Chapter 31 Brooke #2
For the first time since we started talking, Brett makes direct eye contact with me without any sort of playful expression.
My face relaxes as he stares at me knowingly.
"You're good for him." I stare back, unsure of what to say, a slight case of whiplash hitting me from his two opposite sides.
"Different than what people would expect," he continues.
He lowers his voice. "But so is he. I'm just not supposed to know that. "
My chest tightens at the thought of the Drew I know. The one who deserves for his true self to be seen. The one who, according to Brett, might be more understood than he thinks—at least by his best friend. "And how would you know that?"
He pretends to search the bag again, his hand digging aimlessly around as he stares at the light gray carpeting on the floor. "I just do."
I offer him a slight smile, and silence grows between us. I'm not sure how to respond, especially considering Drew's and my situation, but I want to hug Brett. To tell him he's right. Drew is different than he pretends to be—and in the most beautiful way. But I don't. It's not my secret to tell.
"What's your favorite color?" I ask, hitting record again and moving on from the current topic.
"Cyan," Brett says without hesitation.
"Favorite food?"
"Peanut butter and jelly."
I glance down at my list. "Fav—"
"Strawberry jelly," he adds decisively.
I nod slowly, brows high. "Favorite season?"
"Winter."
"Least favorite season."
"Winter."
I pause my series of rapid-fire questions. "But you just said—"
He holds up his palm to face me. "It's a love-hate relationship."
I tilt my head and turn my lips down. "Actually… I totally get that." Brett smiles, either at me or at the fact that he fished another M&M from the bag of mostly nuts. "Okay, favorite childhood memory?"
"Pass."
My eyes perk up from the list in my lap and meet Brett's as he chews the chocolate. "What? No, you can't just pass. Where's the fun in that?" His shoulders lift as he takes another sip of his drink, then swallows down his gulp. "Come on, what's your favorite memory from when you were a ki—?"
"I said pass, Brooke."
He wipes his mouth and replaces his lid. His tone and expression are both stern, a complete contrast to his usual merriment, and before I can react, the door behind us clicks open. Brett's head swings toward the noise, but my eyes are still stuck on trying to read him.
When he tips his chin up toward the entrance to the lounge, I finally pull my eyes away.
They land on Drew, who looks unbothered, his body relaxed, coffee in hand.
Brett and I both smile at him, and the corners of his lips curl up as he passes.
Burns waves and sinks back into the couch.
I, however, am stuck with the image of him with his new hair and same swagger, and now, thanks to Brett's words, have a growing urge to show him just how much I care.
Our time after the cemetery was brief. I had to meet Brett back here, and Drew was getting calls left and right the entire ride over, which he actively denied.
But I felt closer to him today than I ever have.
I never realized that would make me want him even more physically—I guess I never let myself get to this point.
But since we got to the arena, melting into him is all that I can think about.
I was doing a good job at ignoring my need until now—until he entered my space and brought with him our usual, unbearable tension.
"So, what else you got for me?"
Brett's question pulls me back, but now I'm the one distracted, no longer able to disregard my pull to Drew.
I follow him as he walks toward a seat in the opposite corner of the room, falling into the chair and propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of it, his eyes lingering on Brett and me.
"Uh, tell me about something your fans might not know about you. Something fun."
I drag my gaze back to Brett in time to see his face light up, but I can still spot Drew from the corner of my eye. Tapping my knee, Burns stands and plops down next to me, pulling up the Photos app on his phone.
For a second, I worry that I might regret this whole thing.
Once because I suddenly can't focus with Drew seducing me by merely existing and once for the fear of what Brett may be preparing to show me.
Both of my worries are calmed—at least momentarily—when the picture he clicks on is of a cream and orange tabby cat, with piercing yellow eyes and a tiny pink nose, sitting on a windowsill.
"Oh my God, Brett," I squeal. "You have a cat?"
"That's Sid," he says, his smile growing from ear to ear. "Sidney Clawsby."
I scoot closer and take the phone from his hand, and when I do, the thump of Drew's feet sliding off the table grabs my attention for just a second.
I glance up to find him now leaning forward in his seat, his forearms resting on his knees—slightly less unbothered.
I ignore his sudden shift and zoom in on Sid's little face.
"How did I not know about him?"
Brett shrugs. "Honestly, I don't know. I talk about him all the time."
"Wait, I thought I told you to tell me something the fans wouldn't know about you."
He holds his pointer finger in the air. "Uh uh, you said might. And I don't pass up any opportunity to talk about my boy here."
I shake my head, swiping on the photo to another one of Sid, and momentarily getting lost in Brett's feline friend—or family maybe with how he's talking.
This one is of him in Brett's arms, the two of them wearing matching bow ties.
"Shut up," I say loudly, bringing my knee up on the couch and turning toward him.
I look at Brett, my mouth hanging open, and he winks before nodding toward the photo.
I nudge my shoulder into his, and he reaches over me casually. "Oh, just you wait." He scrolls to another photo of Sid wrapped up in a lush white blanket in the middle of a king-size bed. "I treat my pussy right," he says.
Laughter rips out of me that has nothing to do with his innuendo and everything to do with picturing Brett Burns, NHL defenseman, wrapping a cat up in a throw.
I bring my thumb to the screen and slide to the next image, expecting to see a picture of Sidney Clawsby in shoes or a stroller.
Instead, I not so gracefully stumble upon Brett in possibly the tiniest boxer briefs known to man, pulled so low that he might as well not be wearing them at all.
"Woah."
"Whoops!" Brett says, snatching the phone and shoving it between his thighs. "Sorry about that."
My hand flies to my mouth as my head snaps up, and when it does, I lock eyes with Drew, who's now standing, nearly crushing the cardboard cup in his hand. My whole upper-half grows warm as his burning gaze mixes with my memory of an all but naked Brett.
"I didn't mean to turn you on like that," Burns whispers in my ear, my face clearly pink.
I swing in his direction, my eyes wide. "Oh, no. Brett, you didn't—"
"I told you, InstaBrooke… the Burns' Effect is strong."
I snort out another laugh despite my growing awkwardness, but don't get a chance to argue his point. Instead, Drew's shadow hovers over me, and when I follow it to meet his face, it's heated and hungry—completely bothered.
"Burnsey, I need to steal her for a second." He speaks to Brett, but he's looking at me. I scan the room, anxious that someone may notice his presence, but if they do, they don't dare say a word to their captain.
"Oh, yeah, no worries, bud. Sorry, you know how strong the Burns' Eff—"
"Now," he says in my direction. "Please."
I look at Brett, who gives me a coy smile.
Deciding there is so much more to him than meets the eye, I squeeze his arm before standing.
I look to Drew for direction, and he nods toward the door.
When he places his hand on my lower back, every memory of the day we had, and my conversation with Brett, comes rushing back to me.
All wrapped up as one needy reminder.