She sniffed. “What a selfish person.”
“I know. She’s terrible like that.”
Affection bloomed inside her. She turned away so he wouldn’t see the traitorous tears she couldn’t keep from falling, but he snagged her shoulder and pulled her back into his arms, letting his shirt collect her silent cries as she buried her face in his chest and clung to him.
It felt so good to be held tight in Brandon’s arms, to smell his familiar scent while she cried quietly against his chest. Hearing his voice over the phone would’ve been enough to bolster her, but this was infinitely better. She was so grateful they’d become friends. She’d be stronger in the morning thanks to this moment of weakness in his arms, this release of all her pent-up nerves and fears.
She was vaguely aware of the sound of the door closing. Then his arms were around her again. He stroked her back, pressed his lips into her hair, and kept quiet, rocking slightly. She clung to his shirt, and though she was able to keep her sobs at bay, she could feel the drain of fear and anxiety from her body with every tear she shed. Eventually, she had nothing left to give up, but she couldn’t quite seem to let him go. She rested her cheek on his chest and released a deep, cleansing sigh.
He propped his chin on the top of her head. “I have a question.”
“Okay,” she croaked.
“Are you wearing that black couture bra right now? Because if you wanted to model your bra choices for me, I wouldn’t mind. I’d totally give you my honest opinion. Soldier’s honor.”
Despite everything, she chuckled and backed up enough to give him an admonishing smile, even as she lowered the neck of her shirt to reveal the black satin bows lining the top of her bra.
He nodded his appreciation. “Nice.”
“It is, isn’t? It would’ve been cheaper to use a couple of Benjamins as pasties, but I always did love this bra. I guess I can still use it after the surgery if I use inserts, but it won’t be the same.”
“What inserts? Like, prosthetic boobs?”
“Exactly.”
“Isn’t that false advertising?”
She nudged his foot. “You use a prosthesis.”
“Yeah, but I don’t stuff socks in my underwear.”
You don’t need to. She ground her molars together and gave herself a mental slap. Where did that thought come from? Okay, and now she was picturing his package, the way it had looked during sex, aroused and glistening and promising endless wicked pleasure. Bad Harper. Had to be the anxiety leading her thoughts astray.
Feigning nonchalance, she checked her watch. “I really should try to sleep, but I’m not at all tired. You can go up to my apartment and rest, if you’d like. You look beat.” She stepped past him and scooped his cane from the floor, then handed it to him. “I might be up later.”
He shrugged as though disinterested in the idea, then leaned on the cane again. She could’ve been imagining things, but she thought she saw his body shudder in relief. “What time do you have to be at the hospital?”
“Presley’s picking me up at seven thirty. I should call her and let her know you’ll take me so she can sleep in.”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you. We can both take you. You can never have enough moral support.” Even though Harper wasn’t keen on sharing her fleeting time with Brandon with anyone else, she nodded her agreement.
“Why don’t you pour me a beer and then we can play some darts? I think it’s a good night for me to indulge in a drink,” he said.
“Darts, eh? Feel like getting your ass handed to you?” she said.
He clutched his heart in mock-offense. “Maybe I’ve been practicing. You don’t know.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He prodded her shoe with his. “To sweeten the pot, I’ll make you a bet.”
“I thought we were done making bets.”
“We’re friends now. Bets aren’t minefields anymore,” he said. “Here’s my proposition: if you win, I’ll give you your birthday present tonight. If you lose, then you’ll have to wait until the day I fly back to Miami to open it.”
“My birthday’s not until July. Practically two months away.”
“Eight weeks, to be precise. Which I only know because it coincides with the taping of the Meet the Groom semi-final round, which is sucky timing because it means I can’t come visit you for your birthday proper, but there’s nothing we can do about that. Plus, I’m a dude. Good birthday gift ideas are rarer than lightning strikes, so when I have a good one, I’ve got to go for it. So, what’s the deal? Are you going to take me up on my bet or are you going to be a wet blanket?”
“I wouldn’t want to be a wet blanket, but how about we take a rain check on the darts? You need to rest your leg.”
“I will. Let’s do this first.” He tucked the cane under his arm and extended his hand. “Do we have a bet?”
She really should’ve insisted that he rest his leg or catch a few hours of sleep. Though he made a valiant attempt to hide it, he was clearly worn to the bone. But, selfishly, she couldn’t make herself let him go.
She clasped his hand and gave it a shake. “Have you ever known me to pass up a bet?”
***
Harper won their dart game handily. Brandon knew she would. The bet had been nothing but a way to distract her from her worries and pass the time.
Listening to her voice mails, hearing the fear behind her rambling words when he’d checked his phone on the tarmac in Buffalo, had made him so grateful that he’d chosen to make this trip.
He’d been debating about it since the moment she’d told him her decision at Duke’s party. But he hadn’t solidified the choice in his mind until Theo had called him that morning to update him on Harper and to reassure him that the team was going to look out for her, so Brandon didn’t have to worry.
