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Chapter 7
Brady
If I’d known San Antonio was full of gorgeous blond nutritionists who get adorably angry when you finger their framed photos, I probably would’ve made less of a stink about the transfer.
God, she’s stunning.
It’s rare to see women so naturally beautiful like that. Not a speck of makeup. She looks like she can be a model or even an actress, but instead she’s stuck in some sweaty stadium feeding muffins to sweaty dudes.
Does she not realize how gorgeous she is?
She can easily be out in Hollywood enjoying a cushier life. I know several women in LA who make a killing doing yoga and taking selfies all day. And Izzie’s way more gorgeous than those Botox broads with their immovable faces.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fair share of women—every type you can think of. All I have to do is give them the ol’ Brady stare, offer them a ride in one of my nice cars, and just like that—boom. They’re mine.
It’s almost a little too easy.
But Izzie…she’s different. For some reason, I can’t even get her out of my head.
Last night I kept thinking of her face. I lay in bed thinking of her piercing eyes, or the sexy way she chewed on her lip every time she typed.
And the funny thing is, I’m around alotof women in this town. And every one I walk past is giving me the eye-fuck, thinking in their minds what it would be like to have sex withtheBrady Thomas.
So why am I hung up on thisonechick? What is it about her that makes her so different?
Maybe it’s because she seems so familiar. Have I seen her before?
Surely I’d remember a face as beautiful as hers. Smart beauties are a rarity.
And surely I’d remember someone namedIzzie. And yet when I met her for the first time, why did it feel like déjà vu? It was the weirdest feeling.
Whoever she is, she clearly hates my guts. The way she snatched those frames out of my hands was so cold and rude.
Fuck, I was just trying to benice.
She’s lucky she’s cute enough to get away with such behavior.
Maybe she’s the uppity conservative type. If she knows about all the trouble I’ve been in back home—which, let’s be honest, is a lot—I can see her not being happy about that.
I remember her asking me a lot about my alcohol consumption. Maybe she thinks I’m just some flashy asshole who parties too much and sleeps with “whores.”
On the flip side, I also maybe came on a little too strong. I have a bad habit of doing that. And judging by her looks, she probably gets a lot of obnoxious dudes in her face, their tongues all wagging.
Maybe she was just annoyed.
Oh look, another asshole who wants to get into my pants when I’m just trying to do my freakin’ job. Whoop-dee-doo.
But the way she acted around me, it was almost as if sheknewme. Is it possible I hooked up with her before and just forgot about it? Let’s see, when was the last time I was in Texas?
A few years back, I was in Houston partying it up for some club event. I can’t remember what it was for, but I was paid a hefty sum to simply show up and take a bunch of pictures while hocking their products.
Probably one of the sweetest gigs I’ve ever had.
After partying and snorting lines for hours, some girls who were dancing on tables, jumped down, and asked if I would autograph their tits. They seemed down for anything, so I invited them back to my hotel suite, and we danced and drank Cristal until the sun came up.
When I woke up, a girl wearing nothing but a pair of panties was sleeping next to me. I remember rushing her out the door but giving her my number in case I ever dropped by Houston again.
Of course, I flew out the very next day and never called her. Pretty certain I deleted her number from my phone, too.
