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“Or something,” Brady echoes, with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.
Damn. I can feel every inch, and I meaneveryinch of my body tingle.
This is not good.
Not good, Izzie.
I close my eyes and try to think of totally depressing, gross, not-hot things.
“Izzie,” Brady says, and his voice is suspiciously closer. I open my eyes and he’s standing closer to the tub. “You know…”
“No!” I say, putting my fingers into my ears. “Whatever you might think about suggesting, I’m not listening. ”
“Izzie…” His voice is low and sexy, enough to move me from tingling to feeling like I’m on fire.
Suddenly, an image of Lucy’s face in her last moments rises in my mind, and inexplicably, tears come to my eyes.
So, what if he’s hot, and available, and I really, really want this? I can’t forgive him for what he did to my sister.
I can’t.
Anger replaces the desire coursing through every inch of me, and I stand up in the tub, not caring if it puts every part of me on display.
Brady takes an awkward step to the side, not sure what I’m doing.
Without looking at him, I climb out, narrowly avoiding stepping on the broken glass, and grab my robe, which I wrap around me tightly enough, but not too tight to cut off circulation.
“I’ll be back later to clean up the glass,” I say, my words terse. “I apologize for all of this.”
“Izzie…” Now Brady’s voice is soft. “Izzie, what’s going on?”
I start to leave, then turn back and grab the bottle of wine. I’m definitely going to need it.
I can feel Brady’s eyes on me, and I blush all over again, half in shame and half in curiosity, wondering what he thought when I stood in front of him for a moment, naked and dripping.
I shake my head and charge out the door.
The cooler air of Brady’s room is a shock, and I shiver as I make my way back to my own room, pretending that I can’t hear him calling my name again.
Brady
“Thomas!” Coach screams at me, gripping my helmet’s facemask. “What the fuck is your problem out there?”
The score is seven to zero. Not even halfway through the first quarter, and I’m already stinking up the place. We’re playing the worst team in the league, and they’ve already begun posting numbers on the scoreboard.
“Sorry, Coach,” I yell back over the stadium’s noise. “I’ll get my head back in the game.”
“I’d settle for you acting like you’ve been on a fucking football field before,” he says and then storms off, leaving me standing there on the sidelines with every news camera pointed at me.
Fucking wonderful.
I’m not trying to throw a shitty game. I can’t seem to stay focused on one thing these days.
Well, that’s not right.
When I’m running drills, I’m remembering something Izzie said about avocados being healthy fats.
When I’m in the weight room, I’m picturing Izzie there beside me.
