Fine. Yes, I spent a little extra time on my hair and makeup this morning, but it wasn’t vanity. It was strategy.
I need to be confident and in control during this date, because if I’m not, Brady will slip past my defenses and then who knows what might happen?
A second date.
My pulse flutters and adrenaline floods my system, my body unable or unwilling to accept that this is a onetime thing, despite the fact that I’ve been chanting it like a mantra for the last four days.
The hostess smiles and after a quick exchange, she leads me to the back of the restaurant where Brady’s seated in a quiet corner near the windows. His hooded eyes find mine the instant I enter the dining room and my belly gives a familiar tug.
It’s ridiculous to be nervous. I know that cerebrally. The man has seen me twirling around a pole in booty shorts and not much else, but tell that to the swarm of butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach.
Like me, he’s dressed casually in jeans and a forest green button up that accentuates his broad shoulders, the fabric stretched taught over the sculpted muscles of his arms and chest.
Sweet baby Jesus. Brady gets hotter every time I see him.
I don’t know how that’s possible, but I am so screwed. There’s was no way a single date will satisfy my desire for this man.
You’re not here to slake your thirst. You’re here to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.
Right. Priorities.
Brady climbs to his feet, a relieved smile spreading across his face as we approach the table.
I thank the hostess and then it’s just Brady and me. Alone.
“You came.” His tone is light, but there’s a vulnerability in his whiskey-colored eyes I rarely see in class.
“Of course.” I laugh, nervous energy bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. “Can’t have Waverly’s star tackle getting hurt on my account.”
Brady chuckles. “I’m no star, but my battered body thanks you, nonetheless.”
He pulls out my chair—because he really is the last living gentleman—and I lower myself into it, basking in the crisp, outdoorsy scent of his cologne.
It should be a crime for a guy to smell so good.
Brady takes his seat across from me and I reach for my menu, unsure where we go from here. I don’t know his dating history, but it’s been a minute for me and I’m not even sure where to start.
“I’ve never been here before.” He grabs his menu from the center of the table and opens it. “Have you?”
“No, but I’ve heard good things.”From Jenna.
The instant she found out we were meeting at the brewery, she began stalking their social accounts and reviews.
Silence falls as we study the menus, but it’s easy. There’s no awkward tension and Brady isn’t compelled to fill the silence.
I peek at him over the top of my menu. His beard is neatly trimmed and I’m pretty sure he’s had a haircut since I last saw him, but there’s no outward sign of nerves. The man is as cool as a cucumber while I’m freaking the fuck out.
Spectacular.
Clearly, I should’ve used the time I wasted on hair and makeup to do a few deep breathing exercises this morning.
A server approaches the table and I quickly make my drink selection.
She greets us both, introducing herself as Zoe, but then her attention seems to fix on Brady. I listen, feeling like a third wheel, as she recites the daily specials.
Not a star, my ass.
She obviously recognizes him as a Waverly football player. It’s in the way she arches her back, pushing her breasts out as she points to something in the menu, and in the way she holds eye contact just a little too long.
