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M ichelle

The pulse at the base of my neck pounded like a warning, and I pressed my hand over it, as if I could physically stop my reaction to Brooks Madsen.

God help me. He looked even better than he had two years ago, better than in the TV interview I’d seen that morning. Stronger. Sharper. And currently, furious.

His nostrils flared the longer I stayed silent. I had no words for him. I couldn’t explain why we had to end, just that we did.

“Hey,” I managed, my voice barely working. Lame . “Brooks.”

He barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless, running a hand along his jaw. That jaw. I’d kissed every part of it and it looked even better.

“‘Hey’? That’s all I get?”

“...Yes?” I grabbed my plate and moved to leave. The kitchen. The house. The entire damn county.

But Brooks sidestepped, blocking my path.

His gaze raked over me, slow and assessing. Heat crackled between us, the same way it always had.

“I have questions.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

“You won’t like my answers.” I steeled my spine, already on edge. I was not talking about this with him. Not here. Not ever, actually.

“Let me be the judge of that.” He stepped in closer, his familiar scent invading my senses. I closed my eyes and my body betrayed me instantly—a rush of memories hit like a freight train. His hands. His mouth. The way he’d— No.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice like gravel and restraint. “That seems like an easy enough question.”

“Why are you?” I shot back, desperate to shift the focus. There was a reason I avoided his calls and pleas to talk. I couldn’t resist him. He broke down every granite wall I constructed around my heart and I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t afford to have distractions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard, clearly annoyed with this conversation.

Good. Maybe he’ll leave me alone.

“Gideon invited me,” he said, unapologetically honest, like always. “I’m on the team now. Thought it’d be good to get to know the guys.”

My stomach twisted. He was always like this—clear, direct, no games. He was put together, I was a mess. The exact opposite of me. One more reason I had to stop us before we started. We never would have worked.

“That’s…kind of him,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

“Sure. Now you.” He took the plate from my hands and set it on the counter like I wasn’t about to run for my life.

“It’s been two years since I’ve seen your face, Michelle,” he murmured, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “You’d think I would’ve forgotten the effect you have on me.”

My breath hitched. “Brooks…” I held up a hand, a flimsy defense. “Whatever this is, it can’t happen.”

He laughed. Not the warm, easy kind. The disbelieving, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me kind.

“Oh yeah?” His gaze locked onto mine. “Then why did you slam the door in my face and ignore every single text and call?”

My throat convulsed. He wasn’t easing into it. No warning, no pretense. Just Brooks, demanding the truth I would never give him.

I coughed, my pulse quickening as I cleared the rock lodged in my throat. “I should go.”

“Nope.” He blocked me again, just as Fiona waltzed into the kitchen, completely oblivious to the emotional battlefield she’d just walked into.

“Did Bummy try to eat your food?” she asked, hands on her hips, mock stern. “I saved it for my best friend.”

I felt Brooks stiffen next to me. His expression shifted, eyes flicking to Fiona in realization.

“This is your friend?” he asked, but his smirk was for me. “Interesting.”

No, no, no. I knew that look. It meant he’d do something I wouldn’t like.

“Yup,” Fiona said. “Michelle’s my girl. You met the new guy? Is he bothering you? I can tell Gid to kick him out.”

“He is,” I gritted out, glaring at Brooks. “Tried stealing my food.”

Fiona gasped, her large eyes widening. “Brooks, don’t mess with Michelle’s snacks. That’s like the first rule you should know about her.”

“I know,” he said, but his eyes never left mine. And damn it, there was too much knowing, too much heat in that gaze.

He was going to give us away.

I needed a distraction. Fast. “Obviously, because he sees what a mess I am,” I said lightly, forcing a chuckle. But Brooks’s grin only widened.

Before he could fire back, I turned to Fiona. Emergency escape plan: wedding talk.

“How’s the party?” I asked, too brightly. “How many days until the wedding?”

Fiona narrowed her eyes, sensing the dodge, but let it go. “Two weeks. You know that.”

And then, the bomb I should have seen coming.

