Chapter 14 Drew
Drew
Rolling up to Brooke's apartment, I'm borderline nervous.
Not to be around her— that I'm excited for.
But for her to see my life from this side.
I've never done this—allowed someone to follow me around.
Partly because I like to soak in every ounce of peace I'm capable of finding in my day, but mostly because that would break through the facade.
People don't want to see Drew Anderson, the guy who wakes up early to lift before the workout. There's no excitement in watching me bust out reps in the bay or hype myself up to be the face of a brand. They damn sure don't care to see me visit my mom or avoid my dad's phone calls.
The parts of my life that they want are in front of the camera or behind the glass—no one wants to see Clark Kent out of costume.
So, it's better to allow the illusion that I just show up and show out.
No lows or complaints, definitely no staged dates or forced outings—we all do better with rose-colored glasses.
I couldn't say no to Brooke, though. Turning down an entire day with her would have been a missed opportunity.
Besides, there's no hiding from her. From what I can tell, she sees through the bullshit—or better yet, is ignorant of it.
And I don't think I could fake how I am with her even if I wanted to.
Stomping my foot down on my kickstand, I lean my bike to the side and swing my leg over. I pull my helmet and backpack off and sit both on my seat, sliding my phone from my pocket. There's one message written across the screen. I swipe it open, knowing I'll regret it instantly.
Dad
Drew, call me back. I have thoughts.
I scoff as I usually do after reading Dad's text, then drop my phone back into my pocket, taking a deep breath before I walk up to Brooke's building. For the first time since I rode up, I fully take in the neighborhood.
It's not a shit-hole by any means, but I'm definitely not on the west side anymore.
Trash is built up along the side of the can that sits under a dying tree on the sidewalk.
There's no one around, but rap music drifts faintly from one of the nearby houses.
The paint on the front of her building is weathered, the pots by the door empty except for dried mulch that looks like it's sat untouched for years.
I'm not surprised by the view I guess—we live in a big city, most parts of town look like this or even worse.
And Brooke isn't the type of woman that I'd necessarily worry about.
But it's an obvious contrast to my living situation.
Sometimes I forget how different we are.
It's easy for that to be the case when I'm nothing but comfortable when we're together.
When I get to the stairs, I pause, only now realizing I don't know which apartment is hers.
I hesitate briefly before I realize the names are listed on the wall by the entrance.
A wave of anxiety flushes past me at the idea that literally anyone can stop, simply read a sign, and know who lives here.
There's not much privacy in my life, but you can't even get into my building without ID or permission.
Maybe being Drew Anderson has its perks after all.
Running the pad of my thumb under my chain, I climb the last of the steps leading up to the door.
I scan the list, my finger trailing down the names until it lands on the one that lights up my senses.
I reach for the buzzer, clearing my throat and mentally rehearsing my greeting, when the door to the building comes flying open.
"Shit!" Brooke squeals, halting in her place only inches from running into me.
"Good morning, Mystery Girl," I say, tucking my hands into the front pockets of my joggers.
Brooke scans me head to toe, her stoic demeanor cracking ever so slightly when her eyes make their way back to mine. "Morning," she says, attempting to look unfazed. "You didn't have to come to my door. This isn't a date, remember." She looks at me, her expression full of half-assed warning.
I glance around, admiring the quiet streets, the sun just barely peeking up from the horizon. When I swing back to her, I ask, "Do you often go on dates at 6:30 in the morning?"
She narrows her eyes at me, then swallows and relaxes. "Well, no."
"And let's not forget that this was your idea."
"Uh huh."
"Not to mention, the city still being dark at the ass-crack of dawn gives more danger than ambience, don't you think?" She rolls her eyes and swings her arms over her chest. "I'm just trying to be a nice guy here, Brooke."
In perfect timing, a drunk with long matted hair stumbles down the street across from us, waving and singing some sort of show tune. I finish my sentence with my body turned toward him. "But if you'd like to walk out alone, by all means, be my guest."
