Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
BIANCA
After Brody left the conference room without looking back, I came home to cry all over poor Kat, inconsolable because I feel abandoned by Brody and by all my hope for something between us to last.
“I’ve learned my lesson, Kat.” I hiccup before continuing, and she hands me another tissue from the apparently bottomless box.
After I blow my nose, I wonder how atrocious I must look. But what does it matter? “He’s gone.” A fresh stream of tears flows down my cheeks, and I can taste the salty sadness.
“You don’t know that—”
“But he left without saying a word to me. I knew it was over. I don’t know why I was hoping for something after we spoke, and then…” I throw up my hands and let the bitter laugh at my stupidity have its way.
“I don’t know,” she says, less sure of herself. I may be converting her to my hopeless way of thinking. “Maybe—”
She’s interrupted by a hard knock on our door.
“It’s probably Cherry. You answer it.”
She hands me the box of Kleenex, and I hug it to my chest as if it’s all I have.
When she opens the door, I hear Brody’s voice and freeze up like a robot with its chip removed.
“I’d like to speak to Broo—Bianca.”
Kat mumbles something about running out for something she just remembered she needs, and the door closes behind her. Then Brody walks around the corner into my living room, and I bounce to a stand from the couch, dropping the tissues and bumping my shin on the coffee table.
My first instinct is to run to him, but then I remember how I look. Shit.
“Bianca, I—”
“Hold on a sec.” I turn and run for the bathroom.
“Where are you going? Brooks, I need to talk. Fuck this.” I hear his voice getting closer as he talks.
“Brooks, please don’t cry. I’m sorry for whatever it is.
I want to… hell, I want you to move back in with me.
” He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like a flurry of swears I’ve never heard.
Then I stop scooping water onto my face and grab a towel. “What did you say?” I hold my breath.
“You heard me.” His voice is soft and has a pleading quality I’ve never heard, like it pains him to say the words.
I open the door and peek out. He smiles, dimple and shiny eyes flashing. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me from the bathroom, and I land against the solid wall of his chest and his furiously beating heart that matches the rhythm of mine exactly.
“Brody…” My voice is so breathy and sexy? that I don’t even recognize it.
He cups my face with one hand while he holds me against him with the other, and I feel everything all at once.
The joy, the sensual feel of his lips and his tongue, the bite of his teeth, and the pressure of his body as he presses against me, the muscles of his arm roped around my back, and the feel of his luxurious hair in my fingers.
His mouth moves to my earlobe, where he lightly nibbles, sending shocks of electric pleasure to every nerve ending, especially the ones between my thighs, and I automatically press against him to feel that satisfying bulge of his desire, so perfect that I moan.
My eyes roll back, and I’m worried that I might actually faint from overexcitement.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispers, fluttering the hairs at my temple with his breath.
My knees collapse, and I’m not even sure what I’ve said yes to, but does it matter? I think my answer to him will always be yes when he makes me feel this way.
“You… ” I can’t speak with him breathing on me, making me feel hypnotized, so I force myself to pull back, just enough to see his eyes, his face, and to figure out what the hell is going on and if this is real or some kind of psychotic break with reality I’m experiencing due to dehydration from excessive tear flow.
“Why?” I finally ask. “Why do you want me to live with you?” I can’t believe I dared to ask. My heart speeds up so fast that I clamp my hands to my chest to make sure it doesn’t escape or explode.
He blinks his eyes and then gulps, clearly uncomfortable with the question, and I’m not sure he’s going to answer me, to admit to feelings beyond lust, which won’t work for me because I’m way past mere lust. I feel tears threatening.
Then he clears his throat. “I could be falling for you.” His voice is quiet, but I hear him.
I reflexively light up like stars in the night, but I tamp down my excitement because this is important. He’s asking me to move in with him. For me, that’s a big deal, and I need to know it’s a big deal for him too, that he’s ready for it.
“I hope so. Because I’ve already fallen for you, and I wouldn’t want to fall alone because that’s the worst.”
“I know. I’ve been there.”
“Right. Nora. Are you sure you’re over her?”
He snort-laughs. “You know I’ve been over her for a long time.”
“I mean over the hurt,” I whisper the words, afraid of his answer.
He stares into my eyes for a minute, like he’s searching for something. He takes so long to contemplate his words that I almost want to take the question back, but I force myself to stay silent and wait for him.
“Thanks to you, I am. The hurt is gone. I can think of her as my sister’s friend without any blip of resentment or anger or sadness or wish to go back.”
His words soothe me because I can feel their truth. He kisses me, his lips soft against mine, taking his time to press and part them and explore in a slow wandering path of seduction. I’m almost ready to collapse into him when I remember this conversation is too important to settle for seduction.
But it’s Brody who pulls back from the kiss, ending it with a press of his mouth against my forehead. It’s funny that I never thought of a forehead kiss as a romantic gesture, but it’s so sweet that my belly erupts with those butterflies, and I’m feeling like a love-sick teen all over again.
“Live with me, Brooks. Bianca.”
“Don’t you mean Honey Pants?”
He flashes his dimple. “You like when I call you Honey Pants, don’t you?”
Hearing him say the name makes me squeeze my legs together like he’s Pavlov with the magic words, and I’m his obedient puppy.
That sounds iffy as I think it, but who cares because that honey is flowing, and I squirm against him.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” His voice rasps across my earlobe as he pulls me against him.
“Before we get carried away,” I rasp back, then lose track of what I was going to say.
He grunts and steps back, looking at me seriously. “Look, I know this is a serious step with all kinds of implications. If you want some time to think about it—”
“No, not me.” I clear my throat. “Are you sure about this, Brody? You’re so young.”
He snorts. “So are you, Brooks. Besides, I’ll be twenty-one in two weeks.”
“Exactly my point. Maybe you need more time to…”
“Time for what? To get myself into trouble with crazy chicks who want me for a notch in their belts?”
“But you have so much growing up to do. And so do I.” Though, as I say the words, I realize how far I’ve come and how far Brody has come.
“Maybe. But if growing up means you appreciate someone for more than a couple of nights in the hay, that you know how rare it is to find someone who supports you a million percent and who is loyal to a fault, who gets you, understands you without saying the words—most of the time—then maybe I’ve already done a hell of a lot of growing up in these last few weeks than I would in the next few years without you. ”
There’s no way to stop myself from giving him one of those cartoonish over-the-moon looks as he stares back at me with his version of the same look.
“You helped me grow up, too, Brody. I’d never be taking a chance on representing Kat without your support.”
“Is that all?” He cups my face and stares into my eyes. “What else have you learned, Honey Pants?”
I choke laugh, but I know what he’s getting at. “That I’m a desirable woman?”
“Just the way you are,” he adds. “I see we may have more work to do in proving that part.”
“So this means?”
“To make this clear, Brooks, I’m not asking you to marry me.
Move in with me.” He goes for a stern look, but it’s ruined by the warm glitter in his eyes, the hungry, adoring look I see there.
I know it’s not a figment of my imagination.
And when he squeezes me closer and wriggles his hips against mine and I feel what could double as a baseball bat wedging between my thighs, I know his desire is more real than I could ever have imagined.
Maybe I have learned that lesson about my desirability, but it’s a lesson worth repeating in my opinion.
I grin. “In that case, let’s play house for real.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“For any other couple, it would be.”
He laughs, and I capture his joy with my mouth as we kiss, letting the giddy feeling take over without second-guessing and knowing he matches the way I feel.
Knowing we’re going to give ourselves a chance to be a couple in love and see where the future takes us.