The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel - Vi Keeland Page 0,80
kisser. So dominant and controlling, he didn’t kiss gently. There was always a rawness to the way his mouth consumed mine. I reached up and ran my fingers over my lips, letting my eyes flutter closed in memory.
What if . . .
I flipped the channel. FX was replaying a series that had wrapped up last year, Sons of Anarchy, an inside look at motorcycle gangs. It was filled with guns and violence. Perfect.
I watched for a few minutes. Then suddenly the scene of a group of leather-vest-wearing bikers in a clubhouse was over, and I was staring at the tattooed back of a naked blond man. The camera panned down to the man’s taut ass as he furiously pumped inside of a woman. She moaned. Brody was so good with that incredible body. God, it had been a long time since a man had made me moan.
What if . . .
I flipped the channel again.
ESPN was showing highlights from last weekend’s football games. The Philadelphia quarterback sailed the ball into the end zone and into the hands of a wide receiver. He pumped his fist and celebrated the game win. Brody and I used to celebrate game wins in his bedroom. I literally shook the thought from my head and clicked the remote.
What if . . .
I needed to clear my head of Brody. Flipping back to the hotel’s information channel, I gave up on television and clicked on music. The screen displayed choices like Top 40, Classic Rock, Hip Hop, and Country. I picked Classic Rock. Bad Company’s “Feel Like Making Love” streamed through the television.
God, I really did . . .
I listened to Paul Rodgers sing about golden dreams of yesterday for as long as I could. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I flipped to Country Music. Alan Jackson’s “Remember When” blared about remembering your first time.
Brody was my first.
The universe was completely out to get me.
Or . . .
Maybe it was a sign.
What if . . .
There were dozens of songs on my playlist that reminded me of Brody. I always skipped over them but never deleted any.
What if . . .
After tomorrow, there would be nothing keeping us connected.
I didn’t want to spend a lifetime hitting skip.
Always wondering . . .
What if . . .
It was time I deleted them all and moved on, or let the songs play.
My life was filled with so many regrets. In that moment, I knew if I didn’t at least try, it would be the decision I regretted the most. I ripped the covers back, got out of bed and dressed, my mind jumping all over the place. The chances of Brody still having any feelings other than disdain and hatred for me were practically nonexistent. But . . .
What if . . .
I had forgotten to give Brody his elevator key card back the other day. He wouldn’t even know I was coming up to his suite until he opened the door. Not giving myself enough time to think about all the reasons I shouldn’t, I took the elevator to the penthouse. I had no idea what I was going to say or do. I only knew it was my last chance, and I didn’t want to live wondering what if.
Brody answered on the first knock. He was still wearing the slacks from his suit, but his dress shirt and belt were unbuttoned. God, he’s magnificent.
“Willow?” I still hadn’t said a word. “Everything okay?”
I shook my head, and we stared at each other for a long moment. “Can I come in?”
For a second, I thought he might turn me away. He closed his eyes, but when he reopened them, he stepped aside for me to enter.
Chapter 36
Delilah
Indie would have laughed at me. I stood in line at the late-night grocery down the street from the Regency with an assortment of pastries from the bakery counter that was just about to close. When she’d told me to bring Brody dessert, cannolis had been the furthest thing from her mind.
I knew I was totally stalling. After Drew, I’d never thought I would feel like this about another man. When Brody’s name flashed on my screen, it made me smile. Seeing him in person made my heart beat faster. Sometimes I read a simple text from him a dozen times.
The thing was, with Drew, it was different. I could make a list of a million things I loved about him. I thought that was what true love was. Logical. Practical. Love