Page 32 of Break Out

Brody looks up at me, his mouth falling open. I don’t think he’s ever heard me curse that much in all our years as friends, especially about my family. I suck in a deep breath, locking eyes with him, hoping that he can read the sincerity in my face and that he really hears what I’m about to say.

“Brody, you were always good enough for me. I have never cared that you didn’t go to college. Heck, it wouldn’t have mattered to me if you didn’t make it to the NHL. But I’m so fucking proud of you. I hope you know that. You didn’t have to get your degree. Hell, you’ll never have to work a day in your life when you retire so there’s no reason to. But you did. I can’t even imagine how much dedication that took.” I shake my head.

His lips quirk up in a grin, but he doesn’t make a move toward me.

“Brody,” I rasp out. I want to kiss him again. Taste his lips.

“Aubrey?” He steps closer, boxing me in, one hand gripping my hip and the other propped against the top of the dresser. He leans in, and I close my eyes, breathing him in. “I’m going to kiss you again. And not because we need to practice kissing. Okay?” He ghosts his lips along my jaw, and I all but whimper. He pulls back, and I open my eyes, staring up at my best friend, who’s watching me like he wants to devour me.

“Okay?” he repeats, his gaze raking over my face, looking for what, I’m not sure.

“Yes. Please. Brod.”

That’s all it takes for him to crash his lips down on mine. I let out a whimper as his tongue darts out, seeking entrance. I open, letting him in. We get lost in each other for who knows how long until a knocking begins on the door. With a groan, Brody pulls back.

“Aubrey Elizabeth. Open up. You’d better not still be asleep.” My mother’s voice comes from the hallway. I roll my eyes.

Brody steps back, and I answer the door, even though I really don’t want to. No, I want to keep kissing my best friend. But I can’t. Because she’ll keep knocking, and I won’t hear the end of it if I ignore her.

My mother, Beatrice Rose Fairchild, stands on the other side of the door. Her short brown bob is neatly curled and pinned back. Not a hair out of place. Her knee-length navy-blue dress is free of wrinkles and paired with nude heels. The pearls around her neck match the barely there studs in her ears. She’s the picture of a compliant housewife, if this was the nineteen seventies. Except I know better—she’s not timid, nor is she a housewife.

No, she runs the family’s business, the biggest conglomerate of commercial real estate developers in Florida—heck, I think at this point it’s the biggest in the Southeast—although technically, my brother, Thad, is the CEO having taken over the role when my father died. But we all know that she’s the true boss. She’s cutthroat in and out of the boardroom. I don’t remember her always being this way. I remember a time when she was loving and caring. Or so I thought. Now, I don’t know what to think, given what Brody told me about my parents. Growing up I always believed they had mine and my siblings best interests at heart, but now I wonder if it was all about image for them.

“Yes, Mother,” I say to her, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice that she felt the need to show up at my hotel door.

“Aubrey. You’re not dressed yet.” Her eyes sweep down the length of my body before she sighs and glances at her watch tapping a perfectly manicured fingernail on it. “Brunch starts in thirty minutes. It’s a good thing I came by to check on you.”

“Thirty minutes is plenty of time for me to get dressed,” I protest, crossing my arms.

“And do your hair? And put on makeup? Good grief, Aubrey, you have no sense of time management.” She huffs with a shake of her hair and a hand on her pearl necklace.

“Did you need something, Mother?”

“To make sure you weren’t going to be late. It’s important you get there on time. And look presentable. Chet’s family will be there. Since you didn’t come to the engagement party, you haven’t met them yet. You need to make a good first impression.” I refrain from rolling my eyes at her, barely. She brushes a hand down her dress, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles. “I hope you brought something appropriate. This is not a shorts and T-shirt event.” She grimaces like wearing shorts and a T-shirt would be a personal affront to her.

“I did, Mother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed.”

I move to close the door but not before she has time to say, “Do your hair and makeup. Don’t be late, Aubrey. And make sure your boyfriend is also presentable.”

I don’t dignify her with a response, closing the door and collapsing back against it instead. I meet Brody’s gaze from across the room, noting the look of disgust on his face, his crossed arms, and his furrowed brows.

He takes two steps toward me. “Is she always like this? I thought she was bad when we were in high school, but that was ten times worse.” He visibly blanches.

I clench my jaw nodding.

“For fuck’s sake. Is she serious? She really thinks you’re going to be late? You’ve never been late in your life.” He studies me intently.

“I was late once. Once.” I hold up a finger, emphasizing my point. “And that was because there was an accident on the highway that caused a traffic jam. I left in plenty of time, but I still got to dinner late. That was three years ago. Now she’s convinced I’m going to be late if she doesn’t remind me or call me to make sure I’m managing my time well.”

“What was with the whole ‘make sure you wear something appropriate’ comment?” he grinds out, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Settle down, tiger.” I pat his chest. He growls and pulls me into him, then kisses me softly. I melt into him for a moment before remembering exactly who it is that I’m kissing. “Brody.” I pull back. “What are we doing?”

“Practicing kissing.”

I laugh, shaking my head at him. It’s not a lie, but that was more than us practicing kissing. “Okay. Let’s practice more later. We should get ready before we really are late.”

Brody nods and steps away from me. It doesn’t escape my notice that he adjusts himself as he walks away, and a thrill runs through me that I have that effect on him. Who would have thought? I shake my head and push the thoughts away like I told him we needed to.