Chapter 16 Drew #2
We hold our gaze for another few shutters of the camera, her mouth the only thing about her relaxing—her lips falling apart ever so slightly.
It's only when Isaac yells for what must be the second time that we're done that I rip my eyes away from her, realizing I'm the only one still standing on set.
A crew member from wardrobe walks over to me, handing me my worn-in jeans and faded USA Hockey t-shirt.
With my eyes still glued to Brooke's, I slowly unbutton the shirt that I'm wearing, letting it fall open and onto the floor.
I tear off the tight jeans next, adding them to the pile.
Brooke watches intently, making no effort to look away, and I find myself pulling my pants on as quickly as possible to cover my dick's natural response to her attention.
After what feels like forever, yet still not long enough, Brooke tears her gaze from me and starts packing up her things. I finish dressing myself and say my goodbyes to Isaac and the crew.
"Don't forget about tonight," Jane says when I tell her I'm leaving. "You're meeting her at Josephine's on Third. I already have the paps set up."
I sigh, taking a vested interest in my boots. "What time?"
"Reservation's at six."
I glance down at my watch, then my head snaps back to her. "That's in like an hour." Jane stares at me straightfaced. "And I still have fucking makeup on."
"Well, you better get home and get showered.
" One of the phones in her hand buzzes on top of the other, and she accepts the call, tilting the speaker away from her mouth.
"Or better yet, leave it on," she whispers.
"It'll make your cheekbones pop." She slides her phone back into place and tips her chin up at me. "Jane Simpson."
I roll my eyes and groan, turning around and nearly running right into Brooke. I'm instantly calmed, the idea of spending the rest of my night on a publicity stunt suddenly not so bad with her in my presence.
"Oh, hey, sorry. Are you ready to go?"
Brooke tucks her hair behind her ear, avoiding eye contact with me. "Mhmm."
I grin to myself, noting her change in demeanor from earlier, but keep my thoughts to myself. Instead, I nod toward the door, dropping my hand on her lower back as she steps toward it. She sucks in a quick breath but continues moving.
We walk in silence until we get outside, both of us stopping when we get to my bike.
"Where to now?" she asks expectantly.
I grab both helmets off the seat and hand one to her. "Your place, I guess. There's not much else to see."
A glaze of disappointment coats her eyes. "That's a tame night for Drew Anderson."
"Yeah, well..." I contemplate telling her about Cheyanne, but decide against it. "Game tomorrow."
"Right."
Neither of us say anything else. Instead, we wait another beat of silence before sliding on our helmets and hopping onto my bike.
I purposely turn out of the lot toward the long way back to her apartment building. Despite my time constriction, I'm not ready for our day to end, and I'm damn sure not in any rush for my date with Cheyanne.
Something about this ride is different. Maybe it's that we're more comfortable now.
Maybe it's because this is the last one of the night.
Or maybe I was right—something switched in Brooke during that photoshoot.
Either way, she seems even closer than before, her hands resting by my hips, her legs pushed all the way forward so her front is flush against me.
It's charged. Like at any point I could pull over to the side of the road and without hesitation, we'd fall into each other.
After a few red lights, I give in to temptation, taking a risk and dropping my palm from the handlebar to the outside of her thigh.
She doesn't pull away like I thought she might, or startle even.
Instead, she somehow sinks into me further, her legs hugging mine a bit tighter.
When I pull onto her street, anticipation rushes through me, a similar feeling to how I am on a windup, when the next few moments will determine the projection of the play. The score of the game. The reaction of the crowd.
Putting the bike into park, I let her swing her leg off before stomping my kickstand down and stepping off. Brooke hands me her helmet, and I throw it into my backpack before setting mine and my bag onto the seat.
"I'll walk you up," I say when she looks at me sideways.
There are no questions or objections. She simply nods and moves forward. At the top of the stairs, we turn into each other.
"Thanks for doing this today," she says first. "It was good content." I grin. "Fun even."
Cathartic.
"Was it what you expected?" I ask, my brow lifted upward.
Brooke looks at her feet, pressing the toe of her shoe into the pavement. "Uh, no, actually."
My smile grows wider. "I feel like that's a good thing." She doesn't answer, and I'm afraid of what I'll do with too much idle time between us, so I continue talking instead. "Well, have a good—"
"Do you want to come in?" She cuts me off, her eyes like a cartoon's when her brain catches up with the words that poured out. "Oh my God, no." She brings her hand to her forehead. "What am I doing?" she whispers to herself. "Pretend I didn't say that."
I stand there, completely dumbfounded by every word that just spewed out. I open my mouth, then seal my lips again, still unsure of what to say. "Brooke, did you just..." I start.
"No, I didn't—well, technically yes, I—"
"Uninvite me in?"
"Yes," she answers quickly. She sighs, her shoulders slumping forward. "Yeah, sort of."
I drag my hand slowly down my face, borderline afraid to make my next move. "Do you see it now?" I ask softly, holding my breath. "Me?" I take one step forward, so our chests are almost touching. "Us?"
Brooke's head falls into her hands, leaving her words muffled. "Shit, I don't know."
"Hey," I whisper, pulling her wrists away from her face as I lean into her. "Talk to me."
She slowly brings her eyes to mine, and I actively stop myself from sliding my hand into her hair and slamming my lips to hers. She goes to speak, but as soon as the first word forms on her tongue, my phone vibrates twice from my pocket.
I ignore it, but either she's using it as an excuse to stay silent or she's easily distracted. "Tell me," I demand, slipping my palms over her cheeks. Again, the buzzing sound goes off, three hums this time, before Brooke can say what's on her mind.
I slide my phone out of my jeans and read the messages that riddle the screen.
Jane
Josephine's at six.
Jane
Don't be late.
Jane
I mean it, Drew.
Jane
Remember the last time you went rogue on me.
Jane
GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT.
"Fuck," I groan, rubbing my forehead with my first two fingers.
I contemplate bailing on Cheyanne to stay with Brooke, but Jane's right.
The only thing worse than failing my test last year was the fans' reaction to my mortality.
We're off to a good start this season, and I don't need any drama—or hate—ruining that.
Or this.
She looks at me confused, rubbing her arm with her opposite hand. "What?"
"This is the worst possible timing," I say reluctantly. "But I have to go."
"Oh." She nods quickly, taking half a step backward.
"Or I could stay," I add, instantly regretting my first answer.
Brooke shakes her head. "No, no, you should go. I'm not, I don't even know—"
"It's been a long day," I say, stepping to her again. "Why don't you think about whatever you were trying to say, and we'll talk tomorrow. Before morning practice?"
She looks at me with bold eyes, failing to hide her concern, but I remain steadfast. I'm not going anywhere.
"Yeah, okay. Let's talk tomorrow," she finally says. "I'm sorry."
This time I really do slip my hand behind her ear, but instead of pulling her mouth to meet mine, I drop my forehead to hers. "Don't be," I say softly. I pull back, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You've always been my mystery girl."