“Speaking of,” she said casually, but there was an edge to her voice. “It’s the last time I’ll ask, but are you sure you don’t want a plus-one? My sisters are bringing one.”

I opened my mouth—no, absolutely not, I barely had time to breathe, let alone date, and—a crash echoed from the foyer. Fiona cursed and took off, leaving me alone with Brooks. Again.

I turned, ready to escape behind her before he could say anything else, but he just stood there, arms crossed, watching me.

Then, slowly, a smug smile curved his lips.

“You don’t want her knowing about us,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Fascinating. I wonder why.”

I scowled. “Shut up, Brooks.”

Fiona came barreling back in a second later, completely unaware she’d just saved my life.

“Brigs knocked over a vase,” she announced, shaking her head. “Dumbass.”

Brooks laughed—genuine, warm. But then he turned to Fiona, his smirk turning downright dangerous.

“Funny you should ask about a plus-one,” he said smoothly. “Michelle just asked me to go with her.”

My heart stopped.

“Wait, what?” Fiona’s eyes lit up like a damn firework show. “That’s a great idea! You’re new, and Michelle is?—”

“Single as hell,” Brooks supplied, using my own words from two years ago against me like he’d just won a game I didn’t know we were playing. I hated and loved that look.

I clenched my jaw. “Thanks for that. Yeah, I’m so selfless.”

Fiona clapped her hands. “It’s perfect! I love this idea so much!”

I whipped around to Brooks, eyes narrowed. “You sure? I wouldn’t want to force you to go to a wedding for people you just met .”

“Oh,” he said easily, stepping closer, voice low. “I’m very social. And I love to meet people and talk .”

His meaning was clear.

Take him as my date, or he tells Fiona everything.

I smiled. Tightly.

“Perfect!” I said, too cheerfully. “I have a date now.”

Brooks winked. “Can’t wait.”

And just like that, I had two weeks to figure out how to survive him. If I could survive that night two years ago, I can handle a fake date

“Gideon will be so pleased.” Fiona smiled, squeezing my forearm. “Make sure you get time off for the wedding. Double and triple check, because I will obviously forgive you, but I want you there. I need you there.”

“I know, Fi. I’ll make it happen.”

She nodded and gave Brooks one more glance. “I’m glad you get to go. Michelle is a good time when she finally relaxes. Bring her food, and you might get lucky.”

“My god, Fiona!” I shoved her out of the kitchen and kept my back to the fling who’d been so much more. Brooks had the power to render me speechless and erase all plans I had for myself, and that wasn’t something I could risk. I took a deep breath, stiffened my shoulders, and masked my emotions when I faced him. “Blackmail doesn’t look good on you.”

His gaze moved over my face, lingering on my lips for a beat. “I’m persistent when I want something.”

My breath hitched but I adjusted the stance, hoping he didn’t notice. “What is it that you want?”

“To understand what happened two years ago.” He stepped closer. “I live here now. We now share friends. You’re going to be seeing a lot of me, Mitch.”

Oh god, the nickname.

I clenched my fists together to prevent myself from doing anything stupid, like throwing myself at him or begging him to kiss me. “I’m aware of the situation.”

“Same old smartass.” He stared at me fondly, his eyes lighting up as he added, “I’m gonna get my answers from you, one way or another. Prepare yourself.”

* * *

I was going to kill Fiona.

Dodging Brooks’s heated glances at the party had been hard enough, but seeing him hop out of his truck in full golf attire at the exact time we were scheduled to tee off?

Absolutely not.

He slung his clubs over his shoulder like he owned the damn place, shaking hands with Gideon, flashing that easy, effortless smile like he wasn’t currently blackmailing me into spending time with him.

Panic bloomed in my chest. I needed an excuse. My apartment flooded? The restaurant needed me? My fake fish died?

A knock on my window made me jump.

“Damnit, Fiona,” I hissed, clutching my chest.

She grinned, entirely too chipper for the absolute betrayal she had unknowingly orchestrated. I checked for Brooks, and—of course—he waved, a smug glint in his eye.

Guess I was golfing now. No excuse would work.

