Though, it could have been worse. He didn’t laugh at me. I would have bet money that Brandon Nix was the type to laugh when someone fell. Instead he was ... well, he’s being great. I certainly did not expect a caregiving side to him.
As I slide a faded Boston Buzzards T-shirt over my head and slip into a pair of Brandon’s shorts—sans bra and underwear—I realize that this looks bad. Really bad. Like if someone saw me, I might as well toss my entire career in the landfill bad.
There’d be no way to explain this away.
The truth sounds ridiculous.
Every interaction with Brandon Nix takes my situation and moves it from bad to worse. This is probably as bad as it can get.
I look at the bottle of Advil and wonder if I can take the whole thing. My head hurts so bad, I can’t imagine that two will even touch it. The room sways a little bit, so I sit down. Seriously, why does he have a wooden throne in the bathroom?
Knock. Knock.
“You okay in there?” The door opens a crack. “Andi, are you—what are you doing?” Brandon stops as he sees me, my hands braced on my knees, willing the room to stop swaying.
“Why do you have a throne in your bathroom?” In the grand scheme of things, this seems like a small, unimportant detail, but for some reason, I have to know.
“It’s called a hall tree.”
“It looks like the love child of a royal chair and a coat rack.”
“Are you okay?”
I look up at him and squint, trying to pull him into focus. “I have a concussion.”
He nods. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
I stand up and pretend that I don’t sway like I’m drunk. “I’ll be fine. We just need to get this all figured out so I can go home and try to keep myself awake for the next 24 hours.”
Brandon turns and I follow him out to the kitchen. “Actually, according to our trainer and team physician, they changed the protocol. Now rest is encouraged because it’s healing. You just have to have someone keep an eye on you.”
This man knows every weak point I have and how to poke it immediately. How do I admit there’s no one to take care of me? I’m not the one who gets taken care of.
“I’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with so I can go.”
Brandon looks at me for a minute before shaking his head. He turns and walks to the table where his laptop sits. He puts his glasses on as he sits down at the oak table. Seriously, was there a deal on oak?
Also, the glasses ...
“This is an interesting table.” I can’t help myself. It’s like my internal filter went flying out of my brain as it rattled around my skull on the treadmill.
Brandon doesn’t look up. “I bought the place furnished. Hence the hall tree. I’m not exactly the hall tree type. When I re-do a room, I get rid of what was in there and then add my own stuff. I haven’t got to the kitchen yet. Obviously.”
That makes so much more sense.
“How long have you lived here?”
He looks around. “Um, six years?” He says it as a question, like I know the actual answer. I look around too. The only room that looks like Brandon is the home gym.
“Cool.” I don’t know what else to say. Words are swimming around my bruised brain but not forming any sort of cohesive thought.
“Okay, back to why we’re meeting.” He’s all professional. The glasses give sexy businessman vibes. “I was thinking that maybe the only common ground we have is that we both have siblings that mean a lot to us. My sister is currently in recovery from a pill addiction. That’s what she’s doing in Wyoming. She’s on a ranch, trying to stay clean and sober.”
Those words cut through the fog. Well, now I feel like a piece of shit.
Also, this makes so much more sense as to why he flew off the handle last night.
I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry. My comments last night were way out of line.”
