THE LIGHTNING BUGS flicker away on the other side of the screens that separate the porch from the outdoors. Warm, summery air whispers through the little room off the living area as the ceiling fan whirls overhead.
It’s a perfect summertime night at the lake house, the water gently brushing the shore just a few yards away.
My laptop sits untouched on the loveseat beside me, discarded after a couple of hours of my brain’s refusal to think about anything other than Branch Best. Once Poppy went to sleep—claiming this place is the most relaxing place she’s ever been, I tried to work on a couple of blog posts for next week. I got nothing except a complete description of Branch in the text box which looked a whole lot more like a sex box by the time I wrote “The End.”
The depiction, although thorough and glowing and including a prediction of what the rest of him might look like, does nothing to accurately sum up the way he looks standing in the doorway in nothing but a pair of steely grey shorts and a smirk that takes my breath away.
“Hey,” he says finally, shoving off the doorframe. His biceps flex, his stomach muscles rippling as he makes his way towards me. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“I wish you were,” I sigh. “I can’t get anything done.”
“I’ve heard that.” He slides into the wicker seat across from me and pops his bare feet up on the coffee table that separates us.
“You’ve heard what? That I’m lazy today?” I say, trying to ignore the way the air in the room just shifted like it’s accommodating his presence.
“No. That I’m distracting.”
“You say that like it’s a badge of honor.”
“It is.”
“Maybe they mean you’re annoying.”
He grins, knowing damn good and well that’s not what anyone means. Settling into the cinnamon-hued cushions, he changes topics. “So, why can’t you work?”
“I don’t know. I thought coming up here would sort of decompress my mind and I could get back into the flow of things. But I’ve just sat here all night and looked at the water and struggled to find any inspiration at all.”
“What is it you do again?”
“I have a lifestyle blog.”
He furrows a brow. “So you’re a reporter?”
“Uh, no. Not at all. I just write about things I love, things I think other women like me might like. Food, fashion, a little home décor stuff which is funny since I’m living out of boxes right now.”
“I moved into my house before the start of last season and I still have boxes to unpack,” he shrugs. “I figure maybe one day I’ll just toss everything. I mean, if I haven’t used it in almost a year, what are the odds I really need it?”
“That gives me heart palpitations. You can’t just throw stuff away. You have to look at it first. It could be important!”
“If I look at it, I’ll want to keep it which means I’ll have to put it away. It’s easier to chuck it.”
Tucking my legs under me, a lightness in my chest that I haven’t been able to find in a few weeks trickles over me. “Just pay someone to do it.”
“And find something online for sale in a few weeks? Come on,” he cracks. “I can see the headline now: ‘Branch Best’s underwear up for auction. Starting price one dollar.’ It would be a disaster.”
Laughing, I reach forward and pick up his lemonade. He reaches for it, our fingers brushing along the cool, damp glass as he takes it from me.
“Where’s Poppy?” he asks, getting comfortable again. “I haven’t seen her since this morning.”
“Asleep. Although she downplays herself, she’s kind of a big deal at her job. She works tons of hours and until the middle of the night a lot of times. I think she just realized she could sleep and no one would bother her.”
“Except Finn,” Branch winks.
“She’d love that.”
“The two of them ever have a thing?”
“You really have to ask me that?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. “I don’t know how often they see each other, I just know they have. There’s not enough time in the day for that kind of information overload.”
Branch laughs, his eyes dancing. “He kind of goes through the women, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t you all? I’ve seen enough stories about you to know you’re no saint.”
“You know how the media gets,” he grins. “They make a lot of shit up. Exaggerate stuff all to hell, although I’ll admit I’m no saint. It’s so much more fun being a sinner.”
My cheeks heat and I pray to God he doesn’t have x-ray vision and can see through my closed computer and read all the various sinner-y things I sex-box’d out earlier.
“It’s a part of the job,” he says easily. “You dated Callum. You know how it works.”
At the sound of his name, it’s like I’m doused with a bucket of ice water. Callum’s cocky face next to Carly’s on a jet ski that surfaced this morning on every entertainment website I dared to check flashes before my eyes.
“Sorry,” Branch says, his tone lowered. “I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
“No, it’s fine,” I lie. “I just have to stop feeling like my head is on fire when his name is mentioned.”
“The break-up went well, I take it.”
I glare at him, causing him to crack a smile. “You know what? Let’s keep talking about him so I’ll end up hating him so much I won’t do this again. For the fourth time.”
“So, this is a habit of yours?”
“Two football players and a hockey guy. I’m done. Habit broken.”
“Well, I’ve officially dated a model and an actress and I’m done too.”
“With models or actresses?” I ask.
“Dating,” he laughs. “It’s just not for me.”
“I read a book once,” I say, stretching my legs out in front of me, “that said you’re supposed to date people that share your values. Like, if you’re super religious, find your guy at church. If you love to read, go to a bookstore. Blah, blah, blah. That’s my new angle.”
“I think I’ll just have to be single. Finn doesn’t do it for me.”
Not expecting that comeback, I can’t help but laugh. “Good, because Poppy would be tough competition for you this weekend. She’s just getting started.”
“Well, so am I . . .”
My gaze flips to his, and he snatches it like a flytrap. His pupils are dilated, his bottom lip combing between his teeth, as he rakes my libido over hot coals.
“Why are you guys so anti-monogamous?” I ask, clearing my throat to try to break the hold Branch has on me. “Brick layers can be monogamous. So can electricians and teachers—”
“You had me until teachers,” he says, leaning up. “Have you seen what teachers look like these days? Shit, man. Some days, I consider admitting I cheated my way through high school and asking to be re-enrolled.”
