Page 6 of Dirty Player
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t wearing clothes?”
I gaped at him, all six foot five inches clothed in jeans and a plain V-neck shirt, and looked down at my towel. It covered everything.
“You should have knocked.”
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
“I’m covered, you idiot.”
He peeked through his fingers before cringing. “Just like when I was ten.”
Idiot. I was thirteen and just out of a shower. He’d gotten a full view of my naked preteen body. He claimed it scarred him for life.
Laughing, I tightened the towel around my body and rolled my eyes. “You’re so stupid, Beaux. Seriously. I’m more covered now than I will be in the dress I was planning on wearing later.”
He’d talked me into hanging out with his teammates. I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t trying to seek attention. I’d had enough of being alone in the last few weeks, crashing on my best friend Melissa’s couch while I cataloged every single one of Patrick’s faults I could recall.
She’d been my best friend since college, where we’d met during our Introduction to Design class. She’d let me stay at her place after I left Patrick until I could figure out what else I wanted to do. I’d been gone from Des Moines for barely over a full day, and I already missed her like crazy.
“You’re wearing…what?”
I laughed at his aghast tone.
“Just this.” I held up a slinky, silver, sequined mini-dress with fringes at the bottom that only hung down mid-thigh. It’d been a Halloween costume, not something I’d wear to a bar. I had no idea how it had ended up in my suitcase.
His eyes bulged like I knew they would and a muscle popped in his neck. “You’re not.”
“I am.” I loosened my towel a smudge, taunting him. “And if you don’t leave now, you might see more than you bargained for.”
He spun on his heels, the sound of the door slamming behind him barely drowning out my laughter.
“Don’t wear the fucking dress!”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” I shouted back, laughing harder.
My brother. The protector and athletic mutant.
The NFL quarterback superstar.
The moron.
When we were together, we still acted like teenagers.
I dropped the towel and reached for a silky black dress instead. It dipped down past the center of my cleavage. One thin strap provided support across the back and hit almost as low as the fringed dress.
It was sexy in that sinful-wanting way.
I wanted the attention. It didn’t matter if it was for a night, a few hours, or a drink and just a look.
Walking in on Patrick fucking his co-worker at a party thrown for us by his firm had shaken my foundation. Damaged my ego.
But I’d promised not just myself, but also Melissa, that I’d throw my middle finger in the air as I left Des Moines and do whatever I needed to do to let go.
Even if it was only a few hours of pretending.
Fake it ‘til you make it, though, right?
That was Melissa’s advice. I was grabbing onto it with both hands and holding on as tightly as I could.
