Page 7

7

M ichelle

Despite the celebration swirling around me, my mind drifted elsewhere, back to a house filled with shouted arguments, slammed doors, and resentment that curdled in the air like spoiled milk.

I would have given anything for my parents to have divorced.

Instead, they stayed together—a slow, drawn-out implosion that left scars instead of ash. My dad’s arrest had been the final blow, but the damage had been done long before that. If my mom had left when she should have, maybe everything would have been different. Maybe my brother wouldn’t have found his answers at the bottom of a bottle.

Maybe I wouldn’t have become this person. Bitter. Obsessed with escaping my family. Closed-off. Unable to have relationships because I saw no benefit from them. My dad brought us down.

I blinked, shaking off the thoughts, forcing myself to focus on the lightness of the rehearsal dinner, the way people actually seemed happy here. Gideon’s sister and niece. Fiona’s sisters and friends. The guys from the team. All laughing, drinking, living without the weight of the past clinging to them like a shadow.

I envied them.

I hated that I envied them.

Brooks sat next to me, his arm resting along the back of my chair, his fingers inches from my bare shoulder but never touching. He could have.

But he didn’t.

And that annoyed me just as much as it pleased me. He told me he’d back off and that was what I wanted, yet, when he didn’t flirt, I missed that guy.

I could handle a sexy Brooks. I knew what to do with a guy who flirted, who pushed boundaries, who burned hot and fast. But a Brooks who was kind, who knew when to push and when to hold back, who could talk me down from a spiral and say the exact right thing?

That was dangerous to the perfect life balance I had. He was terrifying.

Across the table, Brigham said something stupid, and Brooks let out a deep, rich laugh, the kind that curled around my spine and settled low in my stomach.

His cologne was familiar, reminding me of our late nights together years ago, and each time he moved, I inhaled, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I swallowed and took another sip of wine, focusing on something—anything—other than him.

Safety in the Workplace.

I had a chapter to read when I got home. That should have been a mood killer. I could practically name every chapter in that textbook and yet my body still hummed while sitting next to Brooks.

“Are you all going out for a party?” Brigham’s voice snapped me back to reality.

I stiffened, suddenly hyper aware of how little space there was between Brooks and me. “I don’t know if we’re having one,” I said, dragging my gaze away from Brooks and onto Brigham’s overly excited face. “Why?”

He grinned. “I heard a rumor we’re going out tonight. Strip clubs, here we come!”

I exhaled through my nose. Jesus .

Brigs was a couple of drinks in, the slur in his voice borderline concerning. He was one shot away from a full-on rager.

“How about we get some water and talk about it?” I said, leveling him with a look.

Brigs scoffed. “Stop momming me.” He wobbled to his feet, irritated, drunk, dismissive. “We will be seeing some titties and ass at the bachelor party.”

I arched a brow. “Could be men, not women. You never specified.”

Brooks let out a choked laugh, but Brigham just shook his head and wandered off, unbothered.

I exhaled and turned back, only to find Brooks watching me, that damn amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, that was fun,” he murmured.

I shrugged. “Players that young have to learn the hard way.”

Brooks studied me for a beat, his gaze slow, thoughtful. “I take it he drinks like this often?”

“Not often,” I admitted. “But when he does, he gets messy. Stupid messy. It’s amazing he hasn’t had a scandal or gotten photographed doing something idiotic.”

Brooks shifted, leaning on his arms. “And you call him out on it?”

“I don’t yessir him,” I said simply.

His brow furrowed. “A yesser?”

I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the way the amber light caught the deep red liquid.

“A person who tells you yes no matter what. People with money, power, or fame?” I flicked my eyes to Brigham, now laughing loudly at another table. “They always have someone in their ear telling them exactly what they want to hear. Brigs has a few, and they lead him into bad decisions.”

Like the time he got into drugs last year. I cringed at the memory and downed the rest of my wine. I wasn’t going to the after-party. I had work. I had responsibilities. I had reasons to keep my head clear.

“You going with them?” I asked Brooks.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” he said, but his attention was too focused on me now, shifting from my eyes to my mouth, back to my eyes again.

He was piecing me together. Trying to figure me out.

His voice dipped lower. “I planned on taking you home like a gentleman. But why do you ask?”

I hesitated. Because if Brooks was anything, it was honest. If he said he was taking me home, he meant it was already decided.

I inhaled, glancing at Brigham, who was now fully draped over another one of the guy’s shoulders.

“He’s already drunk,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “And if he goes out, he’ll do something he regrets.”

Brooks’ expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was seeing me in a different light. “You care about him,” he said, surprise evident in his voice.

I rolled my shoulders back, suddenly itching to get out of this conversation. Caring about people led to expectations. Expectations led to disappointment.

