The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel - Vi Keeland Page 0,91
Brody wasted no time pushing the door open. But I stopped. “How’s Larissa’s arm doing?”
The security guard smiled. “Cast comes off tomorrow. It’s a good thing, too. She’s threatening to take a saw to it herself to get back on the court.”
“That’s great.”
Brody tugged at my arm, pulling me into the locker room. Inside, I glared at him. “That was rude. I was talking.”
“We only have a few minutes.”
I folded my arms over my chest.
He grinned. “But it never took me that long to get you off.”
“Brody . . . ”
His eyes darkened as he moved to me. With every step he took, I retreated, until my back hit a tiled wall. He lowered his face to mine, our mouths inches apart. “I think you lied.”
“About what?” I had the immense urge to lean forward and press my lips to his.
He shifted and leaned toward my neck, running his nose along the vein that pulsed with my heartbeat. It was beating out of control, and my breath was joining in on the race. “About how you feel about me. I think you lied.” He moved to my ear, his voice raw. “I think you feel everything I feel.”
I said nothing, but the hitch of my breath spoke volumes.
“I bet if I slipped my hand into your panties right now, you’d be as wet as I am hard.”
“Brody . . . ”
He pulled back a few inches and cupped my face with both hands. “And it’s not just your body that has a reaction to mine. I think you feel it . . . ” He slid one hand from my chin, down my neck, and stopped when his palm covered my heart. “Here. I think you feel it here, too.”
My heart was pounding under his hand.
“What are you afraid of, Delilah?”
He stared into my eyes, so open and vulnerable, and like a coward, I closed mine. Neither of us moved for a long time.
The door to the locker room creaked open. “Easton. Interviews are starting, and the shift is changing. Time’s up,” Henry yelled, and then the door closed again.
I opened my eyes. My words were barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
He pushed my hair back, and his thumb stroked my cheek. His smile was real, but sad. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’ll figure it out.”
He let go of me and took a few steps toward the door before turning around. The cocky smile I hated to love was back now. “Oh, and Delilah? Now it’s your turn. You’ll come around. But when you do, I think I’ll make you beg for another chance.”
Chapter 42
Brody
I felt like a twelve-year-old boy again. In two days, I would play in the motherfucking Super Bowl, there would be an arena half full of women wearing my name on their backs, and here I was jerking myself off in the shower. To say I was frustrated was an understatement.
When I’d told Delilah last week that the ball was in her court, I hadn’t been thinking of how often I would see her. Super Bowl week was a media frenzy, and I saw her beautiful face every day. After our locker room understanding, something changed—the anger and hard feelings between us were gone. We were friendly even. Which made it exceedingly harder to keep my hands to myself.
Last night, she’d been at the practice field for a coach’s interview. I’d waited around like a damn puppy just to walk her to her car after she was done. When we got to her Volkswagen, she stood with her back against the door, and I knew if I had leaned in and claimed her mouth, she wouldn’t have objected. I was more certain than ever that she wanted me; what I needed now was for her to be certain it was what she wanted. She needed to push past whatever was holding her back and make the decision to be with me. So I’d intentionally brought up Marlene and how Grouper had cleaned out the last of her things before I brought him and the guppies to Media Day. I casually mentioned that I’d mailed Marlene’s cross to Willow, who now lived upstate. She had said that she believed nothing happened between Willow and me, but I needed her to know that Willow wouldn’t be part of our lives going forward.
That night at the hotel, after Marlene’s service, Willow and I had a long talk. She admitted she had come to my suite hoping for us to