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“That’s very clearly a four,” I replied.
Brody turned and waved to a girl who was still packing up her bag in the front row. “Hey, you. Come here and settle a bet, wouldya? Read off this number for me.”
The girl approached and looked at his phone. “Five-one-zero-nine-two…”
“Hah!” Brody said before she had finished. “Told you!”
“That’s not a nine! It’s a four!” I said.
Brody shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Victory has never tasted so sweet.”
The student looked up at Brody. “Do I know you? I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
Without missing a beat, Brody replied, “You’re probably confusing me with that McSteamy fella from Grey’s Anatomy. I get that a lot. But the important thing is you can accurately tell the difference between a four and a nine.”
The student grimaced at me. “It looks like a nine to me. Sorry, Professor Fox.” She returned to collect her bag, then left the room.
“Professor Fox,” Brody said, tasting the words. “I like the sound of that.”
“I wasn’t lying about my job,” I said. “Unlike some people.”
Brody lowered his hood. “Aw, come on now. Don’t be like that. This whole thing was one big misunderstanding.”
Even though he was wearing a baggie sweatshirt and jeans, I was suddenly struck by the nude glimpse of Brody that I had gotten in the locker room. A tapestry of tan skin and rock-hard muscle. Thinking about it, along with having his ruggedly-handsome face here in front of me, made me shiver.
“Neither of us is at fault,” I admitted. “You should have read my number correctly… but I also could have written it more legibly.”
Brody spread his arms wide. “See? Now, was that so hard?”
I smirked. “I guess not. So, you’re dating Isabella.”
“Guess I am,” he replied.
“It’s probably for the best that you couldn’t read my number,” I said. “She seems more like your type.”
He sat on the edge of my desk and crossed his strong arms over his chest. “What do you mean by that?”
I shrugged. “You’re a big-time football player. The kind of guy who only dates supermodels.”
Brody’s laugh was soft and rich. “Hell, I was kind of thinking the other way around. You’re a fancy professor lady who only dates men with more degrees than fingers.” He cocked his head. “Not to mention you’re prettier than any supermodel.”
I snickered. “You’re not actually in my class, you know. You don’t have to flatter me for a good grade.”
“No flattery,” he replied. “When you’re out there on the sidelines, dancing and cheering and whatnot, it’s real hard…”
He trailed off for a moment, then recovered himself.
“It’s hard for my teammates to focus,” he finished. “They don’t say that about the other cheerleaders. And there are some mighty fine ones on the team.”
I felt my cheeks grow hot. “Thanks. Although compared to Isabella, I feel like chopped liver.”
He pulled his phone back out and gestured with it. “Well, that’s why I came here. Wanted to see your stomping grounds, and to show you the phone number.”
“You came here to gloat, you mean.”
“Who’s gloating?” he replied defensively. “I don’t want you going around giving guys the wrong number. Might miss out on somethin’ special that way.”
I almost laughed it off. That’s what the old Taylor would have done: laughed it off, thanked him for coming by, and then let him leave. But having Brody here, sitting on the edge of my desk, gave me a thrilling sense of excitement that I couldn’t shake.
