Chapter 4 Brody #3
I laugh. It’s not a happy sound. “Yeah. Apparently, I can’t be trusted to date without supervision.”
Brody frowns. “She said that?”
My gaze lifts at the tone in his voice—clipped. He almost sounds…defensive, which would be crazy because he doesn’t know me well enough to be angry for me.
“Not…exactly that.”
Brody tilts his head, that protective look deepening. The thought sends a wave of heat rolling through me. “What did she say?”
“That you have a reputation for being charming.” I’m going for light sarcasm. It comes out harsh, almost bitter. “That I’ll get hurt…that I’m not exactly your type. That she’s worried I’m going to—” I stop. Can’t quite say it out loud.
Ruin her wedding. Embarrass the family. Prove I’m exactly who they think I am: the sister who can’t get her life together.
“I wouldn’t believe everything you read about me on the internet,” he says.
“This may come as a shock to you, Brody”—I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets as a shiver runs through me—“but I actually don’t spend my evenings catching up on the latest hockey drama. It’s my sister’s fiancé, Derek. He’s not a huge fan.”
Brody is still, standing at my side, his warm gaze searing through the side of my head.
A gust of wind scatters the snow off the top of the bus stop.
Icy crystals glitter against the inky darkness.
Finally, he turns toward the road, tucking his hands into his own jacket as though he intends to join me on the bus.
“I heard her mention a party,” he says nonchalantly. “This weekend?”
“It’s a meet and greet, actually.”
Brody raises a brow. “What is a meet and greet?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. It’s a party for everyone involved in the wedding, the families and wedding party, to all meet prior to the wedding.”
“Sounds like a fancy way to waste money.”
I gape at him. “That’s…” Not entirely wrong.
But you’d never catch me saying it. “Yeah, well…it’s still happening.
” And why not tell him everything else? After all, according to him—and everyone else on the internet—he’s my boyfriend.
“And my mother wants me to bring a date. She’s been trying to set me up with literally anyone who crosses her path.
I narrowly avoided getting traded to an Olive Garden waiter for unlimited breadsticks earlier today.
I had to lie and tell her I already had a date. ”
Brody chuckles, the sound taking me right back to Barcelona. To the warmth and sunshine. The bus is visible down the street now. Headlights cutting through the darkness, that familiar rumble of diesel engine.
1 minute.
“I could be your date,” Brody says softly.
My head snaps his direction. “What?”
“To the meet-and-greet party.” He pauses. “Your sister’s marrying Derek, right? I’m invited anyway. Teammate obligation. I could—we could go together.”
Something in the way he suggests it—the offer coming out too easily, too eagerly. My heart hitches as something clicks into place. The one thing Derek’s always complaining about: Candy Kane’s image.
He needs PR. “You need this.” The words come out slow, understanding dawning. “You need a girlfriend, don’t you? That’s what this is about.”
He looks startled—like I’ve caught him at something he wasn’t ready to admit. His mouth opens. Closes. Then he seems to consider it, really consider it, and something shifts in his expression.
“Yeah.” Finally. Honest. Direct. “I need help.” His mouth makes a tight, perfect line. Good grief, even his lips are perfect. “It’s complicated.” He takes a breath that clouds white between us. “But it sounds like you need help too. With your family. With”—he gestures vaguely—“all of it.”
“So we help each other.” My voice sounds strange. Distant. “A fake date. For the meet-and-greet party.”
He lifts a shoulder.
“And then what? We have a fake fight and fake breakup?”
His mouth opens, then, “On second thought, I probably need to be your boyfriend through the entire wedding.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s a contract thing.”
And I don’t know why, but those words have the power to spear through me, take me out, right there on the grimy sidewalk.
Still. “There are five big events—the meet-and-greet party, the couples shower, then three events over the weekend wedding in Maple Lake. You’d have to go to all of them.”
He nods, grimacing as though I’m the one proposing this grisly idea but he’s up for it. What a champ.
“And then what? Part ways like it never happened?”
“If that’s what you want.”
The bus pulls up with a hydraulic hiss. Brakes squealing. Doors opening with that pneumatic sound. The older woman gathers her bags, stands slowly—arthritic joints, careful movements—and gives me one last look that might be sympathy or might be judgment. Hard to tell in the harsh fluorescent light.
“Wait. Are you taking the bus?” he says, as if just figuring it out.
I glance up at him, my chin tucked into my jacket. “One too many shots to the head there, hockey boy?”
“Let me drive you home,” he says, ignoring the jab.
I should say no. I should get on this bus and go home and forget this entire insane conversation, crazy fake-relationship plot and all.
But then I think about showing up to Maya’s party alone. About my mother’s pitying smiles. About being the overlooked sister at five different wedding events while everyone else is coupled up.
And I look at Mr. Candy, standing there in his expensive leather jacket with his blue eyes, those broad shoulders, and suddenly all I can think is…
This is completely insane, but also—
It might be exactly what I need.
“Come on, Chloe,” he says, those blue eyes catching in the light. Oceans again. “It’s just a ride. Let me help you.”
A teenage boy has run to catch the bus and now stomps up the stairs, hood up, backpack, that particular smell of teenage body spray and weed and winter sweat. He looks at me. Looks at Brody. Recognition flashes across his acne-marked face. “Hey! It’s Candy Kane!”
Brody—er, Candy smiles and nods.
And that’s enough for my pride to find its feet, even though my brain is screaming Just say yes. It’s subzero. You’re going to freeze on this bus. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” His voice is gentle. Matter-of-fact. “But you don’t have to.”
“Lady?” The bus driver sounds impatient. His voice carries that end-of-shift exhaustion. “On or off?”
I look at Brody. At the warmth and ease he’s offering.
Then I look at the bus. At my escape route. At my dignity.
“I’ll think about your offer.”
It’s not an agreement. It’s not a no. It’s somewhere in between, which is probably the most honest thing I’ve said all day.
I pull out my phone with numb fingers. Open a blank contact and hand it to him.
He enters his number and hands it back to me, his gaze meeting mine with intensity. “I’ll wait for your text.”
Heat flushes my cheeks, but I nod, step onto the bus, and leave him standing there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, breath clouding in the cold. Not moving.
But something on his face looks…almost content. Hopeful.
The bus pulls away with a jerk, the engine rumbling as the darkness envelopes me. I sink into the seat, my body swaying with the familiar route I’ve taken a hundred times since selling my car.
Brody Kane.
Two words that represent everything complicated about the last twelve hours.
Really, I should forget the offer. Forget the whole conversation.
But…
I think about Maya’s voice: You’re not exactly his type.
I think about showing up to the wedding events with Brody Kane as my date.
I think about my family’s faces.
And then I think: Maybe I’m tired of being overlooked.
Maybe I’m tired of playing it safe.
Maybe this is the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Maybe I’m going to do it anyway.
You’re an idiot, I tell myself.
But my thumb is already moving. Already typing.
Already making the choice my heart wants even though my brain is screaming warnings.
And hitting Send.