Hank laughed. “Fair enough.”
Brody smiled as he lifted his beer to his lips. God, he’d missed this. Just hanging out with the guys, nothing on the agenda aside from food and fun and busting balls.
Speaking of busting balls…
As if on cue, his phone began to ring, blaring Britney Spears for the listening pleasure, or displeasure as the case may be, of the entire box.
“For fuck’s sake, Lynch,” he said as the others laughed. “Fix this when I hang up, or there’s no ride home for you tonight.”
The horrified look on Conor’s face was enough to put a smile on Brody’s. But when he glanced at the phone screen, his smile faded. “Marguerite,” he said as he brought the phone to his ear. There were a few indistinguishable sounds on the other end of the line, but they were drowned out by the cheering of the crowd. Seemed the boy wonder was on a white-hot streak. Good for him, Brody thought. But not too good. There could only be one superstar in the city, and if Brody had anything to say about it, that title would be his come fall.
“Hold on, I can barely hear you.” Brody ducked behind the rows of seats and into the lounge area of the skybox, closing the glass door in an effort to drown out the chanting of the rookie’s name. “What’s up?”
“The first promo will run tonight,” she said.
“So soon?” The ink was barely dry on the contract. “We haven’t even shot any footage yet.”
“They’re using some Getty images for this one. The show’s producers felt it was important to make the announcement during tonight’s season finale. Gives the audience something to look forward to if their favorite bachelorette isn’t chosen.”
How anyone could get so invested in the love lives of complete strangers was beyond him. But dating shows brought in viewers, and viewers brought in advertisers. Brody knew the drill. It was how the game was played in his line of work as well. Only there, at least, he was able to keep his participation mostly on the field.
“And what, I’m the consolation prize?” The question had been meant as a joke, but apparently, he’d hit the nail on the head.
“Precisely. They can console themselves by wondering who will be crowned your homecoming queen.”
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t I tell you? They’ve decided to call this America’s Sweetheart: Homecoming Edition. Plays off the notion that the star of the football team always dates the homecoming queen. All of the contestants wore a tiara back in the day, and now they will be vying for the ultimate crown.”
Jesus fucking Christ. This just kept getting worse.
“I need to run,” she said. Her voice was clipped and tight. “Just thought you should know in case any reporters ask about it after the game tonight.”
He could almost guarantee it. Especially after the camera had zoomed in for a shot of him and Hank in the box. “European Royalty Meets Football Royalty” had been typed across the bottom of the screen. Hell, it had probably taken all of ten minutes for a crowd of reporters to gather at the entrance designated for private suites. Hank’s security would no doubt take him out through some James Bond secret tunnel. Brody knew he could go with them, but another part of him knew that he needed to give the press a sound bite. He’d committed to this crazy idea, might as well make the most of it. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said. Then another thought occurred to him. “How did you know I was at the Bulls game?”
There was no way she was actually watching the game. Then again, knowing Marguerite, she probably had a roomful of minions constantly monitoring the movement of her clients. Either way, she didn’t bother to reply. “Just smile and tell them you’re looking forward to meeting your American sweetheart.”
Yeah, because that wouldn’t make him sound at all like an ass-kisser.
“And whatever you do,” she added. “For the love of God, do not leave there with one of the Luvabulls on your arm.”
More than likely, he would have left there with two or three, but he knew what she meant. For the time being at least, his wings were clipped. So instead of leaving the United Center with a limo full of cheerleaders, he’d leave with a group of guys all ready to spend the next two months busting his ass.
The expression might have been that a man’s home was his castle, but the same could certainly be said for a woman’s as well. And although Rebecca didn’t have a turret or a moat, her South Loop brownstone apartment gave her the same sense of safety and refuge. It wasn’t much—just a living room, kitchen, and one small bedroom—but it was the first place she could truly call her own.
