31. Circles #2
Broderick orders for us—pancakes, eggs, bacon, the works. I tug my sleeves down over my hands and lean across the table, chin in my palm.
“Okay, where are we going?”
He lifts a brow. “You’re so impatient.”
“Are you seriously going to make me wait the entire drive?”
He takes a slow sip of his coffee, gaze steady but unreadable.
“Seems I’m not the only one being made to wait.”
Wait for what?
Does he mean the drive? Or…does he mean me? The waitress cuts in before I can press, my protest swallowed along with my curiosity.
Once we’re fed and sufficiently caffeinated, we’re back on the road.
Thirty minutes later, Broderick pulls into an airport.
My stomach drops.
The last time I’d been whisked away like this, it ended with me losing both my virginity and my mind to Alex—only to come crashing back to reality when everything with Madison imploded.
My hands clench in my lap.
“You okay?” Broderick asks, glancing over. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“No,” I squeak—only for the fall that happens after the high.
He doesn’t look convinced.
“I have another surprise for you.”
“Brody, it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t I be the one surprising you?”
“I like making you happy.”
My heart stops. Then warmth blooms in my chest—but the apprehension still lingers.
Broderick isn’t Alex.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Can I at least know if we’re flying or driving?”
“Nope.”
“Is this some elaborate revenge for the sock I threw at your face?”
“You did nail me square in the eye.”
“Deserved.”
He studies me for a second, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. But he doesn’t press. Just reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.
This not-date—part two—is tipping the scales.
And I’m starting to realize there might be no going back from here.
We’re still sitting in the car, parked near the private terminal. I haven’t moved—still half-stuck in my head, twisting knots I don’t know how to undo.
Then Broderick reaches over and takes my chin between his fingers, gently turning my face toward him.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Come back.”
I blink.
“You okay.” His thumb strokes my cheek, grounding me.
I nod and feign a smile. But the pit in my stomach doesn’t ebb.
“There she is,” he murmurs. Then Broderick reaches behind the seat and pulls out a black silk blindfold.
“You’re kidding.”
He twirls it on one finger. “Not even a little.”
“You’re seriously blindfolding me again?”
“Humor me?”
I nod.
“Turn around.”
I shift in my seat to face the window. The fog rising on the tarmac is the last thing I see before he gently brushes my hair aside, sliding silk over my head.
My heart pounds in the darkness as I feel him near my ear.
“I like you in the dark,” he says, securing it behind my head. “Makes your mouth even filthier… and your pussy wetter.”
Even though my mind is racing a million miles a minute, I can’t control the way my body betrays me.
Heat creeps up my neck, straight to my face—as flashes of us play through my mind like a reel I can’t shut off: his mouth between my legs, the cuffs on my wrists, the way my breath caught beneath his palm.
“What are you blushing about?” he asks, tracing his finger across my cheek.
My breathing sounds louder in my ears. “Are we gonna have hot sex in your Mustang?”
“No, baby,” he says, voice dropping. “Wouldn’t want you to wet the leather.”
I groan, swatting at him—but I miss.
Broderick chuckles. The engine shuts off. My door opens, and then he’s guiding me out with firm hands on my waist. He loops my bag over my shoulder.
It’s disorienting—feet on concrete, cool air brushing my skin, the sound of wheels, voices, the clank of metal equipment being unpacked nearby.
His hands never leave me. One guides the small of my back; the other stays loosely linked with mine.
I can smell the morning—damp grass, burnt fuel, coffee someone’s drinking nearby.
Then a pause. He lifts me clean off the ground, placing me somewhere. “Brody…”
“Trust me.”
Part of me does, but there is that small part that is still unsure.
I hear the rustle of nylon, the mechanical whoosh of something inflating, distant voices calling things I can’t make out.
My stomach drop as we move. A lift.
We’re…rising.
“Wait—”
“Shhh,” he whispers near my ear, steadying me. “Almost there.”
We climb higher, the wind shifting softly around us. The only sound I can hear is his breathing and the loud whooshing of something.
Then he unties the blindfold—delicately.
Light bursts in. Gold and pale pink, soft and endless.
We’re floating. In a hot air balloon.
“You planned this?” I blink at him, stunned.
He’s smug. “Does this make you happy?”
I stare at the horizon—sky, earth, silence—and then back at him.
“So happy—I’ve never done anything like this before,” I gasp, feeling tears well in my eyes.
He smiles at me like he’s holding the whole sunrise in his chest. I lean into him, savoring the moment, watching the light burst through the horizon—soft and golden.
We’re floating.
I turn slowly, eyes adjusting to the sheer expanse of sky around us. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, bleeding color across the clouds. Below, the earth looks like a painting I couldn’t touch. Everything is still. Covered in snow.
Then I look up at him.
Broderick’s arms are still around me, keeping me safe and grounded despite being so high in the sky.
Something tilts in my chest—not a fall, exactly, but a puzzle slotting into place. An ache. Something deep and terrifying and true.
I think I love you.
The thought lands before I can block it. I almost say it. The words hover, right there. But my stomach twists.
Because in that moment I realize something—I love Alex too.
I curse my selfish, greedy heart. I hate myself for it.
But it’s there now. Impossible to ignore. The guilt claws at me.
I squirm out of Broderick’s arms, wanting what little distance I can manage in the basket of the balloon.
“El—is something wrong?”
“I have something for you,” I say, nervous—desperate to salvage the moment.
I reach into my bag.
He raises a brow. “For me?”
“Of course. You’re the birthday boy. Or man. Or…old man?”
He chuckles.