Chapter 19 #2
“I notice you didn’t mention to her that we’re not really—” He claps a hand over my mouth with that same lightning speed, and instant disappointment wells up that he didn’t cover my mouth with a kiss instead. Stupid girl that I am.
He whispers in my ear, moving his hand to cup my chin. The intimacy of our position is close and warm as we exchange breathy breaths while he speaks, sending a shudder of something through me.
“This isn’t the time or place to discuss our status. I’ll let her know when I see her in person, evidently tomorrow.”
“Then she won’t be disappointed that she won’t be meeting me since I—”
This time he does cover my mouth with his, reminding me exactly why I wanted him to kiss me again in vivid sensual reality.
His mouth presses hot and hard against mine, opening me up, and I’m vaguely aware of whistles and people in the background.
After one long, slow sweep of his tongue, as if he’s marking my mouth as his territory, he relents, ending the kiss, but still holding me close against him as if to shield me from our spectators.
It’s easy to ignore the ribald comments as the flight attendants quiet things down. The spectacle at the fan event last night inoculated me against the attention. I’m known for my ability to pivot, although I’m lucky I don’t have a severe case of whiplash after this weekend.
Keeping my voice a low murmur, I say into his neck—which smells like nirvana and I want to live here forever—“If we keep doing these public displays of affection, it’ll only encourage more attention.”
I feel the vibration of his quiet chuckle, but he continues to hold me in place, and I feel his mouth on my hair.
Is he kissing my hair? If I were standing, my knees would go weak enough to drop me.
As it is, my breathing strains, and it’s not because I’m plastered to him—well, yes, it is, but not because he’s suffocating me—but what I’m really worried about is the loud, fast beat of my heart drumming so hard he probably feels it if he doesn’t hear it.
The flight attendant’s voice comes over the speakers then, signaling that everyone is boarded. Brody loosens his arms and brushes a stinging soft kiss across my mouth as we separate. It’s the kind of kiss that makes my hand automatically rise and touch my lips.
Now without the heady scent and warmth and bulk of him touching me, stark cold reality may as well have been dumped on me like an icy bath, making me sit back almost as desperate to avoid him as I was to cling to him a moment before.
This kind of conflicting emotions can’t be healthy. I touch my forehead as if my problem is a mere headache.
“You okay?” There’s an odd mix of concern and amusement in his voice, and I nod without meeting his eyes.
“I’ll try and keep the PDAs to a minimum, but…” he stops, and I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
I look at him. “But?”
He leans into my space again. Shit. “But you’re awfully irresistible.”
For a split second, I believe him, then I realize he’s teasing. He must be teasing, even if he doesn’t look like he is because he looks like he’s going to devour me if I don’t do something.
I give him a mild shove and an annoyed look. “Stop teasing already. I’m not in the mood. This is serious.”
“I know.” Then for no discernible reason, Brody leans in, cupping my chin and kisses me again, this time slow and sensual like he’s exploring me, testing me, getting to know everything about my mouth, my teeth, and my tongue.
And I kiss him back, sighing into his mouth, one arm lifting to wrap around his neck like I’m holding on for dear life because it feels like I’m flying through space, like he’s taking me somewhere I’ve never been before. I grip him tighter--
A loud snort-laugh from across the aisle intrudes, stopping me. Sabien laughs as the flight attendant clears her throat to interrupt the kiss. Brody lifts his head, and his hat dislodges, and I turn to see the flight attendant’s eyes go double-wide. She grins as she stares at us.
“I recognize you two. You’re the Vegas newlyweds and darlings of social media. Congratulations, Brody and… Mrs. Brody. I apologize for… interrupting, but it’s time to make sure those seat belts are fastened.”
It’s not lost on me that she said nothing about Brody being an NHL All-Star, or about hockey at all, and I wonder if she even knows, or how many people out there in social media land know or care about his phenomenal talent for hockey.
When she’s gone, Sabien leans across the aisle. “Should we have your wedding celebration before or after the Whalers charity fashion show next weekend? I don’t want to conflict with that event.” He looks serious.
Brody looks like he’s itching to flip him off, but he says, “After. Or never. Maybe you can plan it for after the season, and we won’t have to do it at all.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” I say. “I’ll make the, umm, arrangements. No need for you to go to any trouble, Sabe.”
“You’re no fun.” He sighs. “But if you insist, we’ll do it your way.”
I sit back in my seat, relieved about that one small victory because Brody and I agree and there will be no wedding celebration. Because there was no wedding. I try reasoning with my unreasonable disappointment, but the melancholy sits heavy in the pit of my belly with nowhere to go.
Brody leans in, and I reflexively tighten in anticipation, my tummy vibrating, shaking up the pit of melancholy, as I command myself to breathe because he’s not going to kiss me again, and I need to get over wishing he would. How pathetic am I to get into this charade and enjoy it?
It’s like I’m an actress, and I’ve gone too far into the role, and now the feelings are getting real. Or maybe that’s how acting works, and that’s why so many people love it.
“Smart plan,” he says. “But you were always the smart one.”
I blink in confusion. “What? I mean, what makes you say that? You don’t know me.”
“I know you better than you think. We’ve been negotiating together for the past two years, haven’t we? In fact, you could say we started out together. I was your first client, and you were my first agent.”