I exhaled sharply, ripping myself from my car and grabbing the secondhand clubs Gideon had donated to me last year. “Hi, Fiona.” My voice was void of warmth as I slung the bag over my shoulder.

She blinked innocently at me, which meant she knew exactly what she had done.

“You are too damn chipper,” I muttered. “Normal people spend the morning after a party binge-watching crime documentaries, not dragging their best friend into social warfare.”

“Blame Gid,” she chirped. “He loves activities.”

Her bright red polo and pleated skirt made her look like a legit golfer. Meanwhile, I was in yoga pants and a semi-appropriate collared shirt, feeling like an imposter. It was all I had that was semi decent and it’s not like I was going to waste the money for a matching golf set that highlighted my curves— no matter how much I dreamed of the day I could be that carefree. Soon.

To make matters infinitely worse, Brooks and the other guys looked annoyingly good in their athletic shirts and pullovers, their broad shoulders and obscene biceps showcased in the most unfair way.

Fiona’s smile faded slightly as she studied my expression. “Okay, look,” she said, lowering her voice. “Brigham backed out because of his shoulder, and Gideon invited Brooks. I assumed that was fine since, you know… you’re going to the wedding with him. But judging by your face, I may have miscalculated.”

“Mm hm,” I said, teeth clenched. “Totally fine.”

He knew what he was doing.

I forced my greatest acting performance to date and plastered a grin on my face. Do this for Fiona. You love her.

“Morning, gentlemen,” I said cheerfully, stepping up to the group.

Brooks’s eyes lit up like he was enjoying this way too much. “Hey, Mitch.”

The way he said my name—too familiar, too easy, too much—made my spine stiffen.

“Y. Mitch-y. Isn’t that the universal nickname for Michelle?” he asked, a smirk teasing his lips as he realized his error.

I didn’t dare look at Fiona. “Nope,” I said smoothly. “Shelle is.”

If Fiona caught on to the wrong nickname, she would never let it go. Brooks just grinned knowingly.

“Let’s start,” I said, desperate to end this interaction.

“I got us two carts—figured you and Bummy could share,” Gideon said happily, practically beaming at Fiona. He looked at her like she hung the damn moon, and I wasn’t enough of a selfish asshole to break up the lovefest. She deserved the world and then some.

“Perfect,” I said through my teeth, setting my clubs in the back of the cart. Fantastic. Trapped in a tiny moving vehicle with Brooks. His body was so large and took up too much room. I couldn’t escape his intoxicating scent even if I tried.

I grabbed my nine iron and teed off first, channeling all my irritation into the swing. The ball soared dead center down the fairway.

Brooks let out a low whistle. “Nice shot. Never thought to take you for a golfer.”

I refused to let his praise fluster me. “I’m full of surprises,” I snapped, shoving my shoulder into his as I walked past.

Brooks just chuckled under his breath before stepping up for his turn.

Fiona, completely oblivious, cracked open a beer in the golf cart.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, huh?” I teased.

“Hell yeah, it is,” she said, holding up the can in a mock toast.

Then, casually, she said, “Oh, I meant to ask you yesterday, but the party got away from me. Is your brother still coming around? Gid and I were talking about it. We want to help.”

My heart stopped.

My eyes flicked to Brooks, who was lining up his shot. Did he hear?

If he did, he didn’t react.

Thank God. That was the last thing I wanted to discuss with him. That would cause too many questions and I didn’t want to go down that route.

“I’m handling it,” I muttered. “It’s been weeks since I’ve heard anything, and?—”

A loud pop cut through the air as Brooks teed off. His ball sailed past mine, landing just to the left. He frowned, but not at the shot—his eyes were on the clubhouse.

A group of people—six, maybe eight—stood near the entrance, phones out, cameras pointed directly at us.

My stomach twisted. “Are they taking pictures?”

Fiona sighed, unbothered, and took a long sip of beer. “Day in the life of a professional athlete.”

“That’s so intrusive.” I grimaced, shuddering at the thought of random strangers documenting my worst golf swings for the internet, giving away my location on top of that.

