Unbroken (18 page)

Gasping from the sheer honesty behind his question, I decide against nodding. I want him to hear it, even though it’s only one word. “Yes.”

I close my eyes and will myself to go to sleep, listening as his breathing labors then slows, listening to him drift off into blissful oblivion. If I try to talk to him now, I’ll say some things I don’t mean to say, and I don’t want to do that.

Sleep comes easily.

Three hours later, when she sun is creeping over the horizon and rays of it is coming through the spaces between the blinds, I wake up to a weight of an arm splayed over my waist. I look over to find Brody sleeping soundly.

He snores a bit, which is actually really adorable. I grab his hand and lift it gingerly. Sitting up, I place his hand on the bed and climb out as quietly as possible. I don’t know when I decided I was going to sneak out of bed while he was sleeping like a thief in the night. But I’m doing it and out of his bedroom before I have the chance to think about it. Based on his schedule, he’ll be up in a little over an hour anyway. And after what happened yesterday, I’m certain he wouldn’t want to wake up next to me.

Once I’m safely in my own bedroom, I close the door.

I rush to my dresser drawer and pull out everything I’m going to need for the wedding this evening. I grab a strapless bra, my body wash, a thong, and then I head over to my closet to grab my towel. I tiptoe to the bathroom and turn on the water, sitting atop the extra space at the end of the bathtub while I wait for it to fill.

I slip the
liga
off of my wrist and use it to tie my hair into a bun, deciding it’s best if I don’t wash it. It’ll be easier to style later on if it’s still dirty.

There’s a bottle of lavender oil sitting on the edge, left from the last time Kelsey spent the night here. I could use an hour of relaxation before everyone else starts to stir and get up, plus I’ve got the grueling task of doing all the hair and makeup for the females who live in our house. It’s going to be hectic later today, so I may as well get my down time in now.

I pour some of the oil into the rising bathwater and inhale deeply as the steam rises and the lavender scent mixes with it.

Once it’s full, I turn the water off.

I stand up, stripping out of my tank top, boy shorts, and underwear. I toss the clothes into my designated hamper, then slowly lower myself into the soothing water.

Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rest my chin on my knees and try and solve the complicated puzzle that is Brody Durham.

FOURTEEN

SHE WASN’T IN MY BED when I woke up this morning.

That’s all I can think about as I watch her dance with her family in the center of the backyard of her Tia Adrianna’s house. She’s so vibrant when she’s in her element. It’s clear she was meant to always be in Los Angeles, always meant to be surrounded with people who enjoy life as much as she does. The carefree smile on her face as she continues to dance to this Spanish music is enchanting. I don’t understand what’s being said, but I love it because of what it does to her.

And let’s not even talk about the dress she’s wearing.

It’s this weird bluish-greenish color, and it’s short as all Hell, ending just a few inches below her fantastic ass. It hugs every dip and curve of her body, clinging to her and fitting like a glove. High heels accentuate her long, perfectly toned legs—the result of years of sports, running, and discipline. Her hair cascades down her back in loose waves, and her smile…well, it’s bright enough to light the entire city of L.A.

Things could have been awkward between us on the drive down here. However, she nipped that possibility in the bud when she volunteered to take the teen girls in her car, leaving room for me, Grace, Cason, and Mila in the Denali. I watched her every step from my spot in the backseat, ignoring the ache I felt at having to watch her walk away from me this time.

Her cousin Cynthia was a beautiful bride, and the ceremony was short and sweet. I was thankful for Grace’s knowledge of the Spanish language, because she translated to English for me whenever it was necessary. The ceremony is at Cynthia’s mother’s house, and she hasn’t taken her eyes off her new husband all evening long.

Every time I look at them, I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to have Sabrina look at me like that.

I glance at her in the middle of the crowd just in time to watch her stop dancing, lock eyes with some guy, and run over to him. She leaps into his arms and hugs him, and I immediately recognize him as the guy she was running with when I saw her at the park. I don’t like the way he holds her. I don’t like the way he looks at her. I don’t like the way he’s dancing with her, the way he has his hands on her waist like she’s his.

She’s mine.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

Before I even contemplate what I’m doing, I’m pushing through the crowd, all formalities and niceties forgotten. Once I’m standing directly in front of her, she sees me from over his shoulder. Her eyes light up immediately as a smile grows on her face.

“Mind if I cut in?” I ask him, tapping on his shoulder.

He turns around to face me, one hand still resting lazily on her hip, and he looks to her for permission. A knowing glance is exchanged between them and his hand drops. He steps away from her and gives me an easy smile.

“Sure thing, man. You take care of her.”

I raise an eyebrow at her as she watches him walk away. I don’t wait for her gaze to meet mine. I don’t waste any time in pulling her toward me. Hungrily grabbing her hips, I drag her so she’s pressed against me. Not noticing the roughness with which I’ve grabbed her, she drapes her arms around my neck and rests her head on my chest. We don’t really move, don’t really dance. We’re kind of just standing here, swaying. I know we look ridiculous, because just a second ago she was enjoying herself. Now, she’s stilled, her vibrancy faded away with the guy she was just dancing with.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” I ask her.