Cole had, of course, wanted to buy her something larger, preferably in his building, but Rebecca had stood her ground. She was proud of the business she’d built over the last few years, and while vast wealth wasn’t something she aspired to, being able to pay for and furnish her own apartment had been the first goal she’d set for herself. There were still times when she would stand in the middle of her living room, admiring the cozy space she’d created. Everything, from the tapestry pillows arranged on the cushioned seat of the bay window to the tufted velvet sofa, was designed to be warm and inviting, but her true pride and joy was her bookcase. Spanning an entire wall and stretching from the floor to the ceiling, the dark wood shelves were a time capsule of sorts, containing everything Rebecca held most dear. She and her mother had moved frequently, sometimes staying in a place for no more than a few months before moving to a new location. But Rebecca took small mementos with her along the way. A seashell from the time they lived on the Florida panhandle, a small piece of driftwood from the Carolina shore, and a vial of red sand from the Nevada desert were just a few of the items displayed on shelves crammed with books. Growing up, she’d been a regular at the public library, but owning her own copies of her favorites was a luxury their budget and housing options wouldn’t allow. Now that she had a place of her own, Rebecca made a point of adding one book each month. Of course, her personal library had to compete for shelf space with her ever-expanding assortment of framed photos. There was a faded Polaroid of her mother, dozens of shots of her and Cole, and even a few with Cassie and Olivia. And now there would be a new addition. The thought alone brought a smile to her face.
“What’s that look for?” Cassie asked. She was standing in the kitchen holding a box of pizza and a glass of red wine. Deep dish and vino had become their Thursday night tradition thanks to their shared love/hate relationship with reality television.
“Was just thinking I might need to add a few bookshelves to the bedroom as well.”
“A trip to IKEA makes you that happy?” Olivia asked as she settled onto the sofa with her glass of sparkling water.
“No, but the idea of framing new pictures does, especially since the subject will be my new niece.”
“Or nephew,” Olivia added.
“I think it’s going to be a girl,” Rebecca said.
“Really?” Olivia cocked her head to one side. “What makes you say that?”
“Poetic justice?” Rebecca laughed. “I mean, if there was ever a man who should be blessed with a daughter, it’s my brother.”
Cassie’s laugh wafted in from the kitchen. “Could you imagine?” She walked into the living room, and all at once her eyes lit with a mischief Rebecca was coming to know well. “Oh! If you do have a girl, I’m totally buying her the Pretty Pretty Princess game. The thought of Cole in plastic pearls and a tiara is just too spectacular for words.”
“And then there’s the teenage years,” Rebecca added.
Cassie plopped on the sofa next to Olivia and let out a dramatic sigh. “I feel sorry for the first boy who comes to take her out on a date.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “He’ll probably make them take Jonathan along.”
Rebecca giggled at the idea of Cole’s bodyguard tailing two teens.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to laugh,” Olivia teased. “You’re likely going to share the same fate.”
Rebecca fluffed the pillows of her favorite overstuffed
chair with a bit more force than necessary. “Yeah, right.” If she’d told Cole once, she’d told him a thousand times; she didn’t need a babysitter. She’d humored her brother when she’d been sick, pretending not to notice the dark SUV that followed her at a discreet distance. But she was a grown woman. There was no way she was running her dates past her brother, and he certainly wasn’t providing a chaperone.
Olivia held out a plate as Cassie cut her a slice from the vegetarian side of the pie. “I still laugh every time I picture the look on Cole’s face when he realized Brody had asked you out.” She plucked a mushroom out of the cheese and popped it into her mouth. “That alone was worth the cash he lost in the game.”
Rebecca groaned. Honestly, her first foray into dating in…well, in a long time, and it had to start right under her brother’s watchful eye. Not the smoothest. Although judging by the look on Brody’s startled expression, he’d clearly had no idea they were siblings, which certainly explained the brazen kiss and the flirty banter. No way he would have behaved like that had he known, which sort of made the way it played out all the more entertaining. At least from an outsider’s point of view. In the eye of the storm, not so much.
