Chapter 19

Brady

It’s weird to think that just a few weeks ago, I was a bachelor living the laid-back bachelor life in my laid-back bachelor house. Well, technically, I’m still a bachelor. But lately, I’ve been feeling more like a family man.

In the past few days that Izzie and Liam have been staying with me, we’ve all settled into a nice routine.

It’s weird how boring and normal we all are. Izzie usually gets home from work a little before me. She cooks a special dinner that abides by my diet plan, and then we all sit down together and eat.

Afterwards, we all watch TV together. Usually, it’s ESPN, but Izzie has a weird obsession with HGTV. Every night, she makes me watch at least one episode of House Hunters, which is the most baffling show.

Basically, it’s just two idiots with unrealistic standards arguing over paint color. I’m not sure why Izzie loves it so much, but she does this adorable thing where she picks which house is her favorite. Sometimes, she’ll even ask me to pick a house and see if I can guess which one the two annoying homeowners will pick.

“I think they’re going to pick the condo over the three-bedroom because the condo is closer to the city,” she tells me. “They always pick whatever is closest to work.”

“That’s stupid,” I tell her.

“Why?”

“Because why pick a house they hate just to be closer to some job that they probably hate even more?” I jokingly argue with her. “Your house is your palace. Just pick the best fucking house possible. Doesn’t matter where it’s located.”

We’ll then go back and forth about this for at least half an hour. Izzie will giggle, then catch herself, and stop giggling. It’s a weird thing she does. It’s like she wants to be close to me but not too close.

Sometimes I wonder if she just got out of a relationship recently and doesn’t want to jump into another one so soon. If that’s the case, then it’s cool. But it does make me wonder why she just can’t say that instead of leaving me here in the dark.

When we’re not watching TV, Izzie spends a lot of time cleaning. I guess she’s trying to be a good guest, but there’s really no reason for her to be wiping down the kitchen counters so much.

The cleaner who comes by once a week even pulled me aside and asked me who keeps polishing the tables. It seems no matter how hard I try to make Izzie feel comfortable with being here, she’s always trying to overcompensate. She seriously needs to chill.

But hey, I’m still a guy. I’m not gonna argue if a pretty girl wants to clean my mansion.

Her nephew, Liam, though, seems to be adjusting just fine. Every day, he’s playing video games on my large screen TV or hammering it out on the foosball table.

In a weird way, he kind of reminds me of myself—very competitive, very committed, and has awesome hair. He’s like the kid brother I never had.

Honestly, I’m so comfortable with Izzie and Liam living with me that I hope those termites eat the whole house up. It’s so nice coming home to a place that’s bustling with life instead of empty beer bottles and forgotten thongs from groupies. I never thought I would ever admit to that, but that’s the God’s honest truth right there.

In fact, today, to show my gratitude, I decided to bring home a little gift for Liam.

When I walk into the house, I step into a cloud of awesome smell coming from the kitchen. Izzie is something else. I walk into the kitchen and see the back of her blonde head blending something up.

“Hey, I’m home,” I announce. “What’s cooking?”

“Carrot soup. It’s ready now, so go sit down at the table.”

I walk into the dining room and collapse into the chair next to Liam, rustling his hair.

“How’s school, little dude?” God, I really am starting to sound like a dad.

“It’s good. You know, the usual.” His eyes are glued to his smartphone.

Izzie comes out and places the pot of soup on the table.

“Get it while it’s hot.” She starts ladling soup into our bowls like some kind of line cook.

In the middle of dinner, I turn to Liam and ask him again about attending a home game.

“Yo, Liam, you still haven’t been by the stadium yet. Have you, bud?”

He shakes his head, not knowing where I’m going with this.

“I think you should come by and check out the home game on Thursday. How does that sound?”

His eyes beam with excitement. He turns and immediately looks at Izzie, giving her the pleaseeee? eyes.

Izzie looks at the both of us as if she’s in the middle of a melodramatic telenovela and has to choose a suitor.

“Well, I’m not sure,” she starts. “Liam has homework—”

“I did some extra homework earlier this week,” Liam interrupts. “So my Thursday should be all free.”

I slap my hands on the table in victory. “See?” I motion at Liam. “You’ve already planned ahead. That’s my man!”

I give him a high five as Izzie looks on, confused.

“So it’s all set then,” I announce as Izzie glares at me. “On Thursday, you’re gonna come watch the game, and we’re all gonna have an awesome time.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Izzie interjects. “All of this is a little too short notice. Liam and I are on a schedule ,and we weren’t planning on attending any games this week.”

I shrug off Izzie’s comment because she’s clearly not making any sense.

“Hey, Liam, I got a present for you...for the game.” I reach into the shopping bag I have stashed under the table and pull out a jersey.

Liam blinks at it for a second, unsure who it’s for.

“Dude, it’s for you!” I playfully throw the jersey over his head. “Put it on, you nerd.”

He giggles as he puts the jersey on over his clothes. It’s a little too big, but he can grow into it.

“This is so awesome!” Liam runs over and actually hugs me, which is kind of sweet. I look over at Izzie who I notice also looks touched by the whole thing.