A small sigh escapes her lips. “No, there’s not. But I didn’t think I had to explain anything to you, honestly.”

“The guy.”

She leans her head back marginally, just enough to glare up at me. I love how she looks when she’s annoyed with me. But I hate how it feels. It feels like I’ve failed somehow, like I’ve done something wrong. I hate putting that look on her face.

“He’s no one.”

Before she has the chance to lay her head back on my chest, I tip her chin up with my thumb and emit a low growl. “Don’t lie to me. I saw you running with him before. I saw how he held you…how you looked at each other.”

She shakes her head and jerks it away from my touch like I’ve burned her.

“He’s
no one.
Not that I owe you a damn thing.”

Her words hurt more because the unspoken ones fall between us, another invisible wedge pushing us further apart.

You’re the one who owes me something
.

I do. I owe her everything. An explanation, for starters. I owe her a better first kiss. I owe her a long night of passionate lovemaking, during which time we’ll both admit what we feel about each other, and she’ll go to sleep in my arms, sated and thoroughly fucked.

She lays her head against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist as we continue to sway. I rest my chin atop her head, closing my eyes and reveling in being this close to her once more. Where I felt pain before at knowing I’d left her alone while she was hurting, it’s faded from an agonizing throb to a dull ache. I can’t get her close enough, can’t hold her tight enough. None of this is enough. I need more.

“I just need to know one thing, Dove,” I murmur into her hair. She groans obnoxiously, but I let it slide because I really want to know what her answer will be to my question. Her answer determines how the remainder of the night is going to play out. “Is he the reason you weren’t there when I woke up this morning?”

A tiny whimper escapes her lips, and it’s like she didn’t expect me to notice. Or care. But I do.

She shakes her head against me. “No. That would be the jerk who kissed me, made me cry, and then walked away like nothing happened.”

That’s all I needed to know. I have an effect on her. I make her squirm. If I’m a jerk, that means she cares about me enough to be mad at me. And that’s all I need now. To know I’m on her mind and whoever that guy was isn’t.

I pull away from her an inch or two, and one of my hands reaches around to grip the nape of her neck. Her head falls backward into my hand and with the other, I cup her cheek innocently. This ends here and now. Whatever standoff we’ve been having since I walked away last night is over.

“Good.”

She doesn’t have time to register what I’ve said, or the look on my face, or my intentions before I duck my head and slam my mouth to hers. She tenses completely, hands falling limply at her sides. She struggles for a moment, but the minute my tongue presses against her lips and makes its way past the barricade, she relaxes. She responds. Her hands grab me and tug on me, pulling me closer. Her tongue wars with mine, trying to take control. Small moans escape her lips and I pull away, breaking the kiss and breaking contact. Her eyes remain closed as I step back, and they snap open an instant before I walk away again.

I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT the Hell just happened. All I know is I’m hot and ready and craving more, more, more of whatever that was between us. And he’s walking away.

Again.

He’s getting so good at this, I know his backside better than I know his front side.

Well, fuck this. He is not going to play with my emotions. He doesn’t get to kiss me any time he feels like it, any time he feels threatened by one of my friends. He doesn’t get to take what he wants and leave me yearning for more.

“Hey!” I scream, barreling through the crowd of people and into my Tia Adrianna’s house as I chase after him.

He continues to walk away, not even looking back at me even though I know for damn sure he can hear me. As pissed as I am at him right now, I can’t help but admire the way that he walks, head held high and shoulders thrust back like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Its amazing how he puts on a show for the rest of the world, and I’m one of the select few who gets to see the real him.

“Turn around and look at me!” I get progressively more pissed off with every step he takes when finally, he turns around and his lips form a tight line. I stop short and catch my breath a bit before I shove his shoulder. “Don’t
do
that!”

“Don’t do what?” he asks.

He’s taunting me, I can feel it, but there’s not a single trace of a smile on his face.

Fucking asshole.

“Don’t kiss me! You can’t do that! We’re just friends, Brody!”

His gray eyes narrow and he stalks over to me, hands gripping my forearms and pushing me gently until I’m pressed up against the wall. He smirks a bit, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes completely. “You don’t want me to kiss you, Dove?”

Involuntarily, my tongue darts out and runs across my lower lip as I shake my head. “Not at all. And stop calling me that!”

Brody chuckles darkly, inching forward so that he’s mere centimeters from my face, and every inch of us is pressed together, touching, needing, wanting. Except for our lips, and the feel of his lips against mine is one I’ve craved for so long, and one my body desires right this second even though I’m telling him otherwise. Inhaling, I catch a whiff of his somehow intoxicating cologne, the one that has no name because he mixes two different ones together but smells so sexy and seductive and is just so…Brody.