Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Audrey
“Do we have any more of those butterscotch candies?” Brooks asks from the driver’s seat. A pile of wrappers flows over the edge of the center console tray. There must be eighty at this point.
“No, I think you’ve officially demolished all of them,” I say, laughing. “I didn’t know you had a butterscotch obsession.”
“That will be one of a few obsessions you learn about me over the next few days.”
Oh. I grin, sitting back in my seat and getting as comfortable as I can with every nerve in my body crackling under my skin. The seatbelt is the only thing keeping me steady.
We’ve been in the car for an hour, meandering through the soft hills and valleys of Tennessee.
Songs play through the truck speakers from a playlist I chose from his phone.
He handed me the device and said to pick something.
It was such a drastic difference from how most men handle their phones around me.
They act like they have the nuclear codes saved in their notes.
Brooks removed the passcode so I could change the songs at my leisure.
He taps the steering wheel in time with a rock song that I’ve never heard before.
“What’s your walkout song when you’re fighting?” I ask.
He looks at me over his shoulder, both brows lifted. “I thought you looked up the Malone fight? You didn’t do a deep dive on me?”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound conceited at all.”
“Not old fights? Not socials? Nothing?”
I laugh at the surprised look on his handsome face. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but, no, I didn’t look you up at all other than to check out some pictures and pieces of the Malone fight. Why didn’t you mention that you were a champion?”
“Oh, that wouldn’t sound conceited at all,” he says. “Hi, I’m Brooks Dempsey, former middleweight champion.”
“If I were a champion of anything, I’d lead with that in every conversation.”
He snorts. “You would not.”
“Yeah, probably not.” I laugh, nestling back in my seat as the sun shines on my face. “So, what’s your walkout song?”
“It’s a rock song by Wrecked. Gray and I used to listen to it while we got ready for rugby games. It’s not really a traditional hype song, but we found it highly motivational as teenagers. What about you? What would your walkout song be?”
I shrug, racking my brain for a song that fits and coming up with nothing.
“No clue. Something by a female country singer, probably, because they’re a vibe.
And I’d wear pink trunks with some glitter around the waistband and little bows on the side at the bottom, so when I moved, they’d dance around and be so cute. ”
Fashion over purpose? Ouch. I guess I’m more like my mom than I thought.
I don’t know how I feel about that epiphany other than it makes me want to shiver.
Brooks grabs his drink from the cupholder. “For the record, I’d pay big money to see you fight.” He takes a sip and then returns the cup to its place between us. But as he pulls his arm back, he grabs at his left shoulder with his right hand. “Fuck.”
“Are you okay?”
He rolls it a few times clockwise and then reverses course. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Just gets stiff sometimes.” He hisses a breath and stretches his arm, all the while looking like he’s about to shout a litany of profanities.
I know what it’s like to be in minimal pain—a broken collarbone at twelve and a car accident a few years ago.
Luckily, mine healed quickly, and I could move on with my life.
I’m not sure how I would survive if I had to deal with pain long-term.
Especially if it were pain that kept me from doing what I loved and making money.
My stomach dissolves into a pit of acid as the perfect segue presents itself to tell Brooks about my conversation with Drew. It’s been in the back of my mind since I climbed into the truck, but I’ve not been able to figure out how to bring it up.
Nothing about our conversation makes any sense to me.
The Drew that I spoke to today wasn’t the man I’ve known and loved for the past twenty-seven years.
He was so cold and callous, two things I didn’t know he was capable of.
The only way it makes sense, even a little bit, is that we’ve never had a direct conflict before.
Sure, we’ve argued over the remote and who got the best bedroom on vacation, but it’s never been anything personal.
And I’ve never refused to acquiesce.
I take a deep breath. “So, I talked to Drew today.”
Brooks’s body stiffens.
“He is on the NAFL Combat Commission,” I say. “I’m assuming from what he said that he’ll be on the board that decides your reinstatement.”
He nods slowly as if accepting this piece of information.
“And, um, well, he’s not that thrilled that we know each other, and I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be to you,” I say, frowning. “I put in a good word for you, but … I don’t even know if it went in one ear and out the other, if I’m being honest.”
“Yeah, that’s what I expected.”
“So, you know, I can’t promise you that I’m going to be able to stick to my end of our bargain,” I say.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Oh, no. Guess we’ll have to turn around.”
“Really?”
“Not a chance, Doc.” He slips off his sunglasses and tosses them on the candy wrappers. “But if it makes you feel any certain way that you’re with me and your brother is pissed, then I will absolutely take you back. Just say the word.”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around my middle.
“I hate that Drew’s mad. My first instinct is to freak out and apologize—to call him and make peace.
But when I pause and take a breath, I know that’s the wrong answer.
Why should I sacrifice my happiness for someone else’s peace when they won’t do the same for me? ”
He reaches across the console and places his hand on my thigh. I suck in a breath as the weight of his palm rests against me, his fingers pressed softly into my pants. He gently squeezes my leg before returning his hand to the steering wheel.
Oof.
“Okay, then,” he says. “Operation Whimsy List is a go. Let’s run down our checklist before we get to our destination.”
Woah. This guy can transition topics like Gianna—no warning, just a tight pivot.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to catch up with him mentally.
“Read it off to me. Refresh my memory.”
“Oh, no,” I say, laughing and shaking my head. “I’m not reading it to you. Are you nuts?”
