Page 75 of Blitzing Emily

“You’re really doing this,” she said. He reached into a kitchen drawer for a flashlight.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

“I haven’t had a drink in two hours now. I also wouldn’t get behind the wheel if I wasn’t.” He reached out for her hand again. “Ready to go?”

Brandon parked his Land Rover a short distance from a swamp a couple of miles from his house. He handed her the flashlight.

“This is how it’s going to go. Tilt this up so I can see, but not so much that it scares them off.”

“Aren’t there frogs at the pet store?”

“Naww. This’ll be easy.” He kissed her forehead. “You stay up here, or you’re going to get really dirty.”

Emily watched him move away from her. The sky was brilliant with stars. The silence was broken by tall grass brushed by a soft breeze and what must have been a huge bullfrog looking for his girlfriend. Brandon was rustling around. She heard aplop, a muttered, “Shi— Shoot,” and Brandon spoke up. “Hey, sugar, tilt that flashlight in this direction.”

She turned the flashlight toward his voice and let out a gasp. “What happened to you?”

“It’s a little mud. Nothing to worry about.” He crouched down at the shoreline, looking intently into the water. “They’re here. Just gotta get one. You should see how many tadpoles there are.” He dipped his jar into the pond. “The frog’ll think he’s right at home.”

Emily inched her way down the bank. The tall grass brushed her calves as she moved along. It wasn’t muddy up here at all. As long as she stayed away from the swamp, everything was fine. Lost in thought, she walked along, eyes focused on him.

Brandon had left a party most fun-loving adult males would give an appendage to attend to help a little boy find his frog. He made it clear that he’d enjoy spending more time with that little boy. There were no cameras, no press, nobody that would see him and think he was a great guy. She now knew what it was about him she couldn’t resist, besides the way he looked.

This was who he was, instead of what he thought people wanted him to be. He wasn’t the shallow, stereotypical NFL star. Despite the show he put on for everyone else, she’d seen his gooey marshmallow center.

The things that meant the most to him were not found on a football field: his family, his friends. He didn’t care about the party his teammates were still at. He spent an hour wandering around in the mud to make a little boy happy. Suddenly, she was breathless.

Most of all, she wanted to be the person that made Brandon happy.

She skidded on a previously invisible patch of mud. Both feet slid out from under her, and she sat down hard.

“Ow!”

It didn’t really hurt. Her pride was dented, though. The flashlight flew into a nearby tuft of grass. She felt the cold, squishy, wet ground seeping through her cotton pants. The hands she tried to brace herself with were covered in mud, too. She shook off as much muck as possible. Shehatedgetting dirty. She wasn’t a big fan of wardrobe destruction, either.

Brandon hurried toward her. “You okay, sugar?”

“I’m fine. I feel a little stupid.” She reached out for the flashlight.

“I got it,” he told her, and he pulled her onto her feet. She saw his smile in the darkness. “I got you, too. You’re going to need a shower.” He walked her a few steps over to a dry patch of grass, and put the now-filthy flashlight back into her hand. “You’re sure you didn’t hurt yourself?”

“Of course not.”

He strode down the bank, approached the water’s edge, and dipped the jar into the water. She heard his triumphant, “Gotcha.”

He showed her the glass jar, which held an inch or so of dirty pond water, a rock, and a small green frog. “Let’s go home.”

She wasn’t the only one who needed a long, hot shower. Brandon was covered in mud from the waist down. His hands were filthy; he had mud in his hair. He was ecstatic.

“I haven’t had this much fun since college,” he told her. He glanced at his (evidently waterproof) watch. “His parents will be back by now. We’ll drop it off.”

Brandon stripped off his muddy jeans, shoes, and socks, tossing them into the backseat. She was horrified to note her beautiful ring had mud caked in it, too. When he saw her wiping her hands on the grass to clean them off a bit, he took off his t-shirt and handed it to her. “Use this.”

“So gross,” she muttered.

He fixed her with a flirtatious grin and said, “All that nasty mud must be really uncomfortable for you. Maybe you should take your pants off, too.”

She let out a gasp. “I don’t think so.”

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