“Technically, I’m only an assistant agent.” Even my small attempt at keeping things real pales against the picture he’s painting.
“Right, because you’re starting out, like me.”
I snort-laugh and then cough. “My career trajectory is nothing like yours. Not even in the same dimension.”
“Don’t worry. I have a feeling you’ll be promoted before long.” He winks.
I snort again, this time with derision because he’s gone too far, and I can’t buy in. “Either that or I’ll be fired. Then I’ll be working at the family diner.”
The pilot announces that we’re cleared for take-off, and the plane starts to move.
I clutch the arms of my seat, or try to, but they’re too wide here in first class, and I can’t get a comforting grip.
Without a word, Brody puts a hand over mine and gives it a squeeze, then holds on.
Looking straight ahead, he says, “Take-offs are the hardest part. Also the most exhilarating if you let them be.” He turns to me and holds my eyes with his, staring with comfort and a sparkle of growing excitement as the engines roar and then the plane speeds up.
I feel the vibration in my chest as it tightens, and Brody tightens his grip on my hand, then caresses my palm with his thumb as the engines reach their whining crescendo, and I feel my stomach float up and down the moment the wheels leave the ground.
A small nervous laugh bubbles up, and I’m not sure if it’s relief or maybe that exhilaration he talked about.
“Told you,” he says quietly, then he sits back in his seat. Retrieving his hat, he tilts it forward on his head so it covers his face, rests back, and closes his eyes, with one hand still holding mine.
His hand relaxes, and it feels warm and way too comfortable for being fake.
Against my better judgment—because I should be yanking my hand away from him to make sure he knows where the lines are drawn, that we’re not going to share intimacies, that we’re not going to do all those things that married people do—I sink back into my seat and give in to the easy comfort, silencing my worry and letting go of all my defenses.
Heaven help me.
Unlike Brody, I don’t fall asleep. My mind spins around whether or not I can meet Jett’s expectations for this charade without having a meltdown or without our secret somehow getting out.
Or worst of all, without Brody bailing out on the fake marriage because he… don’t go there.
Then I’d have a meltdown for sure because that would mean the end of the Bianca Brooks super-agent myth—I mean dream.
Also, the end of hot drugging kisses from a man I shouldn’t be fantasizing about right now as I glance over at him.
He looks cherubic in his sleep. If it weren’t for the mouth-watering stubble of his beard, his sexy Adam’s apple, and the indelible imprint of his naked body in my mind’s eye, I might think he looks boyish.
But no. I turn away.
The biggest problem with this whole charade, even if everything goes right, is that at some point, Brody and I will be getting a divorce from our fake marriage, and at that point, he’ll…
no longer be in my life—no, what’s seriously more important is that he’ll no longer be eligible to be my client.
Because divorced people, no matter how amicable said divorce is, cannot claim to have the same interests. Because they don’t.
That thought is so depressing on so many levels.
That’s why I need this newlywed charade to last until the end of the season.
For purely business reasons. That’s when we re-negotiate Brody’s contract with the Whalers and Cavalaro Motors.
That’s when I get my bonus and my promotion, and that’s when my name will be on the roster of major league agents.
Then, ideally, I can convince Jett to let me run a new book of clients, maybe branch into the music industry. My bestie Kat has mentioned it a few times, but neither of us was ready. I’m still not sure we’re ready.
Will it require a leap of faith—on both our parts—that I can learn and gain legitimacy in a whole new industry? Yes, but I’m up to the challenge. I’ve been fighting against the odds all my life. I’m used to trying to prove myself wherever I go, but mostly to myself, all my life.
Jett has to give me the chance. Companies who are watching and waiting in the wings to see how the season and Brody’s promotional power pans out will start flocking, and the agency’s stock and bank account will go through the roof.
It’s sad that when all is said and done, there will be no way I can keep Brody—I mean as a client. Not even as a sort-of friend. There will be no reason for me to talk to him regularly, let alone see him. Except as a spectator in the sea of thousands yelling his name.
He’ll turn into one of those remember whens of my life, the kind that gives me a little secret thrill because what I’ll remember—and cherish most if I’m honest—are those kisses and the quiet moments when he gets me, looks at me like he can see me, every last bit of me, and likes what he sees.
But never mind. I know better than to cry over spilled milk. I’m a full-grown professional woman who knows how to pivot.
At least I’d make a pile of money so I can pay off my landlord and student loans. It’s funny that I thought at the start of All-Star weekend that was my biggest problem.
Now I’m losing a client who I… I’ve become fond of. There. I admit it. And I’m pivoting straight into the scary unknown world of the music industry. God, I hope I won’t have to move to Nashville. I hate hot weather, and I need the ocean nearby.
Whatever. The music industry is where the really big bucks are at stake. Everyone wants in on music, and I have a puck up my sleeve—though I really shouldn’t stay with the hockey metaphor—with my best friend Cathy O’Neil.
Sure, she’s still up and coming, but she’s a singing sensation on YouTube with her own channel where she tries out new songs that she writes. In fact, some months she makes more money on YouTube than I do, and that doesn’t count her in-person gigs.
I’ve been preparing for a breakout all my life. It’s about time I venture out of the sports arena and forge my own path.
My belly tumbles, and if the number of butterflies were any measure, it feels like my belly has turned into a field of fluttering anticipation. The butterflies are on the move and way ahead of me.