“Okay, boys,” Izzie throws her napkin on the table, “you win. Liam, you can go to the game this week. However, we’re using my tickets. No more freebies, okay? The jersey was enough. You’re going to spoil him.”

I laugh as I spoon my last gulp of soup in my mouth. It’s so funny when I get under her skin. She likes to wrinkle her nose and burrow her brows like a frustrated chipmunk.

I mean, it’s nice that she wants to look out for her nephew, and she cares about how well he does in school. But it’s just one game. How much harm can it do?

Plus, if Liam has an interest in football, it’s important to start showing him the ropes early. That’s how I got my start.

I have so many fond memories of going to football games as a kid. I would watch and obsessively study what all the players did and nitpick on what they didn’t do. If Liam wants to go pro one day, he can’t just sit at home doing his homework and playing Madden.

After I finish my bowl, I stand up and start clearing the table.

“Fine,” I tell Izzie. “You can use your own tickets. As long as he gets to come and wear his new jersey, I’m cool with everything.”

Liam jumps up from the table. “I’m so excited! This is going to be so awesome. Thanks again for the jersey, Brady.”

“No problem,” I shrug.

As I head to the kitchen, I turn around and shoot a quick look at Izzie who, shockingly, is smiling at me. It’s a reluctant smile, but still a smile. Our eyes meet, and she quickly looks away and starts busying herself with clearing her dish.

Maybe the way to Izzie’s heart is through Liam. It seems to be working.

Liam’s a good kid, so I don’t mind helping anyway. But if doing something for Liam can allow Izzie to see me as someone other than some meathead who sleeps around a lot, then, hey, that’s a win in my book.

 

Izzie

Bliss. Total, complete, amazing bliss.

I just dropped Liam off at a friend’s house for a sort of a make-up sleepover, since we didn’t get to go to Alex’s house. And with Brady out of town until tomorrow, it means that I have the entire evening to myself.

I stop at the liquor store for a bottle of wine. Nothing super sophisticated, but hey, I don’t have anyone to impress tonight.

I drive back to Brady’s and key the security code in to open the gate, which rumbles slightly as it sweeps back across the pristine driveway. No potholes here.

I park my car, for once not caring if I’m leaving it right out front. So what if it’s a Mazda that’s seen better days? No one will see it—though it does look odd in front of the mansion’s grand façade.

Like a zit on a supermodel.

I giggle.

I key in yet another code and open the front door. The polished foyer echoes my footsteps, and even though I know Brady’s housekeeper is at home in her apartment above the garage, I have a momentary shiver of uneasiness.

Calm down, Izzie, I tell myself, dropping my purse and keys on a table with a clatter.

No dicey neighbors, voracious termites, or noisy traffic in this place. Just me, a bottle of wine, and a delicious soak in a hot bath.

I detour into the kitchen and grab a wineglass, then on impulse, a few decorative candles from the counter.

As I go upstairs to my room, I suddenly remember the massive whirlpool bathtub in Brady’s master suite. His bathroom’s tub is bigger than my entire bathroom at home, but why not live it up?

“You owe it to yourself, Iz,” I say aloud, kicking off my shoes and peeling off my clothes. I throw on the thick terrycloth robe that I’d found in the closet, then grab the wine and candles.

Let the spa night begin.

It’s still a little eerie creeping through the empty house, and I’m relieved when I make it to Brady’s suite.

As soon as I go in, I can smell the distinctive scent of his soap. I cross the room, trying not to notice the huge king-sized bed, but I can’t help glancing at it.

Satin sheets? Really?

I swallow hard at the image that suddenly takes over my brain, to spite me.

Brady, his muscles sliding across the satin as he sprawls lazily in bed…

No, no, no, Izzie. Stay away from that thought!

The bathroom is even more amazing than I remember from the quick tour Brady gave us. The tub is practically the size of a swimming pool, with a dizzying control panel that would seem at home in a seven-four-seven.

It takes me a few minutes, but I finally get the water running at just the right temperature, and the whirlpool swirling gently.

I put the candles on the granite countertop and light them, then dim the overhead lights.

Ah, ambiance.

Wine bottle and glass on the edge of the tub. I slither out of the robe, and then slide into the tub.

Bliss.

The bubbles gently caress my body, and I sink lower, grabbing the wine glass. Nothing fancy, but it works for me. The warmth relaxes my muscles, and I realize once again just how tense I’ve been.

The hot water creates a gentle steam cloud, which fogs the mirror. I probably should have turned on the fan, but what the hell.

Too lazy.

I finish the glass of wine and pour another, lying there lazily in the bubbles, idly staring at the way the candlelight flickers in the huge mirror over the sink. Only a real narcissist needs a mirror like that.

I close my eyes, sinking even deeper, totally relaxed and content.

I have no idea how much time has passed, as this amazing tub keeps the water at a steady temperature. Drowsy, I suddenly hear the click of the doorknob, and I’m suddenly wide awake.

What the fuck?

Panicked, I accidentally knock my glass off the edge of the tub, and it shatters on the polished tile floor with a musical sound.

“Who’s there?” I call, trying to keep my voice from quavering.

I hoist myself up a little, but not too much, wondering why the hell did I drop my robe on the other side of the room.