When I spin back around, Brooke's hand is falling from where it was lifted, waving. "For your information, that is Frank, and he is a very nice guy." I clench my teeth, more bothered than I should be. "And I can handle myself, thank you very much."
A scoff slips through my lips, and I hold my hands up in surrender.
"Can we just get going?" Brooke asks, her eyes wandering behind me. "Where's your driver?"
I stare at her blankly. "My driver?"
She widens her eyes as if to say, duh, and I smirk. "I'm a big boy, Brooke. I can get myself where I need to be."
Her head pulls back in surprise, but this interaction is nothing I'm not used to. "Okay, where's your car then?"
My smile grows bigger. I turn around, walk down the steps, and cross the sidewalk to my bike. Picking up my helmet, I perch myself on the seat and tap the spot next to me. "You ready, Larkin?"
Brooke stares at me, her arms slipping back down to her sides, her face no longer in shock or annoyed. No, I've seen that look before. Fuck me, this girl is turned on.
She descends the stairs slowly, only speaking when her feet hit the sidewalk. "We're riding around on this thing all day?"
I nod definitively. "You wanted a day in my life."
Pulling on my helmet, I turn, reaching into my backpack and producing hers.
I hand it to her, sliding the straps of my now empty bag over my shoulder, then swing my leg around so I'm sitting on the front end of the bike.
Brooke doesn't move. I start the engine, and it roars to life, as I look back at her. "Don't want to be late."
She licks her lips, rolling them in on each other, then tucks her hair behind her ears and slips the helmet on.
"These things aren't considered safe, ya know," she warns, placing her hands on my shoulder and hoisting herself on as if she's done it a million times before.
It hits me that she's trying to convince herself more than me considering her movement tells me this also isn't her first time.
I don't answer right away, my brain misfiring from having my mystery girl tight against me, her legs straddling mine for the first time in too long. I wait expectantly for her arms to slide around me, but when they don't come, I realize she's waiting for my answer.
I blink hard, bringing myself back to the question, then turn over my shoulder.
"I can handle myself, thank you very much."
"So, what's first?" Brooke asks, handing me her helmet. Her cheeks are a nice rosy pink, and her chest is rising with each short breath. Either she's cold even in her black leather jacket with a thick sweater underneath, or she's just as fucking flustered from that ride as I am.
No one's ever been on the back of my bike.
There was never a situation where that would even make sense.
My teammates and I are tight, but I don't want their husky thighs wrapped around mine, and if I'm ever with a girl, it's because we're on a date I didn't plan or she's coming home with me—neither of which warrant the opportunity to sit their ass on my seat.
But I didn't think twice about taking it today. With her.
This is my usual morning. My typical routine. My daily ride. I didn't think to switch it up just because Brooke would be with me, which says something. But holy shit, I should have prepared myself.
Brooke's clearly comfortable on the back of a bike.
She didn't startle when we hit a bump or awkwardly clasp her hands in front of me, and she knew just the right angle to lean to when I made a sharp turn.
Just those thoughts alone turned me on. Add in that she applied just the right amount of pressure to the outside of my thighs and that her hands dropped into my lap every time we hit a red light, and I'm surprised she couldn't feel my excitement through my sweats. Unless she could.
It took everything in me not to graze her calf when we came to a crosswalk or drop my hand to her knee when I was cruising down an open street. But I'm trying my best to stop putting moves on her. At least for now. At least until she stops fighting it.
"Back and bis," I say, shaking my head of what I'd rather be doing and setting both helmets on my seat. "Then a little breakfast, and there's film before on-ice this morning."
Brooke purses her lips as we head toward the entrance. "Not as exciting as I thought it would be."
I look over at her, noticing how her heeled boots only accentuate the legs I'm still dreaming of being wrapped around me in a whole different way since the ride over here.
"Who knew Drew Anderson was so… normal?" She smirks, but her words hit me harder than she means them to.
"Not many people," is all I say before scanning my finger and pulling open the door.
Brooke stays quiet for a while, the two of us walking side-by-side down the hall toward the gym. When we get there, it's empty like I knew it would be. The team has lifts later today, but I always get one in on my own.