Brooks, however, wasn’t looking at the cameras anymore. He was looking at me. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

He stepped in close, effectively blocking the entire rest of the world from my view.

“How is your brother bothering you? What did she mean?”

My blood ran cold.

Shit.

I forced a laugh, waved my hand like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me.”

His voice had changed. No teasing, no amusement. Just concern. A deep, quiet concern that made my chest ache. “What did Fiona mean by it?”

I hated this. Hated how he still knew me, still picked up on things I didn’t want to talk about, still looked at me like he actually cared.

And I hated that some small, weak part of me wanted to tell him. I was sick of being alone all the time, but it was safest. Easier. Instead, I gripped my club tighter, stared at the fairway, and said, “Brooks, drop it.”

“No. Please.”

It was the gentle, nudging please that had me forget why I never shared my personal life with anyone. The words flowed out.

“He stops by for money sometimes. On a good day, I’ll give him some. On a bad day, he pounds on my door when I pretend to not be home.” I shrugged, not quite telling him the full truth, and patted his shoulder. “I handle it just fine. I’m used to it, alright?”

He grunted a response and slid into our shared golf cart but made no moves to keep to his side. His large thigh pressed against mine, warming me, and I got another wave of butterflies. I knew what it felt like to have those strong thighs hold me up against a wall when he pounded into me. Shit. I gulped, suddenly quite hot and turned on despite the chilly temperatures.

“Your cheeks have a little blush on them, Mitch. What’s on your mind?” he asked in a deliciously low tone.

“Golf. I’m planning what club to use next.”

“Sure. It’s normal to blush fire red when thinking about golfing.”

“With all the wood and strokes, it’s easy to,” I replied, not caring that I was flirting with a man I needed to stay away from. A man that already knew too much. His eyes heated at my response, and I stepped on the pedal to propel us down the fairway. The wind picked up and cooled down my increasing and unwanted libido.

Brooks kept his distance for the next three holes, and for that, I was thankful. We rode in silence and had no more accidental touches or innuendos or flirting. Fiona and Gideon played like shit and laughed about it, whereas Brooks and I had an unspoken competition going on. He was one stroke ahead of me, and regardless of the prize, I wanted to win.

“Shit, they’re getting closer, aren’t they?” Fiona asked, pointing at the group that was growing in size. It looked to be about ten women now, not-so-casually sneaking up on our foursome. I blinked in annoyance. There were rules for golf, and people breaking the only-four-or-fewer-to-a-group rule was my biggest pet peeve. There was no possible way for them to catch up to us playing with that many.

So they weren’t playing for real and were hoping for photos of Gideon or Brooks. Hell, maybe both.

“We can skip a hole?” I offered, seeing Brooks frown in the crowd’s direction. “Or would you prefer to do another interview?”

His jaw tightened for a second before he smiled. “Watching me on TV, huh?”

“Never.”

“Bullshit.”

“You know, you guys seem to know each other pretty well,” Fiona said, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Am I missing something?”

“It’s my charismatic personality,” I deadpanned, earning a quick lip quirk from Brooks.

“You tend to hate baseball players?—”

“No, I don’t sleep with them,” I corrected. “I love Brigs and even have a soft spot for your man. Keep treating her right, and we’ll get along just fine.”

Gideon and Fiona laughed like I meant them to, but Brooks narrowed his eyes in my direction. He had no right to look at me with that much heat, and I thought about taking a swig of Fiona’s beer to cool myself off, but it wouldn’t work with my schedule this afternoon. The harsh reminder of school, shifts at the restaurant, sleep cycle that was my life forced me back into the moment. Flings, no feelings. It was all I could afford to escape the shitty life I was born into.

It was rare that I had a Sunday morning off, and I wanted to enjoy it, not spiral about what was fair or not. I had a goal and I’d stop at nothing to achieve it. “I’m golfing, with or without you famous dudes. I don’t get a lot of time away.”

“I’m with you,” Fiona said, eyeing the approaching crowd. “We’ll play out of order to mess with them.”