Shit, shit, shit…no cover!

What can I use for a weapon? Wildly, I look around the bathroom, but nothing seems obvious.

“Izzie?”

Double shit! It’s Brady’s voice.

“Izzie, is that you?” Brady comes into view through the cloud of steam, setting the candles to flickering wildly.

“What the hell…” His voice trails off as he sees me.

I use my toes to flick the whirlpool control to a higher speed, desperately hoping more bubbles will conceal me.

“I, uh…hi, Brady.”

Brady comes a little further into the room. He looks a little travel-rumpled and tired. He looks at me with a quizzical expression, half questioning and half interested.

Uh-oh.

“Watch out for the broken glass,” I say weakly, hoping the bubbles are screening most of me from his gaze.

“I’m sorry…I thought you were gone until tomorrow, and Liam’s at a friend’s, so…I guess I was indulging in a little pampering.” I manufacture a chuckle that doesn’t fool anyone.

Brady sidesteps the broken glass, eyeing the candles. “You seem pretty cozy here,” he remarks.

I blush. “It’s been a long week,” I offer lamely.

He smiles. “I bet.”

“I, uh…” Oh come on, Izzie, try not to sound like a total wine-sodden imbecile.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist the idea of a whirlpool bath. If you give me a moment, I’ll get out of here and clean up the glass.”

“There’s no hurry,” Brady drawls, and then leans back on the edge of the counter, folding his arms. He studies me, raising one eyebrow, as I sink lower into the bubbles.

“Nice view,” he finally comments.

Jeezus, I’m torn between wanting to crawl into a hole and hide—fully clothed—and half wishing he’d crawl in here with me, which is totally unacceptable.

This is Brady, I remind myself. Remember? The dick who killed your sister?

But somehow, the words have lost their righteous indignation as I try not to run my eyes over him.

I swallow, trying to sound normal. “Wh..what brings you back so early? I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

Brady shrugs. “I didn’t feel like staying. Not in the mood for a big team bar blowout, I guess.” He pauses, then says, “I kinda thought it would be nicer to hang with you and Liam.”

“Um, yeah…” I say. “Well, if you’d give me a minute to get out and put something on, maybe we could have a glass of wine together and watch a movie or something.”

“Or something,” Brady echoes, with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Damn. I can feel every inch, and I mean every inch of my body tingle.

This is not good.

Not good, Izzie.

I close my eyes and try to think of totally depressing, gross, not-hot things.

“Izzie,” Brady says, and his voice is suspiciously closer. I open my eyes and he’s standing closer to the tub. “You know…”

“No!” I say, putting my fingers into my ears. “Whatever you might think about suggesting, I’m not listening. ”

“Izzie…” His voice is low and sexy, enough to move me from tingling to feeling like I’m on fire.

Suddenly, an image of Lucy’s face in her last moments rises in my mind, and inexplicably, tears come to my eyes.

So, what if he’s hot, and available, and I really, really want this? I can’t forgive him for what he did to my sister.

I can’t.

Anger replaces the desire coursing through every inch of me, and I stand up in the tub, not caring if it puts every part of me on display.

Brady takes an awkward step to the side, not sure what I’m doing.

Without looking at him, I climb out, narrowly avoiding stepping on the broken glass, and grab my robe, which I wrap around me tightly enough, but not too tight to cut off circulation.

“I’ll be back later to clean up the glass,” I say, my words terse. “I apologize for all of this.”

“Izzie…” Now Brady’s voice is soft. “Izzie, what’s going on?”

I start to leave, then turn back and grab the bottle of wine. I’m definitely going to need it.

I can feel Brady’s eyes on me, and I blush all over again, half in shame and half in curiosity, wondering what he thought when I stood in front of him for a moment, naked and dripping.

I shake my head and charge out the door.

The cooler air of Brady’s room is a shock, and I shiver as I make my way back to my own room, pretending that I can’t hear him calling my name again.

 

Brady

“Thomas!” Coach screams at me, gripping my helmet’s facemask. “What the fuck is your problem out there?”

The score is seven to zero. Not even halfway through the first quarter, and I’m already stinking up the place. We’re playing the worst team in the league, and they’ve already begun posting numbers on the scoreboard.

“Sorry, Coach,” I yell back over the stadium’s noise. “I’ll get my head back in the game.”

“I’d settle for you acting like you’ve been on a fucking football field before,” he says and then storms off, leaving me standing there on the sidelines with every news camera pointed at me.

Fucking wonderful.

I’m not trying to throw a shitty game. I can’t seem to stay focused on one thing these days.

Well, that’s not right.

When I’m running drills, I’m remembering something Izzie said about avocados being healthy fats.

When I’m in the weight room, I’m picturing Izzie there beside me.

Our defense takes to the field, so I pull off my helmet and sit on the bench, watching the plays on the tablet.

What Coach McGoy said was exactly what my college coach said to me. And he was right, just like McGoy is right.

I haven’t come this far to let another woman distract me from my game—from my future. I can’t let it happen again. I’ve got to get her out of my mind, before I lose everything.

Tossing the tablet to Joel, our equipment assistant, I throw my helmet back on as I run onto the field at the start of the second quarter.