He grins. “I’ve pledged my assistance to fulfill your dreams. And, unlike some people I know, I’m capable of following through with my agreements.”
“Hey!” I shove his arm gently so as not to make us crash. “That’s not fair.”
“Read ’em.”
“No.”
He side-eyes me.
“It’s embarrassing,” I say.
“Why? You’re a brilliant, grown-ass woman who knows what she wants. How is that embarrassing? It’s admirable. It’s brave. And personally? I think it’s fucking hot.”
I shift in my seat to alleviate some of the pressure building in my core. “I’m glad. But it’s different when you have to say them aloud. I mean …. You do it. Tell me something on your whimsy list.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Yes, you do,” I say, teasing him. “Everyone has a list of things they wish they could do or that they could change about themselves. Most of the time, those lists just live in people’s heads.
” He considers this, narrowing his eyes as he watches the road.
“So, tell me one thing that you wish you could do or change about yourself, then I’ll read you my list. In its entirety. ”
There’s probably not a chance he’ll play along, which is fine by me. I don’t want to read him my list anyway. But as the seconds pass and he runs a thumb along his bottom lip as if in thought, I start to wonder if I might’ve played a little too close to the sun with this one.
Tapping his fingers against the side of his leg, he sighs before turning to me. His eyes are crystal clear pools of jade, and they land on mine with a deliberateness that steals my breath.
“I’d hope that one day I’d see someone look me in the eyes and love me with no regrets.” He swallows. “That’s all.”
My eyes widen as he looks away.
I didn’t think he’d answer at all, let alone give me something so real or so raw. My heart aches for him—the pain I saw briefly before it disappeared beneath his practiced smirk and mischievous eyes once again.
What does that mean? Why does he feel like everyone who loves him does it with regrets? That’s so awful. I want to reach across the truck and slide into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck … but I can’t. And, even if I could, I shouldn’t.
“Satisfied?” he asks, grinning.
“Not yet, but I have high hopes for you.”
He chuckles. “Your turn. Read ’em.”
I groan, taking out my phone and pulling up my Notes app. I find the right file and remind myself that he’s already read these. This is nothing new. Just breathe.
“Okay, I’ve already checked off a couple of these,” I say, scrolling through the list. “I’ve done a few spontaneous things, and I’ve eaten in public alone, which was not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. No one stared or laughed. Who knew?”
“It sounds like you spend a lot of time around a lot of assholes, if you ask me.”
I shrug. When I’m not in Nashville, that’s true.
“And you can check the learning to flirt one off, too,” he says. “I have no clue why you don’t think you’re good at it.”
“Because it doesn’t feel like I’m good at it.
Anyway, moving on … I need to learn to be okay with disappointing others, even if it’s with myself.
And I need to cut my hair.” I place my phone on my lap and stare at Brooks’s profile.
“I’ve wanted to cut my hair for two years and wanted to try bangs for longer than that.
But every time I get the nerve to do it, I see a meme that says, ‘If you’re having a bad day, the answer is never bangs. ’ So, I don’t do it.”
“Okay, what else?”
I know what he’s waiting for, but I’ve deliberately skipped those. I’ll do those last. If he’s making me read these aloud, then I can make him wait until the end for his payoff.
“Self-defense, but I could technically mark that off. And I want to stop being so sweet.” I sigh.
“I’ve been reduced to a one-dimensional word.
Sweet.” I go back to the app and rattle off a few more things as I work my way down the screen.
And then I get to the end—to the good stuff.
“Does this count as a one-night stand? It kind of is but kind of isn’t. ”
“Count it.”
We turn left onto a road that’s freshly paved where trees hug both sides. It feels like we’re driving into a magical realm with no houses or people except the white cottage in front of us.
“I’m not counting it,” I say, intrigued by our location. “I’ll find a one-night stand in Nashville.”
He bristles at my side. I don’t show a reaction, but I snicker internally. Ha. Look at me not being sweet. Might be able to check that one off the list.
The road transitions into the driveway, and we park beneath a basketball goal affixed above the garage doors. There’s a front porch with a swing on one end, and behind the home stretches an impressively large lake.
“This is beautiful,” I say, taking it all in. “Where did you find this place?”
“Online. When I can’t sleep, I go through rental apps and just save shit to different folders. It was finally useful.”
I smile at him. “I think that’s an adorable hobby.”
“I’m going to pause that hobby for a few days to pick up another one.” His eyes shimmer with a roguishness that has me shuddering in my seat. “I think there’s one more thing on that list.”
“Wrong.”
He lifts a brow, curious.
“There are two,” I say, licking my lips. I have him right where I want him—a place I never expected to have a man—he’s eating out of the palm of my hand. Gianna would be so proud. “Orgasm with a man.”
He growls.
“And learn how to give a blow job.”
Every part of me braces for him to close the distance and finally kiss me. There’s no denying he’s about a second away from losing control, which is only half a second behind me. His body draws toward mine as if he can’t control it, elevating my heartbeat.
My lips part, and I pant, my body buzzing with anticipation. Finally. It’s finally happening.
I suck in a breath and hold it, imagining his lips against mine, but just before my eyelashes close so I can absorb the heat of his mouth, I hear the door open.
My eyes pop open just in time to see him climbing out of the truck. The rat!
You’ve got to be kidding me.