“Grant is terrified of you, but you’re also his idol. He alternates between excitement when you acknowledge him and fear he’s going to piss you off.” I round the corner to the kitchen, motioning for him to follow. A quick check of my fridge shows limited food options, and I move a bottle of salad dressing out of the way. “Do you want the bad news or the good news first?”
“Bad. I thrive off negativity.”
“I don’t have anything to eat.”
“And the good news?”
“The pizza place down the road is still open, and they make the best pineapple and ham pizza in the city.”
“You’re joking.” Brody leans against the counter, arms folded over his chest. The move shows off the veins in his forearms and more of his tattoos, and it’s unfair how goddamn attractive he is. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”
“Let me guess. You only like cheese and sauce. How boring.”
“You say boring, I say classic. We don’t need to reinvent things that have nothing wrong with them.”
“I bet you aren’t spontaneous.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“Just a hunch. Half cheese, half pineapple coming right up.” I laugh and grab my phone from my purse, putting in an order. “Should be ready in twenty minutes.”
“You’re making me live life on the edge tonight.”
“You can’t be too bothered. You’re still hanging around.” I head for the liquor cabinet in the living room. “Do you want a drink?”
“Are you going to have anything?”
“I could go for two fingers,” I murmur, looking at him over my shoulder. When I do, I catch his eyes moving away from my ass. There’s a guilty expression pulling at his lips. “Maybe three. I bet I could take it.”
THREE
HANNAH
“Hannah.”
Brody stares at me, my name a warning.
“What?” I feign innocence and stand on my toes to grab two glasses from the cabinet. Heat engulfs me from behind, his presence known before I can see him. His firm chest presses against my back. Our hands brush when we both reach for the decanter of liquor. “I’m talking about whiskey. What areyoutalking about?”
“You know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing anything.” I pour us each a drink. There’s barely any distance between us when I spin, facing him, and his fingers graze mine when he takes the glass from me. “Lighten up, birthday boy.”
“Cheers,” he says, a deep and rumbly tone I feel all over my body. We knock the drinks together and take a sip in unison. His eyes never leave mine while I swallow, and when I bring the glass away from my lips, Brody lifts his free hand. He brushes his thumb against the corner of my mouth where a drop of liquid sits. “That’s better.”
Holy hell.
I wonder if it’s scientifically possible to combust from a single touch, because I’m on the precipice of imploding.
I knew he was a large specimen of a man, but seeing his palm up close and knowing it could easily wrap around my throat nearly sends me into a tailspin.
I let out a laugh and move for the couch, sitting on the cushions. I pat the open space next to me, watching him drop his head back and stare at the ceiling.
“I shouldn’t.”
“Then don’t.” I shrug and sip my drink, turning to look out the window at the city lights twinkling below. “Makes no difference to me.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I notice him shift on his feet. He downs the rest of his whiskey in one swallow and sets the empty glass on a table before walking my way.
