Page 8 of Brodie

“Oh, yeah, okay. Sounds good.” I hear him chuckle as hedisappears back into the elevator. Ignoring the nervous butterflies flyingaround in my stomach, I rush down the hall to my aunt’s apartment and use thekey card to let myself inside.

Chapter 4

Brodie

Standing in the lobby of the building, I watch the elevatorfor Reese while ignoring the group of women gathered on one of the couches nearthe entrance. All five are dressed similarly in barely-there dresses and shortshorts, whispering among each other while doing a horrible job of not making itobvious they’re talking about me.

It’s weird to think that I used to feed off that kind ofthing—feed off women throwing themselves at me and the constant attention.Then, I lost the only woman besides my mom that I’d ever loved because I cravedthe ego boost the other women gave me. I didn’t take my ex seriously when shetold me that the flirting bothered her, even if it was innocent. I thought shewas being dramatic. Looking back, I realize I expected her to put up with itbecause of who I am. It was stupid. I was stupid and immature.

“Hey.” I turn my head and look down at the blonde who brokeaway from her friends to approach me. “Are you Brodie Larsen?”

“No, sorry,” I deny, and she frowns, glancing back at herfriends before looking at me once more.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I give her a smile so I don’t come off like adick, then turn to the elevator when I hear the ding of the doors opening. Withmy hands tucked into the pockets of my shorts, I watch a group of people stepoff and then see Reese following behind them. I don’t know why I thought shewould look completely different. Maybe because I’m used to women going all outwith hair and makeup. But she’s as cute as she was by the pool, maybe evencuter with her glasses and her hair down, dressed casually in a pair of jeanshorts with a tank top and sandals. Looking around, she fidgets awkwardly, andI can’t help but smile.

“Reese,” I call, and she turns my way. Her shoulders seem tosag in relief as soon as our gazes lock. Yeah, she’s cute.

“Hey.” She walks toward me with a small smile. “Sorry I’mlate; the elevator took forever.”

“It’s all good.” I motion with my chin toward the door. “Areyou ready to go eat?”

“Yes, I’m starving. Do you know where you want to go?”

“I figured we’d walk down the street and stop whereversounds good if that works.”

“Totally.” I shorten my stride, and she falls into stepbeside me.

“Did you share the news of your acceptance with anyone?”

“I called my aunt.” She tips her head back to look up at me.“She’s happy for me, and I left a message for my mom. I haven’t heard back fromher yet.”

“I’m sure she will be proud.”

“Probably.” She shrugs as I wrap my hand around her elbow tomaneuver her around a crowd of people gathered in the middle of the sidewalk.When we reach one of the first restaurants, I stop at the menu posted outside.

“Do you like Italian?” I look down at her.

“I do,” she says, but her attention goes a bit farther downthe street. “But there’s a Greek place down a little ways that is supposed tobe really good.” Her gaze meets mine once more. “Do you like Greek food?”

“I love all food.”

“Do you mind if we check out the menu there?”

“Not at all.” We fall into step once more. When we get tothe restaurant, she takes her time looking at the menu. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” She looks up and down the street. “I’m sohungry everything sounds good, and now I can’t decide if I want a gyro, pastaprimavera, or a burger from the spot down the street I order from sometimes.”

“Pick a number between one and three.”

Her pretty brown eyes meet mine. “Two.”

“Greek, it is.” Her nose scrunches, making me laugh. “Youdon’t want a gyro?”

She looks at the menuwe’re still in front of, then at me. “Maybe you should just pick; otherwise, wemight never eat.”

“All right.” I take her elbow and walk with her past twomore restaurants to a diner I know offers almost every kind of food item youcould ask for. My teammates and I went there one night after hanging out anddrinking. “Have you been here?” I ask when we stop at the podium at the front.

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