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36
Taylor
As wonderful as it was to visit home and see my parents, it was a relief to return to Utah after New Year’s. My apartment was beginning to feel like my real home. Brody’s apartment too, for that matter.
Wherever he is, I thought as he spooned me one night in his big bed. That’s what feels like home.
The next morning, Brody made omelets for us while I turned on the TV to SportsCenter. They were currently discussing the NFL playoff picture for the AFC West.
* Broncos: 13 - 4 *
* Stallions: 12 - 5 *
Chiefs: 9 - 8
Chargers: 5 - 12
Raiders: 5 - 12
Brody didn’t seem upset that the Stallions finished a game behind the Broncos. He said that as long as they had a ticket to the dance, they could tango with the best of them.
The two of us bundled up, bought coffee from a shop down the street, and then walked Luna. There was still half a foot of snow on the ground in the park, and it was deserted aside from a photographer who seemed to be taking photos of birds. But instead of chasing the ball, Luna kept running circles around us on the path.
“Don’t you want to play?” I asked. “Here’s your ball. Go get it!”
I hurled the ball. Luna ignored it and continued kicking up snow around us, jaw hanging open in a doggy smile.
“She missed you,” Brody said. “Nine days apart was a lot. Did you have a good time with your family?”
“I really did,” I said. “We may have a problem, though.”
“What’s that?”
“My dad thinks you’re too cocky.”
Brody laughed. “That’s crazy. I’m the exact correct amount of cocky. No more, no less.”
“My dad disagrees. He scowled really hard when you celebrated after the touchdown.” I tried mimicking his grouchy voice as I said, “Back in my day, players handed the ball to the ref and went straight to the sideline. Act like you’ve been there!”
Brody laughed at the imitation. “Yeah, my pop still gives me a hard time about that, too. The thing they don’t understand is that I’m not just a tight end.”
“You have a real nice one, though,” I said, squeezing his ass through his jeans.
“You’ve told that joke a boatload of times, but it still never gets old.” He gave my ass a little pinch too, then went on. “I’m not just a football player. I’m a brand. My on-field antics are what sell jerseys. Hell, it’s what got me my big Adidas deal. I make more money from that than from my NFL contract.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Yep. Not to mention a lifetime supply of sneakers.” He held out his foot and waggled it around before continuing his stride.
“Well, when you do eventually meet my parents, you’ll have to pretend to be humble.”
“Won’t need to pretend. I’m genuinely humble most of the time.” He stopped and turned toward me. “You want me to meet your folks?”
“Eventually, sure. Do you not want me to meet yours?”
“‘Course I do,” he replied, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Can’t wait to show you off to my momma and pop. Maybe we’ll make a trip down to Texas when the season is over.”
“I’ve never been to Texas,” I said. “Do you think they’ll like me?”