But of course he was worried. It was great that the team and all of Harper’s friends were going to support her, but nobody knew her like Brandon did, and no one would be able to understand what she was going through like he would. He and Harper were inextricable parts of each other’s journeys, and he needed to see for himself that she was going to make it through this rough patch all right.
And when he’d arrived at Locks, when she’d thrown herself into his arms and wept, there was nothing for him to do but send up a thanks to the Powers That Be for giving him a push to make the right choice.
“Do I get my gift now?” she asked.
“A bet’s a bet.” From his gym bag, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.
She walked to the stairs and sat, smiling. He followed, limping slightly and fighting to ignore the waves of discomfort shooting up his leg, and sat on the step below her, propping his back to the wall and stretching out his right leg.
“I’ve never seen you use a cane before.”
“I don’t often need one, thank goodness. Only when I travel. No matter how strong I get or how perfectly my prosthesis fits, airports still kick my ass,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.
She dropped to the stair above his, her legs bridging his. “That sucks.”
“Not really. Out of respect for the nine soldiers I was with when the IED exploded and who didn’t make it out of that desert alive, I’d never complain about a little airport fatigue.”
She fidgeted with her fingernails. “You were given a gift.”
“I know. A gift and a duty.”
“It’s more than your life being spared. You exude this inner strength and optimism, so much confidence. That’s your true gift.”
Her words were laced with wistful sorrow, as though an optimistic outlook was something she could only dream of obtaining, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He gave her knee a casual squeeze, and was relieved to find the action devoid of loaded subtext the way their touches had been before sex. The change was a relief. Huge. “Funny, beca
use I’ve always thought your confidence and inner strength are your two greatest qualities.”
She snorted as though she thought he was full of shit.
“I’m serious. Your strength is your most beautiful asset.”
She smacked his arm. “That sounds like something my grandmother would say.”
“Do I look anything like your grandmother?”
She brushed her thumb across his cheek, a shadow of a smile on her lips. “Granny always did have preternaturally flawless skin, just like you.”
He clenched his abs to squelch a shiver at the casual intimacy in the feel of her hand on his skin. His eyes settled on her lips, of all the damned things, and his body stirred to life. So much for a lack of sexual undercurrent. Some friend he was.
He raised his left knee, masking his reaction. “Yeah, but your granny’s not an expert on women, like I am.” He forced his hand to remain casually set on her knee, then molded his lips into his signature smile, grand and flirtatious and impersonal—the one Harper hated. “That’s why I’m America’s Favorite Groom. Haven’t you heard the news?”
Snorting again, she pulled her knee away from his touch, brought her legs up to the step she sat on, and slid across the step to prop her back against the opposite wall, so that they were facing each other. “If the women of America only knew the truth that their groom was actually the biggest commitment-phobe in the history of modern civilization . . .” She flashed jazz hands. “Scandal!”
“Only to women like you who are walking around carrying a ball and chain, looking for a willing victim.”
“Oh, please, like the prospective brides on Meet the Groom aren’t doing the same thing.”
This was a good thing, that they could joke about his romantic exploits and her desperation to settle down. Back in the friend zone again. Disaster averted. But since they were making up friend zone rules as they went along, he had another one to add for himself: no more casual touching. All that did was confuse that primordial male part of his brain that had survived despite his own personal evolution.
“On the contrary, I don’t think any of them actually expect to settle down with me,” he said, resting his head against the wall, his body relaxing again. “They’re in it for the fame and the adventure, just like me.”
“Fair enough. And for the record, I’m not walking around with a ball and chain anymore.”
“Wow. No more ball and chain, and you’re planning to venture out of your brick fortress? I’m proud of you.” He put out his fist and she gave him knuckles.
“I’m pretty proud of myself.”
“Hell, yeah. Now will you open your gift already?”
After another long look at the envelope, she tore it open. When she saw the gift certificate inside, her eyebrows pushed together as though she was having trouble processing it.
“It’s near Miami,” he said. Her eyes flickered up to him, then back to the gift certificate. “I want to see the look on your face when you jump out of that plane the first time you skydive, but I don’t want you to have to wait to cross that off your bliss list until after I’m done with the show. So, when you’re ready, when you’re better after the surgery, I’m going to fly you down for a couple days. You can come to a show taping and we can go skydiving together, maybe go to some clubs. There are a ton of great restaurants around the condo I’m renting that I know you’ll love.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you. This is a lot different than the last time you gave me a plane ticket to Miami.”
She could say that again. “This is better,” he said.
Nodding, she smoothed her hand over the gift certificate. “The last time I was on a plane, it was for my father’s memorial service in Texas, twelve years ago.”
“Then it’s about time you try it again, this time for yourself.”
She leaned over Brandon and unzipped the overnight bag sitting on the floor next to the stairs, then tucked the certificate inside a photo album. Brandon caught a flash of what looked like cerulean-blue napkins. The cocktail napkins he’d written her bliss list contract and items on.