She picked up the remote control and turned on the television just as a commercial for some sort of electrolyte-charged sports drink began to play.
“Speak of the devil,” Cassie said. After a few shots of a football player throwing passes to a…catcher? No, that wasn’t right. Receiver? Yes, that’s it. After a few shots of a football player throwing passes to a receiver, the scene switched to a locker room where Brody Dixon stood wearing nothing but a smile and a towel slung low around his hips. How had she never noticed him before? Then again, she couldn’t remember ever seeing a football-themed commercial during an episode of American Sweetheart before either. Yet there he stood, in full HD and not much else, holding a bottle of the sports drink. The camera zoomed in as Brody took a long sip. Rebecca knew she should at least try to feign indifference, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen.
“You like him!” Olivia made it sound like she’d just discovered a deep, dark secret.
Rebecca’s mouth fell open. “I never said that.”
Cassie laughed. “Didn’t have to. I saw the way you two were making googly eyes at each other all night.”
“We were not.” Well, maybe a little, but had it really been that obvious?
Olivia clapped her hands together. “Oh, please let me be the one to tell Cole!”
Rebecca shot her a look. “Don’t you dare say a word.”
Her bottom lip pushed out in a fake pout. “Fine. But only because I’m just so damn happy to see you hot for someone.”
“Were you starting to think you’d have a family member in a convent soon?”
“Sort of.” Olivia laughed. “But no fear of that with Brody in the picture. Talk about a tall glass of yum! Bet you can’t wait to lick him like a giant lollipop.”
“Livvy!” The woman seriously had zero filter. And while Rebecca knew she meant well, she also knew that now she’d have to spend the rest of the hour trying to get the thought of a Brody popsicle out of her mind.
“All right, you two, quiet down. The show is starting.” Cassie tucked her legs under her on the couch as she settled in with her glass of wine. “We can sort Rebecca’s love life after we settle theirs,” she said, nodding toward the television.
Olivia smiled. “You’re really into this, huh?”
“Are you kidding?” Cassie looked at her as though she had two heads. “James and Stephanie are meant for each other. I swear if he picks that shrew Crystal, I’m going to have a serious meltdown.”
Luckily, James did pick Stephanie, which meant the producers of the show were spared the wrath of a future queen.
Rebecca was about to click the television off when a promo for the new season began to play.
“Hold on,” Cassie said. “Let’s see what’s coming next.”
“Don’t miss season fourteen of American Sweetheart,” the announcer began.
Olivia spoke over the teaser. “So much for your loyalty to James and Stephanie.” She shook her head as she picked up the empty pizza box and started toward the kitchen. “You’ve tossed them out with—”
“…and our special celebrity bachelor, superstar quarterback Brody Dixon.”
Olivia turned back toward the television so quickly, her ponytail smacked her in the face. “Did you know about that?”
Rebecca shook her head. “No,” she said as she sank deeper into the cushions.
The announcer rambled on about the ultimate homecoming queen as the three women stared at the screen. When the promo ended, Rebecca clicked the button on the remote. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship. They were only having dinner. Hell, he wasn’t even her type. She snorted as she crossed her arms over her chest. “It was just a stupid bet.”
Chapter Eight
Rebecca had thought about canceling her date with Brody at least a dozen times over the last two days. She’d even picked up the phone a time or two, only to realize that the amount of grief she’d get the next time the whole gang was together far outweighed getting through whatever Brody had planned for her on Saturday night. She’d agreed to this ridiculous bet. Now it was time to put on her big girl panties and pay up.
The only thing she couldn’t figure out was why he’d asked her out in the first place. Obviously, he’d known his hand of cards all but assured his victory, but why the hell was he so keen to have dinner with her anyway? It had only taken a few minutes on Google to size him up. Brody Dixon was a total player, and she wasn’t referring to football. The guy had dated pretty much the entire runway from the most recent Victoria’s Secret fashion show, and if that wasn’t enough, now he was going to star in the latest reality sex fest? What could he possibly want with her?