“Fine by me.” Brooks got in the driver’s side this time and patted the seat next to him. It seemed innocent enough to anyone else, but the fire roared behind his eyes. “Come on, wedding date.”

With a heavy sigh, I joined him and did my best to lean against the bar so as to not touch him, but he took a sharp turn, forcing me to slide into his massive body. “Brooks, what the hell?”

“Just avoiding potholes.”

“On a paved pathway? Not likely.”

“Don’t trust yourself around me, eh?” Brooks said, elbowing me with a cocky grin. His voice was pure amusement, but his eyes held something deeper—a challenge. “Afraid of your attraction?”

I fought the smirk, keeping it to the barest twitch of my lips before looking away. Damn him. He was too good at this, at getting under my skin. At reminding me of things I had no business remembering.

“No,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. “My attraction to you was never the problem.” I let that hang for a beat, then added, too softly, “Definitely not.”

The air changed.

Brooks stopped the cart so abruptly I had to grab the side rail to keep steady. He turned toward me, one arm slung lazily along the back of the bench, but his posture was too tense, his nostrils flaring just enough to show I’d hit a nerve.

“Don’t say things like that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, deeper. “Unless you’re ready to talk.”

I felt the weight of his stare, the pull of something old, something unfinished, but I refused to let it show. Instead, I tilted my head, playing indifferent.

“You’re the one flirting with me, Brooks.”

“Shit.” His jaw ticked, but then he nodded past me, his voice all business now. “Don’t turn your head, but we’ve got company.”

I knew before I looked.

Two women, standing off to the side, phones up, cameras pointed directly at us.

I exhaled hard. Of course.

Brooks shook his head, lips pressed together. “Let’s roll.”

He accelerated down the pathway, whistling for Gideon and Fiona to follow, cutting over to hole nine. I checked over my shoulder.

“They’re still following,” I said, gritting my teeth.

I never understood this part of his life until I met Fiona and Gideon. The constant scrutiny, the lack of privacy, the insane lengths people went to just to get a picture.

Hiding in hotel rooms.

Stalking social media.

And now… golfing.

Brooks took a sharp turn, and I yanked on the safety bar to keep from falling straight out of the cart.

“Jesus, Brooks?—”

Without warning, his arm shot out, pulling me against him. In one swift motion, he lifted me like I weighed nothing, settling me directly onto his lap.

My stomach flipped, but not from the movement.

I was on him—pressed against his solid, infuriating body, his arm firm around my waist, his grip unwavering.

Heat radiated off him, seeping through my clothes, short-circuiting every logical thought in my brain.

I was too aware of the way his thighs tensed beneath me, the hard lines of his chest, the familiar scent of clean soap and something inherently him.

Memories crashed into me, fast and unrelenting.

His hands. His mouth. The way he knew me. Not just my body—but the real me. The one I never let anyone see.

And he’d liked me anyway.

I swallowed hard, trying to breathe, trying to think, but then the cart hit a bump, jolting me against him.

Brooks grunted, fingers tightening for half a second too long. His breath was warm at my ear, his voice rougher than before.

“Having your ass on my lap is not a great idea.”

I should move.

I should say something cutting, something sharp and detached.

Instead, my pulse thundered in my ears as I whispered, way too breathy, “You pulled me here.”

His hold loosened, but he didn’t let me go right away. Didn’t rush it.

His fingers trailed along my stomach—slow, deliberate, dragging over the thin fabric of my shirt before he finally nudged me off, the loss of contact a shock to my system.

“You can say whatever you want,” he murmured, watching me too closely, “but your body can’t lie.”

I forced myself to stand, shaking off the shiver threatening to betray me, and grabbed my club like it was some kind of shield.

“Brooks,” I warned.

His lips curled, but there was something else in his expression now—something that looked dangerously close to knowing me too well.

“We aren’t done yet,” he said, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “I’ll leave you alone today…”

His gaze dragged over me, slow, heated.

“…but you and I?” He shook his head, that cocky, too-damn-sexy grin flashing, “We’re inevitable, Mitch, and I can’t wait for you to realize it.”