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“How are you going to know it’s me if I give a fake name?”
“Well, choose one now and then I’ll know it. ”
Liz shrugged. “I don’t know what to choose. What do you want me to be—Sandy Carmichael or something?” she asked, chuckling.
“Sure,” Brady agreed. “Sandy Carmichael it is then. ”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“You picked it. ”
“Fine,” Liz said. It was an alias, after all. It didn’t matter.
“That’s the main thing,” he said, checking his watch. “There’s some more, but we can talk about that later. I think my time is up. ”
“All right,” she said, standing as he did the same. “Should I contact you or…will you contact me?”
Brady smiled. “Already anxious to see me again. ”
“As if you aren’t to see me,” she whispered.
“Touché,” he volleyed. “Until next time, Ms. Carmichael. ”
She glared at him, hating the stupid name she had chosen. All she really wanted to do was wipe the smirk off his face. Well, kiss the smirk off his face. Okay, she really wanted to do a lot more than that.
They walked away from their booth and toward the front. He smiled at her, but was clearly trying to conceal his pleasure at being in her company. Liz was sure she wasn’t hiding it as well as he was.
She stopped him at the door. “Good-bye, Senator Maxwell,” she said sweetly, looking up at him with anything-but-innocent eyes.
Liz turned to leave, but he put one hand on her sleeve. She looked back at him curiously. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about this, but,” he said, as the bell clanged overhead, “this is strictly off the record. ”
Chapter 12
GAME, SET, MATCH
Liz’s feet carried her the couple blocks back to her house, but she didn’t remember the walk. She had just agreed to carry on an affair with Brady Maxwell. She was jeopardizing her career, her potential (nonexistent) relationship with Hayden, not to mention her privacy, for this man. Not just that, but she was now keeping a secret from everyone in her life. No one could know.
She felt very alone standing in her living room at that moment. Would it always feel like this? Victoria was back home, and she couldn’t talk to her about it anyway. Brady wasn’t able to come to her. She only got to be with him on his terms. Yet sitting around at the diner with him that morning, she couldn’t think of anything else she would rather do. Her world felt upside down, and she had let him do it. Had she really even fought him at all?
But what leverage did she have? She wanted to be with him. He made her feel alive. However she could have him, she would. That was his leverage. He had figured it out when he had tested her backstage at the auditorium. He had her hook, line, and sinker.
She was dead tired, but sleep wouldn’t pull her under. Her mind kept repeating what had happened this morning. Over and over she obsessed about every detail of their morning breakfast. He was going to such lengths to be with her; that had to count for something. She knew the terms. She knew what she had gotten herself into, and yet…
All she wanted to think about was how good he looked in regular clothes, the stubble on his chin, the way his hands held his coffee mug. Was she losing her grip on reality? This was just a guy!
She buried her head into her pillow in frustration. This was not just a guy. This was Brady.
And that was the damn point! How could she feel like this for him? He wasn’t a bad guy, but he was the guy she was sharpening her pitchfork over in the paper! And the guy she was spreading her legs for in the bedroom. It didn’t make sense. How could she have such duality when she thought about him?
When she realized she definitely wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep, she kicked her feet off the bed and shuffled around her room aimlessly. She needed to do something to clear her mind or she would be warring with herself all day. Throwing her hair into a slicked-back ponytail, Liz pulled on a white tennis skirt and top, laced her shoes up, and grabbed her racket on the way out the door.
Thankfully the tennis courts weren’t that far from her house. Liz had competed in high school on the state level and won a few championships, but never anything spectacular. She had been recruited for tennis by a few smaller schools in Florida, but she had wanted to go to Chapel Hill, so the offers hadn’t even been enticing. She felt a loss at not having hours and hours where she had to play each week. She’d had a tennis instructor since she was little, and moving here without her had been a struggle. It had taken Liz a while to find someone she liked in the area, but the woman was incredibly busy. Liz sometimes found it hard to fit into her schedule.
Today she would have to hope that someone would be there to play with her. Half of the people who frequented the courts were either older and couldn’t swing the racket the same anymore, or too young for it to be entertaining. The university students didn’t come to this court, since most of them lived on campus and used those courts.
Pulling into the parking lot, Liz cut the engine and slid out of her silver Honda Accord. Her muscles tensed as she swung the racket methodically, anticipating the impending exercise. It was hard to think about much else when a small tennis ball was whizzing toward you.
She walked into the clubhouse with a smile. A teenage boy ogled her from behind the counter as she checked in.