She bit her lip as she dug through her cosmetic bag. Maybe it was the challenge? Clearly, she’d been oblivious to who he was. Hell, she’d actually asked him what he did for a living! Not her smoothest moment. But still, it was nothing compared to the cheesy lines he’d laid on her at the park after plowing her down. Maybe he was just looking to maintain his perfect record. Yeah, fat chance of that. No way in hell was she going to be the next notch on his bedpost.
Rebecca paused with a mascara wand in her hand and took in the sight of the reflection staring back at her. Dramatic eyes and ruby-red lips and a little black dress Olivia had brought over earlier in the day. It was tight and wrapped around her like a series of bandages, making her look a bit like a nightclub version of a mummy, with a plunging neckline that would have shown a decent amount of cleavage, if she’d actually had big boobs. She looked exactly like a woman who not only wanted to be a notch on the bedpost, but tied to it as well.
What the hell was she thinking? This wasn’t her. She’d let herself get so caught up in Cassie and Olivia’s enthusiasm, she’d gone completely round the bend. Well, time to get the train back on the tracks.
She glanced at the screen on her phone. Brody was due to pick her up in ten minutes, which meant she had to hurry.
With a swipe of a tissue, the red lipstick was gone, and after a few tugs and shimmies, the dress was as well. There wasn’t much she could do about the dramatic eyeliner, at least not without making herself look like a reject from The Walking Dead, but the chandelier earrings were nixed along with the stilettos. Instead, she chose a pair of Vans that she wore with jeans, a black silk tank, and her rhinestone studs.
When she was finished changing, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. Much better, she thought. This was how Rebecca Halstead dressed for a date, no matter who the suitor happened to be. The last thing she wanted was to send a message that she was interested in a quick roll in the hay, let alone that she was a sure thing. Besides, this wasn’t really a date. It was simply paying off a debt. A little dinne
r, some conversation, and she’d be on her way.
But when she opened the door, she knew she was toast.
Because there, looming larger than life in the hallway of her brownstone with a bouquet of red roses in his hand, stood the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. With his jaw freshly shaved, Brody’s smooth tanned skin did look downright lickable, something she’d spent quite a bit of time thinking about ever since Olivia had planted the thought in her mind. Damn Olivia and her crazy ideas. Then again, if she’d had half the chutzpah of her sister-in-law, Rebecca would have just grabbed him by the collar of his white button-down oxford and dragged him into her apartment and down the hall to her bed. Actually, scratch that. She’d have dragged him into her apartment, pressed him up against the nearest wall, and climbed him like a freaking tree. But since she’d never done anything remotely resembling that type of behavior, or even had the guts to try, she merely smiled and told him to give her a minute to put the flowers in some water and grab her purse.
To her surprise, their transportation for the evening was in the form of a limousine. Rebecca thought it a little over the top, but then again, going all out was a sweet gesture which also ensured they could both enjoy a cocktail without designating a driver.
Rebecca slid across the bench seat, and Brody moved in behind her. As he did, she became keenly aware of how incredible he smelled. Honestly, did all guys smell this good or just him? She’d certainly never noticed it on any other man, let alone had this sort of reaction. Her skin heated and her hands trembled, just like they had when she was a kid and would start a new school. But this was different. Something more than anxiety curled in the pit of her stomach. It started as a low hum and spread through her body like lava, leaving her wired and relaxed all at once.
The partition rose between the front and back seat, giving them more privacy than her chaotic hormones needed at the moment. Rebecca’s hand slid across the supple black leather. Sex in a limo would be a total cliché—not to mention blowing her whole plan of playing hard to get straight to hell—but she’d have been lying if she said it didn’t sound like a damn fine idea.
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