“You’re an ass,” I chuckle.
Refusing to look his way, I keep my eyes on the water. His gaze is heavy despite the fact I won’t return it. It’s too deep, too hot, too everything.
“You should consider yourself lucky,” he says finally. There’s enough grit in his tone to make me look at him again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We aren’t the guys you keep around.”
“I’ve noticed,” I grimace.
He strokes his chin, watching me with a furrowed brow. “Guys come into this league off these huge college careers. They’re courted for everything and have shit thrown at them from all avenues—money, women, even men, if they want it. You get cars and clothes and your mom’s light bill paid if that’s what needs to happen. And then things get even worse. More money. More conniving women. Bigger egos. It fucks us up.”
“Are you fucked up?” I ask, the wind seeming to chill just a bit as it rustles across my skin.
“Probably.” He sits back in his chair and releases a sigh. “When I came to Chicago, I met this girl pretty quick. She wanted to be a photographer, but had this purity about her. Just salt of the Earth, if that makes sense.”
“I love that description.”
He smiles sadly. “Within a year, she’d changed completely. She was taking modeling jobs, being really hard on herself. She was in the spotlight so much with me that I think it got to her. We fought constantly over everything. She became really self-conscious. I looked at her at one point and didn’t even know who she was anymore or if she wanted me because she loved me or if she loved the money and opportunities,” he sighs. “It became so convoluted and she became a really nasty person.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “She had a meltdown, rightfully so, over some shit she saw in a magazine. Packed her bags and left and that was that.”
“You didn’t call her? Go after her?” I ask. “At least check on her?”
“A part of me figured she was better off. Another part thought it would end at some point anyway. But,” he says, leaning forward, “what gets me now is that I probably did that to her. I was off doing rookie shit. Partying. Enjoying this newfound fame and money and being the guy everyone wanted to be around. It was a crazy, crazy time in my life. Hers probably got sacrificed as a part of that.”
I’m not sure what to say. It almost feels like a confession, like he’s telling me some truth I’m supposed to pay attention to. It’s nothing I don’t know, yet I feel sorry for him. This weighs on him, there’s no doubt. And whether his theory is right or wrong, it’s sad either way.
“I have checked on her on social media,” he admits, sitting back. “She seems to be doing okay.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah. I just wonder what would’ve happened to her had she not known me. She had the world at her feet, capable of so much. It was a rude awakening to both of us, I think.”
“A rude awakening to what?”
“To the reality, at least in my world. This is a culture, not just a team. There’s a reason some guys make it in the league and other guys don’t. You ever wonder why a certain guy with great stats coming out of college doesn’t get drafted or why he gets cut loose early? Coaches know he can’t take the culture. It’s that different. Don’t get me wrong,” he says, lifting his lemonade again. “I love my life. I wouldn’t trade who I am or what I do with anyone in the world. But I’m smart enough to know it for what it is and not fuck someone else up with it.”
“Such a hero,” I wink, bringing my glass to my lips as he does the same.
“Hardly. My point is you should feel lucky you saw the light in time.”
We sit quietly, the waves washing away most of the heaviness of our conversation. A few small glances are traded, a couple of hesitant smiles, as we relax in each other’s company.
After I’ve downed a lot of the wine and Branch’s glass is nearly empty, I don’t realize I laugh out loud until he calls me out on it.
“What are you laughing at?” he asks.
“Just . . . it doesn’t feel like I’m sitting with the Branch Best,” I tease.
“Did you have expectations, Sunshine?”
“I didn’t realize it, but I guess I did.”
“In what way? I never leave a woman unfulfilled. It’s a thing with me.”
I take in his tanned face and thick, wide shoulders and almost shiver. The wine is making its way through my veins, pumping me full of the buzz that’s just barely enough to distort my judgment.
As I open my mouth with every intention of telling him I need to go to bed, he shoots me the smirk that has a straight shot to the apex of my thighs.
Words, ones I shouldn’t be uttering, come toppling past my lips.
“I guess I expected . . . more,” I tease, lifting my shoulders just a touch for effect.
“You want more? I have so much more you’d be screaming for less.”
The gravel in his tone roughs over my skin, sending a cascade of goosebumps rippling across me. The confidence in his dark, hooded eyes nearly elicits a moan from my parted lips.
It takes every bit of effort I have to keep my head about me. As I fight the wine, I’m wise enough to know I have to get away from him or be a complete hypocrite and just start shedding my clothes.
“That’s what they all say,” I chime as smoothly as I can. I lift my eyes to his as I stand.
Big. Mistake.
Without a movement, with not so much as a flick of his thickly roped muscles, he does everything he’s hinted at. He undresses me, kisses my skin, draws a line from my temple, down my chest, over my belly, and down my legs using nothing more than his gorgeous, azure eyes.
I stand in front of him, pinned to the spot by nothing more than a gaze so hot I almost blister.
“I’m heading upstairs,” I tell him, squeezing the computer to my chest. “Can you make sure the doors are locked before you turn in?”
“Sure.”
He waits for me to say something else, but I don’t. I walk by, the side of my thigh brushing against him, and take the stairs two at a time.
Once I’m in my room, I lean against the closed door and heave a breath of non-Branch air.
“At least you’re not thinking of Callum,” I whisper out loud. Padding across the hardwood floor, I climb into bed to the sound of lapping waves outside my window.