Page 91 of Only in Your Dreams

“A woman named…Belody?”

I manage a laugh. “The one and only.”

“Hypothetically, I do think that’s something he’d do.”

“And why would he do that?Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, I think he’d be the best person to answer that. But if I had to guess, I’d think he’d have heard something that made him feel as though Belody needed it. And he’d have wanted to do that for her.” Brooks studies me. “Was he wrong?”

“No,” I sigh. “I did need it. Really badly. But I just got out of a relationship where I was constantly showered with gifts, and that didn’t exactly turn out well.”

“What kind of stuff would he gift you?”

“Stupid, unnecessary stuff. Jewelry I never asked for. Clothes he said would suit me. He was very full-on with that kind of thing. Looking back, the red flags are blinding.”

“Do you see them here? With Zac?”

“I don’t. But I only saw Connor’s red flags in hindsight. How do I know I’m not making the same mistake?”

Brooks rubs a hand over his jaw. “It’s a good question. I’ve asked myself the same thing after my breakup. How can I tell that the next person I’m with wants me, and not the… I don’t know. The appeal of being with a pro athlete. Former athlete, I guess.”

“Have you come up with anything?” I ask hopefully.

Brooks smiles kindly. “Yes, actually. Getting burned the way I did, the way you did… finding out the person you were with wasn’t who you thought they were? It was a shit deal, Mels. But it’s a lesson I’m never letting go of. I know the signs now, know what to look for. And as much as I’d work to give that new person the benefit of the doubt, I won’t ever ignore my gut again. By the sounds of this conversation, you’re in the same place as I am.”

I clutch the denim jacket into fists. “My gut tells me he had good intentions,” I admit. “He listened to me, what I needed, and he gave it to me. Right?”

He grins. “I wasn’t there for your conversation. I can only really validate that by being biased.”

“Then please, be biased,” I say desperately. “Honestly, I really need someone to tell me I’m not crazy for believing he’s just that good of a guy. That he did it purely to make me happy.”

“As far as I’m concerned, if he wanted to hold it over your head or use it against you later, it would require him to tell you he was the one behind it,” Brooks says. “The whole thing is typical Zac. He did the same for me when I was trying to figure out my next move. Put in a good word for me with the Huskies, and never told me. It wasn’t hard to figure out he was behind it, but he never so much as let me buy him a drink as a thank you. If we ever talk about it in the months since I got this job, it’s because I bring it up.”

I think back to earlier in Zac’s office. How quickly he swept aside that he’s been replenishing my lip balms every time I lose one. And this? Having Brooks initiate a day of shopping with Summer, asking Callie to take credit for paying for it all. Brooks is right. It’s so Zac, it makes my heart ache.

I sigh deeply, losing the weight of the hour and a half since Callie’s drunk slip up. I nudge Brooks’s foot with mine. “You know, you’re kind of the best fake boyfriend I could’ve asked for.”

Brooks grins. “So far, so good, huh? Maybe it’ll be my next career move: Brooks Attwood, Professional Fake Boyfriend.”

“I think it’s kind of brilliant. And I’m proud to be your first.”

Chapter 22

Zac

Aseventeen to forty loss.

It was ugly, but there were flashes of good in there, too. It’s not quite right yet, but it was clear that with a little more time, the chemistry between Noah and Baby Clark Kent can turn into something special.

Special enough to get Noah playing in the NFL next season, and safely away from his destructive father. Special enough to get us some wins and keep my job.

But it’s hard to hang onto that optimism after a long team debrief, where no amount of inspirational talk could lift the guys from their dejected funk. And yet another press conference where people blatantly opined on the matter of my employment.

I’m out of my truck the second I kill the engine, moving for the inside of my house like I’m being chased by one of Mel’s imaginary axe murderers. But the truth is, I feel a lot like a depressed moth desperately searching for an open flame.

My flame happens to take the form of a stunning, sharp-tongued woman in a bright sundress, who brings me four-leaf clovers as good luck before a game.

This late, I expect to find Melody in bed. Instead, I follow the sweet smells coming from the kitchen to find her leaning into the fridge dressed down in a pair of drool-inducing leggings. The sight of her perfectly sculpted legs is more than enough to lift my mood. But then she straightens and I swear, if I didn’t just dart out to steady myself on the kitchen island, she’d find me on the floor.

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