CHAPTER 17 ALEXIS
I shake out the nerves as Gregory drives toward the Beverly Wilshire.
We were only able to chat via a few short text messages yesterday, but he arrived in Los Angeles late last night and checked into his hotel.
I wanted to join him. I was out at a charity event, though, and showing up after my night out at the hotel where someone who has only kissed me once is staying seemed a little too forward.
But seriously…why am I more nervous for brunch date number two than I was to take the stage at last night’s charity event in front of five hundred guests?
Oh, right. Because that’s my job. The stage is second nature. It’s where I belong.
This is personal. This is different. This is feelings and emotions and uncertainty with someone who I’m incredibly attracted to and incredibly interested in.
Part of me is afraid he’s going to let me down gently today. Part of me is afraid he won’t.
Part of me is afraid I’m going to give into the idea of sex with him today. Part of me is afraid I won’t.
My mental energy is drained with all the conflicting fears I’m facing as I meet him for a second brunch.
Gregory doesn’t know what I’m walking into. I told him as little as possible, which was that I’m meeting a friend at the hotel. Danny texted me his room number when he checked in after the game last night, and Gregory arranged to drop me at a back entrance so nobody is any wiser that I’m here.
But for as much as Gregory doesn’t know what I’m walking into, well, neither do I.
I make my way up a back set of elevators to the fourteenth floor where he’s staying, and I find his room right away.
I knock a few times, and he doesn’t answer.
I double check the room number…and I’m at the room he gave me. I open my texts to check that I read it correctly, and that’s when I hear noise on the other side.
When the door opens, there stands Danny Brewer looking freaking delicious in nothing more than a tiny hotel towel wrapped around narrow hips, his hair messy and wet as if he just got out of the shower.
My eyes zero in on his abdomen, and holy hell…is this guy for real?
I have professional dancers on my team who don’t have bodies like that.
I try not to drool as I stare. I’m not totally sure I’m successful in that endeavor.
“Hey, come on in,” he says, opening the door as he offers a genuine smile rather than smirking at the indecent way I’m ogling his body. It’s almost as if he doesn’t even notice, and I immediately feel comfortable. “I’m sorry. I overslept. Give me three minutes, okay? Make yourself comfortable.”
I step into the suite as he disappears into the bathroom.
It’s a one-bedroom suite, so the bed is located in another room behind a door, and I can see in there.
The bed is messy, as if he got up and tossed the covers aside.
It makes me wonder how he sleeps…and what it would be like to sleep beside him.
It also makes me wonder for just a beat if he had someone else in here with him.
I don’t know much about him other than what I’ve learned in our few short meetings and from what public information is available about him, though it’s anyone’s guess as to whether that sort of thing is true or not.
But I wonder exactly how experienced the bad boy of baseball is.
I wonder how many partners he’s had.
I wonder if he’d think I’m a loser since I’ve only had one.
It’s nearly an embarrassing admission at my age, which is why I don’t really share my number around.
In fact, the topic of my sex life rarely comes up at all—at least publicly.
In my defense, I’ve been incredibly sheltered and protected my entire life.
I have a brand to represent, after all, and I have little girls who look up to me.
It’s important to me to be a good role model for them.
But there are other things that are important to me, too, that I’m not allowed to advocate for.
My father has pointed out to me that merely posting a product on Instagram has the power to increase its sales.
Merely attending an event has the power to bring a whole new audience to the subject.
I live in a position of influence, and as much as I’d like to use it to suit my own agendas, I’m not allowed to.
I shake it off and study the view out the window. The room I’m standing in overlooks Beverly Hills. A comfortable couch sits against the wall, and a table with two chairs sits in front of the window.
I opt not to sit but instead to take in the view while I wait.
Those abs, though.
They’re about the only thing I can think about right now, as if my brain short-circuited when my eyes landed on them. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to think of Danny Brewer with a shirt on now that I know what he’s been packing under it.
If only that towel had fallen…I can’t help but wonder what he’s packing under there, too.
As much as I want to find out, I don’t think today will be the day.
I’m not the girl who meets up with the bad boy of baseball for a quick screw…even if that sounds like something I definitely want right this moment.
Especially when I think about the abs.
Whew. Is it hot in here?