“A little,” I admitted, hating the vulnerability that seeped into my words.

Brooks shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “It won’t kill you to like people, Mitch.”

I exhaled sharply, bracing myself. Because I knew what was coming next. He leaned in, his voice softer, lower, meant just for me.

“I know people can be the worst. But sometimes, if you let them, they can be the best thing about being alive.”

I swallowed, hating how badly I wanted to believe him. But I’d been raised in a war zone, where love was a loaded gun, and caring too much meant handing someone the bullets.

I forced my walls back up, brick by brick, and smirked. “You have an old soul, my friend.”

Brooks tilted his head, studying me again, like he could hear the things I wasn’t saying. After a beat, he leaned back, swirling his drink. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Interesting,” he mused, a glint in his eye.

I waited. Fought it. But damn it, I caved.

“Why?”

He took a slow sip, savoring it before responding. “You’re the same age as Brigham, yet miles more mature. Makes me wonder what life threw at you to make you grow up so fast.”

I felt it then. The crack. The shift. Brooks wasn’t just flirting. He was seeing me.

I needed to stop this conversation. Immediately. I cleared my throat, but Brooks was a step ahead of me. He stood, held out a hand with his eyes shining. “Would you like to dance with me?”

“I don’t dance,” I said immediately, hating how my heart sped up at the mere thought of it. No one had ever asked me to dance before. Not in high school and certainly not as an adult. It wasn’t something I did.

“Are you embarrassed you don’t know how? Aw, how cute.” He clicked his tongue, thinking he was so clever, and shrugged. “I can show you. It’s pretty easy. In fact, I’ll do it right here.”

He held his arms out like a mummy and swayed his hips side to side right next to me. “You move back and forth like this. Sometimes, you move fast.” He shook his body at a rapid pace. “Or slow.” He slowed it down and soon, people were looking at us from other tables. “A guy can twirl his date sometimes.” He twirled himself, and I finally gave in.

“Oh my god, stop. I’ll do it.” I pushed up from the table, torn between laughing at him or with him, and he held out his hand. I hesitated, trying to come up with some reason why this meant nothing, but he didn’t wait. He grabbed me and dragged me to the dance floor. A slow, hipster song played over the speakers, and he positioned us so we were chest to chest with our arms sticking out—still holding hands.

“Ah, this is nice,” he said into my hair. His breath hit my neck, and I shivered at our proximity. “Speaking strictly as a friend , you feel very nice.”

I snorted and looked up at him, trying not to think about how close our mouths were. “So this is slow dancing.”

“I’m assuming you’ve done this before?”

I shook my head. His expression softened into one bordering on pity, and I was about to walk away when he spun me around, pulling me tighter to his chest.

“Smooth.”

“I saw the panic in your eyes, so I distracted you.”

“Quick thinking.”

“I have my moments. Now…” He paused, spinning me again. “Give me your score on a scale of one to ten—how is the dance so far? Nine point nine out of ten?”

Goddamn him. “Seven.”

“Oh, that’s not good enough.” He glided us across the floor, this time dragging one of his hands to my lower back and gently rubbing circles on it. “The first time I danced with a girl I was so nervous I burped during the quiet part of the song.”

“ You , nervous?”

“Believe it or not, yes. I’m so charming now it’s hard to comprehend, I know.” He rested his chin on top of my head, and for a moment, a brief one, I closed my eyes. He made it easy to trust him, to fall into his charming anecdotes of his life and maturity that most of my peers lacked. He was comforting and respectful. It was easy to crave more of him, as though he provided a high that was specific to me.

And that was enough of that.

I took a step back and smiled as best I could at him. “I need to use the restroom. Excuse me.”

“I’ll be here, dancing by myself.”

Fuck. He took my excuse and let me run with it even though I’d bet my savings he knew it was fake. Who went to the bathroom in the middle of the song? No one did. The stall on the right was empty, and I went in, slammed the door, and gave myself ten seconds to breathe.

This was why I’d ended our fling. The feelings. The whispers of what if that clogged my judgment and made me feel hope.

Hope wasn’t part of my plan.

What-ifs weren’t either.

They turned into disappointment and grief—which was only a step away from hitting rock bottom. Like my mom and brother. “Okay. Be strong,” I told myself and exited the stall to find Fiona adjusting her makeup in the mirror. “Hey.”

“Even after living with you for two years, I never heard you talk to yourself in the bathroom before. Is this a new thing?” She smirked and I flipped her off. “Oh, I miss you.”

“I hate to admit that I do miss living with you. I don’t know what to do without your foul language.”

“Fucking shit dick.” She laughed and put her arm around me. “Gideon should thank you.”

“What the hell for?” I studied her face to see if she was plastered because that comment made no sense.

“For talking sense into me when I was a tad in denial.”