Once in the huddle, I block everything else out—the crowd, the shitty first quarter I just played, and especially those little nagging doubts that I let creep in every once in a while.

The doubts that say I shouldn’t be here, that I’m not good enough to be a first-string QB in the NFL. I know those thoughts aren’t real.

I’ve proven myself time and again to myself, and every other fucking person, who dared to doubt me.

When they said I wasn’t focused enough, that I wasn’t disciplined enough, to make it at the college level, I proved them wrong by winning the Heisman.

Then, there were the assholes who said I wouldn’t be able to transfer my talent to the pro league, even though I posted top numbers at the Combine, and became a sought-after first-round draft pick.

For the rest of the game, I prove why I’m the best in the league, easily connecting with my running backs for a few touchdowns to even the score by the beginning of the fourth quarter.

I look over at the sidelines and think how much Liam would love to be here watching the game. Maybe I’ll have tickets for him at our next home game.

Thanks to Sean’s fifty-yard dash right at the end, we finish the game twenty to nineteen.

Not my best performance. Not by a longshot.

After I finish the post-game press interview where all they want to talk about is that scoreless first quarter, I run into Willis in the hall outside the locker room.

“Are you heading back to San Antonio now or with the team?” I ask.

“Now, why?”

“Think I can hitch a ride with you? Don’t think I can handle another noisy night on the team hall.”

“Sure, but Brady,” Willis says, coming up to put what feels like is supposed to be a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “This is your team. You’re going to have to start leading them at some point.”

Returning back home, all I can think about is enjoying some quiet and solitude before tomorrow’s team meeting. I know everyone will have a lot to say about my less-than-stellar performance in the first quarter when we review the game tape in the morning, and I don’t blame them.

But no one’s a bigger critic of me, than me.

Ever since I can remember, my football skills were my ticket out. Out of my childhood home, out of my hometown, out of obscurity. Playing a pick-up game with Liam, or helping Izzie make one of her skinless chicken dinners sounds like the answer to this shitty day.

Fuck anyone who says that a win is a win.

I flip on my bedroom light as I walk into the room. I’m just about to pop the game DVD into the player, when I notice golden light streaming in from the bathroom. And that’s when I hear the sound of glass breaking.

I walk into the bathroom, pushing open the almost-closed door to be greeted with a massive amount of steam.

Either someone broke into my house just to hotbox in my bathroom, or...yep, it’s a very naked team nutritionist and current house guest, lounging in my tub.

Well, not lounging really. More like startled, deer-in-headlights scared shitless.

But still smoking hot.

Not the homecoming I was expecting when I hopped on the early plane, but hey, it looks like this night is definitely looking up.

“Hi, Brady,” Izzie says with the cutest quiver in her voice.

Izzie warns me about the broken glass as I scan the room, taking it all in: enough candles to stock a Yankee Candle store, a half-empty wine bottle sitting precariously on the edge of the tub, and Izzie’s robe way on the other side of the room.

Interesting.

I think she’s going on about something, but really, all I can concentrate on is her, a drop-dead gorgeous woman dripping wet right in front of me.

Damn those fucking bubbles blocking my view of her tits. I can still see that there’s a bit more to them than those team polo shirts hint at.

I wonder if my position as the quarterback has enough pull to get those shapeless shirts permanently banned. It’s a crying shame to keep those babies hidden away under a layer of thick cotton.

If that had been any other woman but Izzie in my tub, I would have already stripped and jumped in the whirling tub to join her. But Izzie hasn’t exactly been given off flirty vibes to me.

She’s been downright immune to my considerable charms, which just amps my desire for her.

I’m just a red-blooded guy, after all.

Hell, up until this recent fucking morality clause cramping my style, I would have poured on the charm even with the ice queen and see where the night takes us.

She’s the one who made herself at home in my tub.

No harm in trying, right?

“You seem cozy,” I say, throwing some charm her way to see if she’ll bite.

But she shoots me down with talk of getting out of the tub—and not in the fun way I’ve already started picturing.

As she talks, I notice how flushed the hot water has made her face. Her skin is glowing, and her lips are swollen and red like she was stung by a bee. Or turned on.

I know I’m feeling something, enough that I need to change my stance as I’m standing here looking at her so I can hopefully discreetly rearrange my swelling package.

I lean back against the granite counter just a foot away from her, making sure every inch of her is still within my sight and tell her not to hurry. I’m still hopeful that we might really get to know each other tonight.

“Nice view,” I say, turning up the charm dial to eleven.

She leans forward like she might just invite me to join her.

A few more charming exchanges between us lead me to believe we’re on the same page.

I might have decided to come home early in order to have a quiet night, but I think it’s about to get a lot noisier. At least in my bed.

Shit, she’s even offering to drink wine with me.

Oh, honey, I’m a sure thing, I feel like telling her. You don’t have to get me drunk.

It’s now or never to make my move.

“Izzie,” I say, as I step away from the counter and in her direction.

And then, out of fucking nowhere, the chick goes crazy.

Like a four-year-old, or at least what I imagine a kid would do. Up until Liam, I’ve never spent any time around kids.