“Sorry about that,” a voice says behind me, and I jump. He chuckles. “The food should be here any minute.”
“The food?” I say dumbly.
He pads over to the couch and sits. He’s not wearing any socks or shoes—just athletic shorts and a Vegas Heat t-shirt, and he looks casual and relaxed, and I can smell that spicy, citrusy scent of his from where I stand a few feet away.
“Bacon and donuts, naturally. And I also ordered some fresh fruit and eggs. Hope all that’s okay on your strict diet.”
I shake those towel thoughts off and try to find my voice again. I can banter, right? “Um…yeah.” I clear my throat. Where’s the fun girl who he’s interested in? “Calories don’t count when you’re on a date.”
My cheeks burn. What the hell did I just say?
Nobody ever called this a date. Except me. I just did.
He grins. “I love when your cheeks turn pink like that. And I agree. Calories never count on a date, and if the date ends with sex, you’re actually negative in the calorie range. Did you know that?”
Oh dear Lord. The things out of this man’s mouth.
I have a feeling it’ll get hotter and hotter the more I get to know him, and I am here for every single moment.
“Sex?” I squeak rather than forming some sort of coherent response.
“Yeah, you know. That thing people do naked. P in V. That whole thing.”
“P in V?” I repeat. Does he mean penis and vagina? I think I squeak again, and my cheeks are even redder. I mean, of course that’s what he means.
“C in C? What’s your preferred names for them?”
Pull yourself together, Bodega. “Oh my God, I don’t even know what your preferred breakfast beverage is. I’m not ready to start nicknaming body parts with you yet.”
“I’m partial to energy drinks for breakfast to get my day going. A can of Celsius has a hundred more milligrams of caffeine than a cup of coffee, so it works faster.”
“Are you a coffee drinker?” I ask. I sit at the table even though I want to sit by him on the couch.
“In the offseason I enjoy a good cup of joe. Or when I have a hangover. It’s my magic cure. But my trainer always warns me about the acid in coffee and how it can have negative effects on play. You?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never tried it.”
“You’ve never tried coffee?” He’s apparently shocked by this.
Just wait until I tell him I’ve only given a blow job a handful of times and I’ve never been the recipient of oral sex.
Ever.
That’s right. Good ol’ Steven didn’t like doing it, so in our short time together, he never did.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “Caffeine can be dehydrating and hard on the voice, so I’ve just always avoided it. I drink tea, which is more soothing to the vocal chords. I can’t say I’ve never had caffeine, but I’ve just never tried coffee before.”
“Man, when I said I wanted to corrupt you, I had no idea it would include a coffee date.”
I laugh. “You have no idea.”
His brows dip and his eyes darken a little. “What do you mean?”
I’m not even sure what I mean, but luckily I don’t have to answer because there’s a knock at the door and our food has arrived.
As promised, there are plenty of donuts and bacon included in our breakfast spread.
A server wheels in a cart with food and beverages on each of its three levels, and he simply leaves the cart for us to grab food from since our table is too small to accommodate all the dishes plus have room for our plates and drinks.
I chuckle. “This is too much, Danny.”
“I thought I went light this time, too.”
We fill our plates and settle in at the table. I start with a piece of bacon, and I swear my eyes roll to the back of my head at the deliciousness.
He shifts in his chair. “If you don’t stop moaning like that, I’m going to take you to the bedroom and really give you something to moan about.”
My eyes widen and I nearly choke on my bacon. I chug down some water to help it pass, and I offer him a glare. “You can’t say things like that to me when I’m eating bacon.”
“Well you can’t moan like you’re having the best climax of your life when you’re eating it, then.”
“I was not moaning,” I protest as my cheeks turn pink yet again, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Can I get a replay?” he yells into the air, and I giggle.
“Fine. I’ll stop.” I very carefully take another bite and make sure not to moan.
A beat of silence passes between us, and he says, “Come on, Lex. Moan again.”
I laugh, though truth be told I’m not sure if I prefer the way he rasps Lex or when he calls me Carrie. Both definitely have their merits, and both are names nobody else calls me. I like it. And I even sort of like that he’s teasing me, too.
Everyone around me is always so serious. It’s all business all the time.
With Danny, things are just a little lighter. A little more fun.
And I’m starting to think that’s the direction I want my life to take next.