I snorted. “More than a tad, my sweet friend. But you’re right…he does owe me.”

“I’ll let him know.” We shared a smile again, and the back of my throat itched at all the feelings I was throwing around. “You and Bummy seem to be having fun. I can’t believe you danced.”

“He’s sneaky.”

“I bet he’d be fun in bed.” She wiggled her eyebrows and made a stupid face. “You’re due for a new booty boy anyway.”

“Gah, do not say ‘booty boy’.” I couldn’t help but laugh at her and shrugged. “My Monday night guy was starting to bore me a little.”

“Bummy looks like he’d be up for it.”

“Baseball players aren’t my thing,” I said for the millionth time that month.

“They used to be though, eh?” she said, damn well not realizing how close she was to the truth. She knew about my mysterious hookup two years ago. She knew I’d started to fall, and all I’d told her was that he was visiting the city and he played baseball.

That was really all I knew about him outside of the bedroom.

Liar.

He cares deeply for his mom and is patient and kind.

“Well, weddings tend to bring out hormones and lust.” She put her arm around mine, and we leave the bathroom. I searched for Brooks the second I pushed the door open and found him still on the dance floor, but another woman was in his arms.

The stab of anger and disappointment felt like someone had jammed their fingers into my side. Who the fuck is she?

Jade. Fiona’s boss.

Fiona chuckled after following my eyeline. “Jade is already trying to recruit your date to speak at our event. She never stops working, I swear.”

“Right.” I cleared my throat and hated how I reacted to seeing him with another woman. I didn’t want to be his…but I didn’t like him having anyone else?

God, I need a drink. I snatched a flute of champagne from a waiter and downed it, ignoring Fiona’s pointed look. “Thirsty.” I gestured to my mouth. “Needed to wet my throat from all the gabbing.”

“Suuuure.” She gave me a knowing look I did not appreciate one bit and sauntered to her fiancé. “I can’t wait to see this roller coaster play out.”

“Fuck off, Fi.”

She blew me a kiss, and I chanced glancing at my date again. He twirled Jade around and met my eyes just as she dipped, and something passed between us. He didn’t look guilty or worried. He looked…ready. Like this was a challenge and I’d played right into his hands.

Is he taunting me on purpose?

The audacity of this man… His actions ignited something close to excitement, and I winked at him, not moving my gaze away from him as the song continued. He was ever so polite to Jade and walked her off the dance floor before heading straight for me.

His expression read bring it on, and my lower stomach fluttered. It was as if our eye contact was our own version of foreplay, and the champagne loosened me up just enough to enjoy it. “Is that jealousy I see on your face, Mitch?” he drawled, running his fingers down my arm until he clasped my hand.

“Absolutely not.” I let him pull me closer to him, enjoying how warm his touch was and how my body came alive near him. “Jade is quite a woman.”

“So are you.” He pressed his lips to the top of my head, and time seemed to freeze for that second. Him, me, our past, the present. “Are you capable of dancing again, or are you chickenshit?”

“What?” I jerked back, and the momentary bliss was gone. “You insulting me?”

“Speaking my truth.” He shrugged and let go of my hand. “The Electric Slide is next, and I never pass on a good line dance.”

“Line dance?”

“That’s what I said.” His grin grew, and he cupped my chin. “Come on, beautiful. Stop overthinking with your big brain and make an idiot of yourself.”

It must’ve been the combination of his touch, his scent and the champagne. It was the only fucking explanation for why I was on the dance floor copying the moves he did. There were leg kicks and turns, and I ran into him at least four times, but shit. I had fun. More fun than I would’ve liked, and it was an addictive feeling.

“Thatta girl. You look good kicking to and fro,” he said once the song was over. “You’re a natural.”

“Is that like a normal pre-wedding song?”

“Pretty much a guarantee. It’s on the cheesy wedding playlists.” His gaze warmed the longer he stared at me, but it changed to curiosity. “Have you…have you been to a lot of wedding festivities?”

“This is my first one.”

“Shit.” He shook his head. “I’ve been going about this all wrong.” He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, and when he removed them, he had a wickedly handsome smirk that sent chills down my body. “Mitch, tomorrow is going to be fun. Prepare yourself.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Probably, but it’ll be worth it. Now come on. I’ll take you home. You said you needed to study, and I want to respect your time.” He held out his hand, and I took it without hesitation. “I’ll drop you off and head out with the guys. Brigham is getting worse.”

“And you’ll look after him?”

“Yes.” He squeezed my hand, but it might as well have been my heart. My chest got tight, and I had the feeling I could run five miles on pure adrenaline. But then Brooks added, “It’ll give me more opportunities to meet the guys on the team. Plus, I’d rather do it than have you worry. And I promise I won’t get handsy in the car. Probably.”