She puts her fingers in her ears saying, “I’m not listening...”

I’ve been with lots of women. Lots. And most have been completely sane.

The rare few who were a little, hmm, let’s say unusual, were more of a slash-my-tires, sleep-with-my-roommate kind of crazy.

I don’t think I know how to calm a grown woman down from a tantrum.

I’m not ready to throw the night away yet, though, so I give it my best shot by saying her name in a soothing voice.

It works, apparently.

Izzie stands up, the bubbles dripping from her wet body.

No, that’s not right. Her fucking sexy body. Her tits are full and perky with hard nipples, begging me to reach out and squeeze them.

Her waist is small enough to fit comfortably in my grasp, which is no surprise, given how often I see her in the weight room when no one else is in there.

But the best view is the one between her legs.

It’s a view I’d love to get a close-up look at. Well, for starters, at least.

The growing bulge in my pants turns into a full-on hard-on, testing the strength of my pants’ stitching.

Before I can reach for her and prove my theory about her tiny waist, she’s wrapped in her robe and leaving tiny wet footprints all through my bedroom.

I pause for a second at the bathroom door, watching her retreating shape disappear out of my room and down the hall. I have no doubt that I won’t be able to get that view out of my head for quite a while.

I’m also sure that I’ll never look at quiet, innocent Izzie the same way ever again.

I get the feeling there’s more to her than she lets on.

 

Izzie

My hands filled with overflowing grocery bags, I struggle across Brady’s foyer to the kitchen counter, hoping my arms won’t give out. Liam, right behind me, struggles with his own heavy bag. He’s such a great little helper.

“More fruit and veggies, I see,” Brady says as he grabs water from the fridge.

“Nice hydration choice,” I commend.

I wonder if I’m the only one who feels awkward after last night’s tub incident. Judging by the way Brady is staring at my ass, I’d say I’m the only embarrassed party around here.

“Brady, can we throw the ball around?” Liam asks, grabbing the football from the bench by the back door.

Both Brady and Liam are giving me a pleading look. The same look. The same everything, really, I’m starting to realize.

“Sure, go on out there, you two,” I say, taking a head of broccoli out of the reusable shopping bag. The boys head out to throw passes. “I’ll just be here slaving away.”

Brady hesitates by the back door until Liam says, “She’s just joking. She likes to chop vegetables all night long.”

“What a weirdo,” Brady says, ushering Liam out the door. Then he looks back and winks at me.

It isn’t long between Brady and Liam disappearing out the patio door to me hearing laughter coming from the backyard. The football sails past the sliding doors separating the patio from the kitchen.

I move down the counter a little so I have a view of both of them while I unload groceries. I often think of how amazingly proud Lucy would be of the smart little kid Liam has become.

Even before he was born, he was so loved and wanted. Sitting by my sister’s hospital bed, it didn’t really hit me that she really might not make it until she made me promise not to tell Brady about Liam.

I wanted to keep her promise. How can you deny a dying wish, after all? And up until now, keeping it hasn’t been a problem.

He lived his life, oblivious to Liam and I, and we lived ours. But now our lives are starting to entwine a little more every day.

As much as I loathed the thought of being in the same room with Brady when I first took this job—and feared Liam and Brady being in the same room—it feels different now. If I’m being honest with myself, seeing how amazing Brady is with Liam, the ease they have with each other, I wonder if I’m making the right decision by keeping this huge secret from them both.

The stir-fry is sizzling in the pan, and the brown rice is boiling away, giving me a chance to chop veggies to have at the ready in the fridge. I chuckle, thinking that Liam is right—I do love chopping stuff. I also love having a fuller house, like it was when Gigi and Pappy were still alive.

I walk to the back door and catch a glimpse of a shirtless Brady. He’s all ripped biceps and glistening chest in the evening sun. Suddenly, I remember sitting in that hot tub last night, alternating between wanting him to go away and wanting him to take me in his arms.

When I jumped out of the tub, there was a split second there that I considered running straight at him instead of away from him to the safety of my room. Pushing the thought of my body pressed against Brady’s, I open the door and step out.

“Time to eat, guys,” I say. Liam tosses the football onto the chaise lounge as they both head in. “A little hot for you out here?”

“Not used to the humidity,” Brady answers as he throws his t-shirt back on. “It’s going to turn to fall at some point, right?”

“Texas seasons are a little different than what you’re used to in New York,” I say. “It’ll get slightly less hot for a few days soon, then summer will come roaring back.”

“So…don’t get my wool coat out just yet?” Brady jokes, grabbing a plate and loading food onto it. “Or pack up my muscle shirts?” Brady flexes his biceps while Liam laughs.

All I can think about, though, is what a shame it would be to cover up those strong arms.

“No, definitely don’t put away your...your sleeveless shirts,” I manage to spit out.

“Can I eat in the living room?” Liam asks, oblivious to how Brady and I can’t seem to look away from each other. “The game’s about to start.”

Of course, any mention of sports, and my spell over Brady is broken.

“I vote yes,” Brady says, already heading into the living room with Liam. “It is for research, after all.” Another wink.

