Page 27 of Break Out

No. It’s not. But it needs to be.

“You okay?” Brody’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Yeah. Tired. It’s been a long day. I think I’m going to go shower.” It’s not the complete truth, but it’s also not a total lie. I am tired. It has been a long day.

Taking a deep breath, I pick up my carry-on bag from the couch and bring it into the bedroom. During dinner, I’d forgotten about my no suitcase predicament, but now I’m reminded of it as I pull out the one shirt and pair of shorts I have with me and hang them in the closet. I’m going to be so screwed if my suitcase doesn’t show up.

“Here,” Brody says as he hands me a pair of black athletic shorts and a well-worn Storm shirt over my shoulder.

“Thanks,” I say, spinning to face him. “I hope my luggage comes tomorrow because I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t. I can’t exactly wear shorts and a T-shirt to every event this week. Mother will kill me. I could ask Bri if I can borrow something, but we’re not exactly the same size. There’s got to be a store nearby or on one of the other islands where I can find some outfits, and I could—”

“Aubrey,” Brody says. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it tonight. There’s nothing we can do right now.”

I take a deep breath, hugging the clothes he handed me to my chest. “Okay. I’m gonna go shower now.”

Fifteen minutes later I feel like a new person. What is it about a shower after a day of travel that makes you feel like that? Dressed in Brody’s shirt and shorts that I had to fold a bunch of times so they didn’t fall down, that I absolutely did not spend a few seconds sniffing because they smell like him, I walk out to find him on the couch watching television.

“Your turn.”

Brody glances over at me, and I swear I see something in his expression akin to lust. But that’s not possible. Is it?

We’ve been friends since high school, since Brody made it perfectly clear to me that that’s all he wanted from me. Besides, his focus has always been on hockey, on his career, and mine was on getting my PhD and is now on my career. Plus, I’m moving to Hawaii, so the point is moot.

There can’t be an us.

A tiny voice in the back of my head pipes up and says that maybe the reason I’ve never been happy with any other guy is because they weren’t Brody. I give myself a mental shake. This is not the time or the place to be thinking about that. I need to focus on one thing and one thing only—surviving this week and making my fake relationship with Brody believable. Okay, so that’s two things. And, okay, a third thing, not ruin our friendship.

“Okay.” He stands and hands me the remote before picking up his suitcase and going into the bedroom.

I pull up the guide and flip through what’s on, smiling when I come across Seinfeld. Finally, something is going right for me on this trip. Settling back into the couch, I focus my attention on the television and try not to think about the fact that Brody is in the next room. Showering. Naked. Groaning, I close my eyes, trying to shut out the image, but that only makes it clearer.

Brody naked.

Brody hovering over me, naked in bed.

I groan again. What the hell is wrong with me? Lusting after my best friend.

“You okay?”

“Shit.” I jump, opening my eyes to see him standing next to me, his brown hair still wet, dressed in a different faded Orlando Storm shirt—how many Storm shirts does he have?—and a pair of gray sweatpants. There’s a crooked grin on his face like he somehow read my mind and knows what I was thinking about.

“Fine. Fine,” I mumble, turning my focus back to the television.

The couch dips next to me as he sits down. “Oh, I love this episode.”

I turn my attention from the screen to the man sitting next to me. “You do?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I binged the entire series over the All-Star break.”

Well, color me shocked.

“This is one of my favorite episodes,” I say.

We watch in silence for a while. When the credits come on, I hand the remote over to Brody and stand. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to head to bed.”

I make my way into the bathroom and brush my teeth. When I come out, he’s sitting on the end of the bed. I climb in and curl up under the covers, while he takes his turn.

“I’m going to call down to the front desk and see if they can send up an extra blanket,” he says a few minutes later.