quoted this fact for me. I guess to impress me with her research skills.
But she didn’t need to bother since she looks a lot like a hot librarian or teacher, maybe a naughty professor.
She rocks the sexy nerd type-A personality with an A plus.
Extra credit for her tantalizing tits and perfectly round ass.
If she were naked, I’m pretty sure she’d look like a model for a Rubens painting come to life.
Not that I’m into classic paintings, but I remember the field trip to Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts when I was thirteen.
Those curvy Rubens ladies made an impression on me.
That day I acquired a very deep and lasting appreciation for the roundness of the female body.
Before she can scold me, which part of me was looking forward to because I have a filthy imagination—at least when it comes to her—the ring of my phone pierces the air while it pierces my skull, possibly causing a fissure in my brain matter.
“Shit.” I dive for the phone on the table next to me like it’s a puck out of reach and fumble to put an end to the ringing.
Stabbing the green icon, I stop the loud jangle and take a breath of relief as I put the phone to my ear.
“Brody? You okay?” It’s Sabien.
“I’m still trying to figure that out,” I say in all honesty, avoiding Brooks’ glare.
I’m not surprised Sabe is checking up on me. He takes his team captain job very seriously. I’ve never seen anyone so committed to the role. It’s like he’s adopted each player on our team, the Portsmouth Whalers, as part of his family. I’ll take it.
He’s been where I’m at as a so-called young phenom and made good on his promise of superstar status in the league. He could be a jerk about it, especially since he was a billionaire to begin with, but he’s good people.
“Some of last night’s activities are a little fuzzy,” I add.
“In my experience,” he says, “sometimes it’s better that way. You hung over? Never mind. Get down here. The press is lined up and asking for you at the bus out back. Or do you need me to bring you some coffee? These damn hotels in Vegas don’t have in-room coffee makers.”
“Coffee.”
“Who are you talking to?” Brooks takes a step closer, and I end the call as she glares at the phone, a stern line trying to tame her pouty lips. “We can’t have anyone else knowing about this...” she waves a hand around. “Situation.”
“Don’t worry. It’s cool.” I kind of like how worried she is about me.
“Your clothes should be delivered within ten minutes.”
“I hope they found my size. My thighs are pretty big,” I say to tease her.
She bites her lip and looks unsure for a split second, and then her expression returns to the stern librarian about to shush me. “If not, I’m sure they’ve found something close.” She mutters, “I bribed—I mean tipped—Bigelow enough.”
“What’s that?” I’m having trouble stopping myself from teasing her.
“It’s a short trip to the Arena locker room. The shoes and socks fit.”
“What about boxers? Or am I going commando?”
Her face turns pink so fast I have a hard time not bursting into laughter. But that’s not right. She’s fun to tease, but I don’t want to make her feel bad.
“Don’t worry about your underwear. I’ve taken care of everything.” Her blush deepens. “I mean—” She heaves a frustrated sigh. “You know what I mean.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart, I know you’re doing your best.” I want to placate her, but then the devil in me adds, “I don’t mind going commando.”
She gives me a good hot stare, and I meet the heat of her intense eyes, not sure if she’s interested in jumping me or murdering me.
Either way, her passion is a turn-on.
No, that’s not right. The fact that she’s working so hard to save my ass is more than a casual turn-on. It’s enough stimulation for my overworked dick to roar with life.