“Pay attention, Liam,” Brady says as he and Liam settle down beside each other on the couch, as if they’ve done it every night of Liam’s life, and I sink into the recliner just inches from Brady. “We’re going up against them week nine, so I’m going to need your advice, buddy.”

“They’ve got a good quarterback,” Liam says, “but not as good as you.”

“Thanks to a certain team nutritionist, I’m getting better every week,” Brady jokes. “Her smoothies would make a star athlete out of anybody.”

I smile at the compliment, realizing that Liam gets his ability to charm me into a later bedtime or an extra scoop of ice cream from his dad.

I don’t know that I’ve ever called Brady that. I know I’ve referred to him as the sperm donor. The man who killed my sister, sure.

But Liam’s dad? That seems a little too personal. A little too real. But that’s what he is.

I’m beginning to think a little more each day that it’s not fair to keep father and son apart. Promise or not, is it really my place to keep Brady from the truth about Liam?

My napkin falls to the floor, and Brady and I both reach for it at the same time. Our hands meet, followed closely by our eyes. As I look into his deep, blue eyes, I think how he can’t possibly be the same college kid who broke my sister’s heart into a million pieces.

The action on the TV breaks our gaze. I place the napkin securely under my plate. He might not be that same irresponsible kid, but I have no doubt he’s still the same hothead quarterback who just last season spent every night partying.

There might be glimpses of a mature man every once in a while, but I’m still not convinced that it’s enough to betray Lucy. These are the times when I could really use my big sister’s advice. The irony is that, if she were still alive, this would be her headache to deal with, not mine.

“Take your plate to the kitchen if you’re finished, Liam,” I say.

“But it’s the last quarter, can’t it wait?” Liam whines.

“I don’t care if it’s the last quarter, or the eighth quarter, for that matter,” I say, going into stern mom mode. “Take your plate in there now.”

“Aww, mom,” Liam protests while dragging his feet—and holding his dirty plate—toward the kitchen.

“Aww, mom,” Brady mimics, grabbing his plate and mine, and following Liam.

Yep. Keeping this secret—and my promise to Lucy—is getting harder and harder every day.

 

Brady

I glance over at myself in the mirror as I push the barbell up, focusing on my breathing so that I can make it to eighteen reps and finish my set.

I’ve been told in the past that my bench press form isn’t so great sometimes; I get distracted by my damn good looks, so I always double check when I’m lifting.

That, and it never hurts to boost the old ego a bit.

Lookin’ good, Brady, lookin’ good.

I smirk at my own reflection and get back to concentrating on my lift, taking a deep breath. I exhale as I thrust upwards, careful not to lock my elbows.

I lower it down again—almost done, just six more—when I see coach walking by. I quickly look away. Maybe if I act like I don’t see him, he’ll keep going.

But no such luck; he catches a glimpse of me and nods, walking over. I continue to pretend that I don’t see him and instead look straight up at my grip on the bar and the spinning blades of the gym’s ceiling fan.

“Brady!”

I can hear him call out, but I’ve got headphones in so I keep staring straight up, avoiding him.

“Brady!”

He’s more insistent this time and walks right over, yanking one of my ear.

“Coach, what the fuck?”

He looms over me with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning.

“When I’m talking to you, you answer. Hear me?”

I growl and lift the bar up to the barbell rack, huffing as I slide forward and sit up, glaring at him. I point exaggeratedly to my headphones, and I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“Headphones! I didn’t hear you. And you know,” I snap in between panting and catching my breath, “for a football coach, I think you need to respect your players’ workouts more, not interrupt them and whine when they don’t answer you right away.”

“I saw you ignoring me, Brady. Don’t start with that shit.”

“Uh huh. Anyway, what is it?”

His eyes narrow at me, and he tilts his head, nodding at my water bottle.

“What’s in the bottle?”

I look at my bottle, then back at him. I give him a bewildered expression.

What is this? A damned interrogation?

“Uhhh, water?”

“Last time I checked, water wasn’t orange.”

I glanced back at the bottle again and nodded, then back to coach with a defiant smirk.

“Yeah, Izzie gave me some flavored vitamin mixture to add to my water. Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head and looks at me skeptically, glancing around the gym to make sure no one else is watching or listening.

“You two seem mighty friendly all of a sudden.”

“Oh, yeah,” I scoff, taking a drink. “We’re best pals now, don’t you know?”

“Brady, don’t sass me. Do I need to remind you that she’s an employee and is off limits?”

Seriously, what an ass. If I wasn’t in such hot water, I’d clock him right in the jaw for talking to me like that. Who does he think he is?

He’s the asshole who essentially gets to decide if I get to keep playing football or not, that’s who. And he knows it, the son of a bitch.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

I stand from the bench and throw a sarcastic smile in his direction before I grab my towel, wiping my face as I walk towards the cardio section.

He follows me at my heels like an insistent puppy and continues to berate me and stare me down as I adjust the settings on the treadmill.

“Listen up, kid,” he scolds. “I know she’s a pretty young thing, and you’re this hot-shot football player who thinks he can do whatever he wants, but you’re skating on thin ice here.”

I roll my eyes and hit the start button, reaching for my headphones as I start to jog on the belt. But before I can grab my headphones, he yanks it from my reach and hits the stop button, looking me in the eyes.