She hooked her arms around his neck and hugged him again. “Thank you. For everything. I’m serious, Brandon. I’m not sure how I would’ve gotten through tonight without you.”
He patted her arm. “You want to see the 4-1-1 on my prospective brides?” Whatever it took to get her through this never-ending night and keep her distracted until Presley showed up to take them to the hospital and keep him from getting socked with another urge to kiss her.
“I’m proud of you for using the B word without choking. But I thought you didn’t meet them for three weeks.”
He stood and walked to the door, where he’d dropped his workout bag. His right leg ached like a motherfucker, but the pain wasn’t going to kill him. He didn’t even try not to limp, though he did have to actively work not to cringe when he knelt to grab the bag.
Since the trip had been spontaneous, he only had with him the clothes he wore and what he’d found in his car in the airport parking lot—a workout bag with dirty gym clothes, along with a handful of toiletries and personal effects. Thank goodness he kept a spare set of prosthesis accessories and tools in his bag at all times or else he’d be screwed. Returning to his seat on the stairs, he pulled from the bag a navy blue cardstock folder stamped with the production company’s logo and thick with papers.
“Today the producers gave me dossiers on each contestant.”
“You’re kidding. Did they get a dossier on you?”
“I asked, and no. The media doesn’t even announce me as the groom until after the first day of filming, so they can film the genuine expressions on the contestants’ faces when they first see me.”
She groaned at that. “That sounds horrible, like seriously a nightmare. I can’t even imagine being set up with twenty strangers on a blind date and having their expressions when they first see me captured on film for all of posterity. No thank you.”
The perspective made him chuckle. She had a point, though he’d never thought about it that way.
She took the folder from his hands and flipped through it. “Savannah, Brittany, Danielle, Chastity? Oh my God, this is pure gold. I’m going to need to read this cover to cover.”
“No doubt you’ll figure out which one of them is the perfect match for me.”
“Absolutely. Let’s go up to my apartment and get comfortable.”
He’d never been up to her apartment, and he was annoyed at the part of himself that was eager for the rare glimpse into her private sanctuary. There was a time not too long ago that, if she’d made him an offer like that, his dick would’ve turned hard in an instant and he would’ve spent the entire walk up the stairs planning her seduction. What a difference a couple weeks and some lousy sex made.
“Won’t we wake up Kayla?”
“She sleeps like a rock.”
He kept his eyes on the dossier in Harper’s hand as he followed her up to the second floor of Locks, wallowing in the surreal nature of the moment. He was being invited into Harper’s apartment for the first time, and it was because they were going to sit down together and pour over the details of twenty women he was about to start dating, one of whom he might propose to in eight weeks.
The second floor of Locks was divided by a long hallway. Over the ground floor bar sat a large banquet room that Harper rented out year round and opened up to diners and bar patrons on weekends during the tourist season. The space opened up to a huge balcony with a perfect, one-eighty view of the Erie Canal. Then, to the left, through a locked hallway and sitting atop the kitchen was her private apartment.
She rarely invited people in. Even some of her friends claimed to have never been inside. The duality of her. She was a generous hostess and bar owner, hosting parties, providing meeting space for Bomb Squad, and hanging out until the wee hours of the morning
with her friends at the bar, but never too private, never too personal.
Brandon followed her inside, taking note of the photographs of her family and two cats lazing on chairs. Fresh flowers abounded on every flat surface he could see—the kitchen table, the coffee table, the bathroom. Fresh flowers everywhere.
“So many flowers. Looks like you’ve already gotten a head start on your bliss list.”
She fingered the petals of a peach rose in the arrangement near the door. “I did. I’ve tackled flowers and my charity goal.”
“Yeah? Tell me about the charity.”
“I’ve started donating space and food at Locks for a breast cancer support group that meets on Wednesdays. They’re going to start using the upper-level banquet room next week.”
“Good for you.”
With a smile and shrug, she gestured to the sofa. “It’s just a start. Have a seat and get off that leg. Can I get you another beer? I don’t have any alcohol up here but I could run back down to the bar, no problem.”
“Water’s fine. I’m eager to take a look at these dossiers with you.” He’d already poured over them on the flight and had dog-eared a few pages of contestants who stood out to him, but Harper’s interest gave him a rare opportunity to get a woman’s opinion on his prospects.
He eased onto the sofa while Harper puttered in her kitchen. He’d tried to put up a good front for her downstairs, but his relief at getting off his legs brought forth a hiss from between his clenched teeth. He breathed deeply, relaxing and forcing the little fireworks of pain in his stump to dissipate.
He was tempted to take off his foot but didn’t want to risk his leg swelling, which would make the custom-molded sleeve harder to get on in the morning and far less comfortable. Been there, done that.
Harper brought him a glass of ice water, then plunked down on the sofa next to him. He laid the dossier across their legs and let her flip through it at her own pace.
Game Changer Page 15