Chapter 29 #4
I give her a thumbs up with my non-fork hand.
Her smile beams like I told her she’s won the lottery for a billion dollars.
“I’m glad you like it.” She watches me eat, moving her food around her plate but not lifting it to her mouth.
“What’s the matter?” I put my fork down and really look at her.
My chest squeezes because she’s so vulnerable and so fucking sexy at the same time.
I shift closer and touch her face, caressing her cheek with the back of my hand.
Her skin is so soft and warm and inviting.
Shit. It seems all roads lead back to my lizard brain wanting sex with this woman.
I commit the cardinal sin and let the question about why that is pop into my head like a giant red flag.
“My brothers called,” she rushes her words in one breath like an auctioneer with a hot item. “They’re coming down for a visit on Saturday with my mom for the fashion show, and they want to have a talk with you.”
“A talk?” I know what it means, but I’m stalling as I process what the hell to do about it.
She nods. “They want to make sure your intentions are noble like they have a say in—”
“My intentions are noble, Brooks—Bianca.” My hand returns to caress her face of its own volition.
“I hope you know that.” What am I saying?
What do noble intentions even mean? I’m not exactly sure, but I sure as hell know I’m not about to let anything bad happen to her, especially not from our… whatever this is between us.
“They are?” Her voice has suddenly gone super soprano. “I thought we were just playing, not that playing isn’t noble, but...”
“It isn’t,” I finish her thought for her.
“Look, we may have jumped into bed together figuratively, and maybe things got out of hand and we decided to make the literal leap, but that doesn’t mean I have any less respect for you.
You’re my agent and a damn good one.” She’s become more than my agent, maybe even a friend, but I’m not sure, and I can’t tell her something I’m not sure about, so I don’t say what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling, about the pit in my stomach that seems to be giving me a particular problem right now.
She nods. “I know. I think maybe we shouldn’t have made that leap. Sleeping together has made this whole setup so much more complicated.” She straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath.
“If you want to know the truth, Brody, I think sleeping together and pretending to be married to you might have led to some feelings that are more than professional.” She lets out a gush of air and stares at me while I go still and try to digest her words.
For a guy who prides himself on being adventurous and unafraid of anything in life, the clammy cold feeling of fear suddenly attacks me full force.
Because as much as I’m curious about what she means by having more than professional feelings for me—does she mean friends, or does she mean romantic feelings?
And what the fuck do I do about it if she’s feeling romantic about me? —I’m scared as fuck to find out.
I’m more than scared as fuck to face how I feel about her.
“I don’t know, Brooks.” I grin, trying to stay cool. “We won’t have to keep up the charade much longer, right?”
“Right. You’re playing well, and the Cavallaro Motors ads hit the streets this week, establishing you as a hot sponsorship prospect. We can stop appearing in public together after that, and then I can move out, and then we can announce our divorce at the end of the season.”
“I see you’ve thought this all through.” I’m surprised at the sharp zing of displeasure the idea gives me. “I thought Jett wanted us to stay together until next season?”
She waves a hand. “That was never going to happen. I think he was just trying to help me out professionally.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs, but it’s a jerky motion, not casual at all. “I’ll be orphaned after that. You’ll no longer be my client, and I’ll have to work with other clients.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. I have a few small players now, but I’m hoping to work with my friend Kat in the music business.”
“Kat? Is she that big? Does she have record deals?”
“Not yet. Besides having a massive following on YouTube, she recently won the Solo Singer competition in Boston. Now she’s getting solo gigs in Beantown and singing her own songs.
Her next step is to get an agent who can get her larger venues and ideally a record label for mass distribution. That’s where I would come in.”
“That’s amazing.” It is amazing, and my grin is genuine, but a big part of me is disappointed.
“Don’t get too excited. Jett may not go along with a foray into the music business. Neither of us has contacts. We’d be starting at ground zero, and it would be a costly investment to go there. But if not, I could always go out on my own.”
“Hell yeah, Brooks. You should go out on your own. I’d recommend you to any players I know. Better yet, as soon as my contract with Jett expires, I’ll go with you.”
She laughs and reaches out a hand to squeeze mine. “You’re so kind and decent, more than anyone gives you credit for.”
“Don’t spread your pretty words around. I have a reputation to keep up as a carefree man-whore—though you’ve already made a dent in that rep already.”
“I’m sure with a little effort after our divorce, you can re-establish your man-whore reputation with wild success.” She’s smiling, but I see the quiver in her chin, the sadness in her eyes.
I shrug. I know I should acknowledge that she’s right, that it’s what I’d planned to do, to return to where I was before all-star weekend and move on with my life.
Only better, thanks to a big boost in my promotional income and star power beyond the hockey world that she helped to establish in spite of our marriage fiasco.
But I can’t acknowledge going back. I don’t even want to think about it.
She stands and starts clearing away our dinner. “I’ll miss seeing you.” She doesn’t look at me as she talks. “But I won’t be able to sign you as a client because I signed a non-compete clause with the Jett Agency.”
I clamp a hand on her arm and get her attention. “What the fuck, Brooks? That doesn’t sound fair. You need to make a living. It would never stand up in court.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t do that to Jett. I owe him so much. I’m not about to steal the industry’s biggest client in a generation from him.” She retrieves her arm while I try to collect my emotions, which are running around everywhere like a crowd of peewee pond skaters.
“Are you finished eating?”
I nod, and she takes my plate.
Taking in an unsteady breath, I force myself to acknowledge that I’m not looking forward to the end of our relationship—whatever it is. Following her to the kitchen counter, I line up next to her and help her load the dishwasher and clean up.
She accepts my help with a smile, and we work in silence, and it’s like we don’t need to talk because we’re both thinking the same things.
I don’t know how I know, but I do. I feel the connection, the communication between us somehow, maybe through the air we breathe or the close proximity.
Whatever it is, I know it’s there as sure as the damn wedding ring on my finger.
She finishes, drying her hands with a towel, and holds her left hand in front of her, glancing at her ring like she’s thinking the exact same thoughts I am. I cover her hand with mine, telling her I know.
When she looks up at me, the glisten of tears in her eyes and the sad smile make my chest nearly seize with the hard clench of my heart.
“Don’t be sad, Bianca. Even if I’m not your client—or your fake husband—I’ll still be there. We’ll still be…” And that’s where it all falls apart.
Because I have no fucking idea what we’ll be.
She lifts her hand from beneath mine and caresses my cheek. “I know what you mean.”
Then she turns and walks away down the hall to the bedroom, and I know not to follow. I know this is the end of our marriage, our sleeping together, our lovemaking.
Because without saying a word, she’s drawn a line in the sand, and I’m not enough of an asshole to cross it. She’s a serious, permanent relationship kind of girl, and I had no business fooling with her no matter how persuasive she was.
But I was absolutely serious when I said I have noble intentions. Now that I know she has romantic feelings, I’m not going to take advantage of her by sleeping with her again.
I wish I wasn’t, but I’m not ready to give her what she deserves. And the hell of it is that I don’t know if I’ll ever be because I’m too broken. Other guys in their bachelor era have visions of someday settling down, but not me.
Those visions were wiped out of my soul when I was too young and impressionable to know better, too inexperienced to hold back and protect myself.
That’s what I owe to Nora Shade. The funny thing is, on some level, I used to feel grateful to her for it. Until today.