“I’m serious, Brady. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Okay, seriously? What’s your problem? I haven’t done anything, and we’re just friends.”

As much as I’d like the last part of that sentence to be a lie, it was in fact completely true.

Sure, I’d flirted and dropped hints, and even invited her and the little guy to stay with me, but nothing’s happened. As cocky and hot-headed as I am, I really do need this contract to stay intact. Football is way too important for me to risk losing it.

He huffs and rubs his jaw, clearly frustrated.

“Really? And she and the kid are staying with you because you’re just friends?”

“Coach, c’mon,” I snap. “Everyone on the team—including you— knows that her house is infested with termites right now. She needed some place to go.”

He laughs and looks at me up and down, bracing himself against the treadmill as he shakes his head at me.

“Yeah, and you’re the poster boy for helping people out of the goodness of your heart, right?”

“Would you rather her go to some sleazy motel and have her job performance suffer? How do you think she’s gonna make all those fancy muffins and shit for our diet plan if all she’s got to work with is some dingy microwave and a toaster oven? This is for the benefit of myself and the team.”

He leans back and crosses his arms again, skepticism all over his face. His gaze narrows into mine, and I can tell he wants to believe me, but doesn’t—not yet.

“And the fact that our dietitian is an attractive young blonde has nothing to do with it? I’m not blind, Brady, I see the way you look at her.”

I smirk and shake my head at him.

“Have you seen the way the rest of the team looks at her too, coach? It’s not just me. Plus,” I add with a wink, “just because I’m on a diet, doesn’t mean I can’t take a peek at the dessert menu.”

I press the start button on the treadmill again and snatch my headphones from his grasp, plugging them into the jack on my iPod.

“Look, coach, I get it,” I say as I pick up my pace. “She’s off limits, my contract depends on me being a good boy, football is life, everything for the team, blah blah blah…”

He glares at me, and I throw my hands up in a mock surrender, smiling. He’s clearly not impressed, but seems to be tired of arguing his point, glancing at his watch and shaking his head.

“Alright, Brady, but I’m watching you. Your contract is very clear, and you’ve got no strikes left.”

I roll my eyes and grin as I tease him, putting a headphone in.

“Really, coach? A baseball reference to a football player? C’mon, you can do better than that.”

“Ugh! You’re impossible.”

He turns and stalks off back towards the locker room, muttering under his breath as he goes.

I laugh and shake my head, getting back to my jog. I put the other headphone in my ear.

Sure, it’s a contract, but there’s always a loophole or way out of those things, right? There’s got to be, and once I find out what it is…

Touchdown.

 

Izzie

It’s bye week for the team and it’s also my birthday. Combine that with the fact that Liam is spending another night at his friend’s place, as well as Alex and a few of our friends being free?

It’s the perfect recipe for birthday shenanigans.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. Being the official dietitian for the San Antonio Rangers is basically my dream, but a girl needs to let loose and have a break with the girls every now and then.

I’m so excited to see them all, but I’m more than certain I’m going to be interrogated on why I haven’t done the deed with any of them yet. Or why I haven’t had sex with anyone yet for that matter.

And truthfully, sex just never was really the priority for me. I had Liam to take care of from the time I was sixteen. I didn’t have time to date, or try to figure out how all of that worked.

But now that I’m constantly surrounded by testosterone-filled, competitive, sweaty men, it’s getting hard to ignore my own curiosities. This week is so well timed; I’m getting so worked up all day watching Brady—I mean the team—and it’s just a much-needed break.

When I had called Alex and told her that I was free for the night, she suggested we get the girls together and go dancing, to which I wholeheartedly agreed. It’s been way too long since I’ve had some fun with them; plus it’s my birthday, a perfect excuse to let my hair down and get a little wild, if you ask me.

Speaking of letting my hair down, while I’m putting the last spritz of hair spray into mine Alex struts behind me and strikes a pose in the mirror, giggling. Then, she gives me an exaggerated look up and down and whistles.

“Well,” she teases, “don’t you look just like a snack.”

I grin back at her in the mirror and blush, putting down my hairspray and smoothing my dress over my frame.

“Thanks.” I chirp, my cheeks getting slightly rosy. “So,” I start, changing the subject, “where do you want to go?”

She shrugs at me with a smile and walks over to the bed, sitting down.

“I dunno. The girls and I figured that since it’s your birthday, we should go somewhere new and exciting. What about that hot new dance club that just opened last week?”

I whip around and my eyes light up, excited at the thought of trying some place new for a change.

“Ohhh! That sounds like a great idea!”

I skip over to the bed and sit down next to Alex, leaning over to pick up my new shoes that she gave me for my birthday and slipping them on.

“Thanks again for the shoes, Alex,” I say with a smile, “they fit perfectly! And they’re surprisingly comfy, too.”

I extend my leg and admire the heels, turning my ankle about and chuckling as Alex oohh’s and ahh’s.

“Anything for you, Izzie,” she beams, “plus, it gave me an excuse to go shoe shopping and pick out these bad boys.”

She crossed one leg over the other and waved her foot, giggling and showing off her pair of brand new stilettos.

