Chapter 12
Brooks
I can’t wait to see her face when our extra-large meat supreme pizza is delivered to the door. If I’m going to be forced to spend time with this woman, I might as well entertain myself in the process.
I continue trying to sit on the kitchen stool without thinking about how much I need to take a piss but I’ve turned gray in the time the woman has been in the shower.
Maybe she has an en suite, like in my place. I can’t take it any longer. If there’s no second toilet, I’m going to have to go to my own bathroom. I head toward her bedroom. I don’t hear the shower running but I do hear humming. A sweet, almost angelic sound that makes me think it can’t possibly be coming from such a hostile woman as Izzy.
I’m stopped in my tracks by a sight that has me swallowing hard. The bathroom door is ajar, the mirror above the sink steamed. I follow the foot that is raised onto the side of the sink. I follow it up a long, smooth, damn fine leg. I take a deep breath to calm my racing pulse as I watch Izzy’s hands move over her skin like she’s rubbing in body lotion.
Down, boy! Get the fuck down. She’s bad news.
I turn too quickly, wincing as the floor creaks beneath my feet. I walk straight for salvation, away from temptation. Before I close the apartment door behind me, I hear the bathroom door slam shut. Did she know? Did she want me to see that? Was the hand down the bra thing for my benefit too?
One thing I am certain of, this stupid PR exercise is going to end in two weeks and that spoiled, hot-as-hell brat is going back to London. Then my life will resume some sort of order. Back in my apartment, I unzip my pants and take my much-needed leak.
Before fastening my jeans again, I give my man a little stroke. Just a small one. I’m sorry, buddy. Give me two weeks, that’s all.
I grab two bottles of beer from my fridge before heading back to Izzy’s apartment, feeling like Tantalus. I shall not be tempted. I shall not.
Izzy is sitting on the sofa, wearing lounge bottoms and a T-shirt. A thin one. A thin white T-shirt. And she’s braless. I think of her personality and it’s enough to quash any sexual thoughts.
“Here.” I hand her a beer. “A congratulatory beer for publication day.”
“That almost sounded genuine. Thanks, but I don’t really drink.”
I lower myself into a lounge chair. “Don’t really?”
“I used to. Since I found fitness, I don’t like to put that stuff in my body. It has so many toxins.”
“Jesus, Izzy. People tell me to let my hair down. Compared to you, I feel like I have long curly locks blowing in the wind on the back of a Harley.”
“Hmm. Nice imagery. I can see you with long hair.”
“Drink it or don’t, but tonight, I need a beer.”
She nudges the beer away from her on the coffee table and I’m reminded of Cady as a four-year-old when I told her to eat her green beans.
Izzy hands me a pad of paper and a pen. “Shall we get started?”
“Sure. What’s your height?”
“Five six.”
“Weight?”
Her eyes narrow. “One sixteen.”
“One hundred and sixteen pounds? What are you, a child?”
“That’s within a healthy weight range. Do you treat all your clients like this?”
“Good point, well made. I’m just saying, you could do with adding a few pounds.”
She stares at me as she scoops up the beer bottle and drinks. “And you have far too much bulky-bulkersome going on.”
“Bulky-bulkersome?”
“I’m just saying, you could do with losing a few pounds.”
“Was that supposed to be my voice? I don’t sound like that and your American accent is way off.”
“Whatever.”
“Ah, back to grown-up Izzy.” Someone might need to check me into AA at the end of these two weeks. “What’s your BMI?”
We work down my usual questions and move on to hers. My stomach is growling fiercely by the time there’s a knock on the door.
“Finally!” I offer Izzy my wallet as she gets up from the sofa.
“I’ve got this.”
I’m already laughing inside as she unlocks the door. “Mr. Adams. Extra-large meat supreme with extra chicken.”
My humor bursts from my gut when Izzy turns to me, white faced, her jaw dropped toward the floor.
She snatches the pizza and pays the delivery guy, all the while mumbling curse words, most of which I miss under the sound of my laughter.
She comes back to the sofa and thrusts the box at me. “Here, I would rather starve than eat that shit.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a baby. You’re already drinking beer and we don’t start this farce until tomorrow. Relax tonight. I imagine it’s for the first time in your life, anyway. Try it and see how it feels.”
I open the box on the coffee table. The smell of tomatoes, cheese, and pepperoni hits my nose. I take a slice and sit back with the point of the triangle in my mouth. “Oh my God, this is amazing.”
On a “Humph,” Izzy unfolds her legs from beneath her and leans in to take a slice. “I’ll eat your bloody pizza but only because I’m hungry. You’re a pig by the way. Chew your bloody food before talking to me.”
I’m laughing again, almost delirious. I loathe this woman. I hate her so much it’s hilarious.