Page 46 of Break Out

“I think my whole right side is dead,” Brody says, rolling onto his back. I nod although I’m not sure if he can see me. “I’m too old to sleep in one position all night.”

“Okay, old man,” I say, chuckling.

“Hey now.” He sticks out his bottom lip, pretending to pout. “And you’re not that much younger than I am,” he says, pointing at me.

“Still not as old as you.”

He glares at me before breaking out into laughter.

I shake my head at him, getting out of bed and making my way to the bathroom. I return as Brody hangs up the phone.

“I ordered some coffee and breakfast,” he says as he sets the menu down. “I got a little bit of everything.”

“Sounds good. We’re supposed to meet in the lobby at nine thirty.”

“What are we doing again today?” he asks as he stretches, lifting his arms above his head. It takes everything in me to keep my mouth closed and not drool at the sight of him—his abs rippling and flexing as he moves, his tattoos that I love on full display.

“The Southernmost Point. The Hemingway House. I think the Truman Museum. Lunch at one of the seafood restaurants near the marina. I think it’s called Alonso’s. It’s supposed to be fantastic. A few hours of downtime and then dinner.” I say, tearing my gaze away from his naked upper body. I wave my hand around, already exhausted thinking about spending the day with my family and the wedding party.

“Can we bail?” Brody asks as he gets up and makes his way to the bathroom.

“Unfortunately, I can’t. But you can. Clara wants pictures with the entire wedding party.” I furrow my brow. “Well, I’m not sure if it’s her or Mother who wants it, but either way, I have to go.”

He raises an eyebrow at me but stays silent.

“I know. I know. It’s a million degrees out. But there’s an air conditioned trolley that will take us to all the locations.”

“Sounds wonderful. I’m gonna go shower.”

“You can stay here,” I repeat.

“I know I can, Aubrey. But if you have to be there, I’ll be there with you.” Brody levels me with an expression that tells me I shouldn’t argue with him. I nod, and he walks into the bathroom, shutting the door with a click. I sag back into bed, then grab my phone and scroll through social media.

“Coffee and food’s here,” I yell a few minutes later after the room service cart has been wheeled in and the bellhop sufficiently tipped and sent on his way.

I grab two mugs and pour us both coffee while lifting the lids on the plates. A smile plays on my lips when I see a large fluffy Belgian waffle. He knows me so well. As if I had any doubt. I grab the syrup and bowl of fresh berries and fix the waffle the way I like it. I’m settled on the couch with my food when Brody strolls into the living room.

His hair is wet, and he’s wearing a different pair of athletic shorts, slung low over his hips, and no shirt. I’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but there’s something different about it today that makes it hard to stop staring.

I’m captivated, watching the way his biceps flex as he fixes his coffee and the way his back muscles move as he reaches across the cart to select his breakfast. For fuck’s sake. His body is a work of art, all the lines of muscle from years of hard work on and off the ice. How did I get so lucky to have this hot as sin man interested in me?

“Like what you see?” Brody asks, glances over his shoulder at me. My face heats from being called out.

“Yes,” I mumble, going back to my waffle.

He laughs a deep rumbling laugh that does things to my lady bits and comes to sit next to me. I shake my head at him and focus on my breakfast, saying a prayer that today’s events won’t be as terrible as they sound. Maybe we will have time to properly see the places we’re going. Although knowing my mother, she’ll have us on a tight schedule.

“Smile, ladies,” Gene, our photographer, says, giving us a fake grin as he peers around his camera. His face is red from the heat. His Hawaiian shirt drenched with sweat.

This is the third location we’ve been to today, and Gene is definitely earning his pay. But based on the scowl on his face when he thinks no one is looking, he’s wishing he hadn’t agreed to this gig regardless of how much he’s earning.

Can’t say I blame him.

Mother and Clara have inspected every photo to make sure there’s one they both approve of before we move on. At the Southernmost Point we had to redo the photos three times, first because Clara didn’t like the way she was standing, then because Bri’s eyes were closed, and the last time because one of the bridesmaids was fixing her hair. I’m pretty sure the family waiting to take their pictures was silently cursing at us to hurry up.

I take a deep breath before plastering on yet another smile. Gene has us arranged in front of the Truman Museum. It’s a beautiful yellow colonial style home with palm trees flanking the walkway. Truthfully, it’s a gorgeous building, and I don’t fault Clara for wanting to take photographs here. Thankfully, this is our last stop of the day before we head to lunch. Gene takes a few shots and steps over to where my mother is waiting so she can approve them.

“I’m dying,” Bri hisses at me out the side of her mouth as we wait to see if we’re going to get the okay from Mother that we can head inside. “My feet are killing me, and I’ve got sweat in places I shouldn’t.” She pulls her dress away from her chest in an attempt to cool herself down.