I roll my eyes and stand, giving myself one last once-over in the mirror to make sure I’m ready before turning back to Alex.

“Alright. Ready?”

She hops up and nods with a smile, grabbing her purse and pulling her phone out.

“Yep. I’ll text the girls to meet us there, you request the Uber.”

I pull up the app and set the destination, and soon after we make our way to the club.

I’m excited to meet up with the girls and have a carefree night of drinks and dancing, but my excitement quickly turns to apprehension when the Uber driver drops us off.

There are people queued up all the way down the street, and everyone in line already looks like they’ve been there a while; with impatient looks and irritated body language.

Uh-oh.

“Uhh, Alex?” I say, looking around for the girls, “Maybe we should head somewhere else, this place looks insane.”

Her eyes narrow as she scans the line, and they light up suddenly, spotting our friends about halfway through the throng of people.

“Nope,” she coos, “Look, just there.”

She points to the girls who are now waving at us, and I smile and wave back. We excitedly trot over and join them in the line, and Alex nudged my shoulder.

“See. Told you.”

“I don’t know,” I say, looking around at all the people standing outside, “everyone here already looks pretty fed up, and like they’ve been waiting a while.”

“Oh, come on, Izzie. It’ll be fine. And it’s your birthday! We need to do something special. A hot, new, sexy dance club is perfect.”

I sigh and smile back at her, nodding my head.

“Alright, Alex.”

We continue chatting, but after a while of waiting, our tone has gone from happy, to okay, to bored.

We’ve been in line for 45 minutes, and we’ve barely moved.

Alex looks around and scowls, muttering.

“What’s taking so long?”

“Maybe we should head somewhere else, Alex,” I suggest, glancing down at my watch, “we’ve been here a while and we haven’t budged. The only people they’ve let in are people they obviously know, or are on some guest list.”

She nods and lets and exasperated sigh out, pouting.

“Yeah, I guess this idea was a bust, sorry. Okay why don’t-Oh!”

Out of nowhere her eyes go wide and she’s got a hopeful smile spreading across her face, and she eagerly points towards the head of the line.

“Hey, Izzie, isn’t that what’s his name, Brady? That super hot football player who, for some reason you’re not having sex with?”

I whip around and gaze over at the club’s entrance, scanning the crowd.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

Sure enough, there he is, waltzing up to the doorway with a smile. The bouncer obviously knows him, too; he’s grinning back at him and already moving to unhook the velvet rope for him blocking the door.

I roll my eyes and nod my head.

“Yep, that’s him. It figures that they’d let him in.”

Alex looks at me incredulously and throws her hands up in the air.

“Well,” she laughs, “What are you waiting for? Wave him down.”

I raise my brows and shake my head at her, moving to leave.

“And why would I do that?”

“Uhh, because he’s our ticket in there?” She scoffs, getting on her tiptoes to glance over the crowd.

I shake my head again, and grab her hand to leave, but, apparently, she’s got other ideas.

She’s calling his name out and before I can make an exit, he looks over and spots me, that stupid, awful, sexy grin of his plastered across his face as he calls me over.

“Izzie!”

I give him a polite smile and a wave, and he gestures to one of the bouncers, waving us over.

Alex and the girls eagerly make their way towards him and I follow begrudgingly, wishing I had just told Alex to go to our regular spot.

This was supposed to be a fun night away from the stresses of work, and here at the club with us now, is the biggest stress of my job, and is our only way in.

No, you know what? It’s my damned birthday, and nothing is going to spoil that for me, not even Brady Thomas, the selfish jock boy himself.

Although, he is letting Liam and I stay with him, so I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on the guy. Liam seems to really like him too, which kills me. I want to hate the guy, and I do, but at the same time, he’s Liam’s dad. Not that he knows that, but still.

Ugh, no, this is my birthday. I’m not going to worry about that stuff tonight; I’m going to have fun.

We make our way to the front of the line—earning a few dirty glances from other people waiting in the process—and I introduce Alex and the girls to Brady and the other guys from the team that he’s with.

“What brings you ladies here tonight?” He asks, looking me over with a smile.

I can feel the heat in my cheeks and I blush under his gaze, nervous laughter escaping my lips as Alex takes charge and responds.

“Well,” she croons, “It’s Izzie here’s birthday tonight, and we wanted to celebrate.”

Brady turns to me and grins, raising his brows.

“It’s your birthday? Well, we can’t have you spending it with the local riff raff, can we?”

Before I can reply he chuckles and a security guard ushers us in past the bouncer.

We head inside, and I’m instantly confused because instead of leading us into the main area of the club, we’re taken up a flight of stairs and into a separate area that’s roped off, another staff member letting us through as we go.

I look around the room that we’re led into and it’s stunning. Large, spacious, and it has several leather couches, as well as a private bar and a crazy view of the rest of the club.

I turn to Brady and he smirks at me as I glance around in awe.

“Happy birthday, Izzie. Welcome to the VIP room.”

He sits down on one of the couches and starts making an order, and I can feel the corners of my lips turning upwards into a smile, as much as I fight it.

A private VIP room and our own bartender on my birthday? Maybe running into Brady wasn’t so bad, after all.