Page 33 of Playing to Win

Chapter 12

Brooks

I can’t wait to see her face when our extra-large meat supreme pizza is delivered to the door. If I’m going to be forced to spend time with this woman, I might as well entertain myself in the process.

I continue trying to sit on the kitchen stool without thinking about how much I need to take a piss but I’ve turned gray in the time the woman has been in the shower.

Maybe she has an en suite, like in my place. I can’t take it any longer. If there’s no second toilet, I’m going to have to go to my own bathroom. I head toward her bedroom. I don’t hear the shower running but I do hear humming. A sweet, almost angelic sound that makes me think it can’t possibly be coming from such a hostile woman as Izzy.

I’m stopped in my tracks by a sight that has me swallowing hard. The bathroom door is ajar, the mirror above the sink steamed. I follow the foot that is raised onto the side of the sink. I follow it up a long, smooth, damn fine leg. I take a deep breath to calm my racing pulse as I watch Izzy’s hands move over her skin like she’s rubbing in body lotion.

Down, boy! Get the fuck down. She’s bad news.

I turn too quickly, wincing as the floor creaks beneath my feet. I walk straight for salvation, away from temptation. Before I close the apartment door behind me, I hear the bathroom door slam shut. Did she know? Did she want me to see that? Was the hand down the bra thing for my benefit too?

One thing I am certain of, this stupid PR exercise is going to end in two weeks and that spoiled, hot-as-hell brat is going back to London. Then my life will resume some sort of order. Back in my apartment, I unzip my pants and take my much-needed leak.

Before fastening my jeans again, I give my man a little stroke. Just a small one. I’m sorry, buddy. Give me two weeks, that’s all.

I grab two bottles of beer from my fridge before heading back to Izzy’s apartment, feeling like Tantalus. I shall not be tempted. I shall not.

Izzy is sitting on the sofa, wearing lounge bottoms and a T-shirt. A thin one. A thin white T-shirt. And she’s braless. I think of her personality and it’s enough to quash any sexual thoughts.

“Here.” I hand her a beer. “A congratulatory beer for publication day.”

“That almost sounded genuine. Thanks, but I don’t really drink.”

I lower myself into a lounge chair. “Don’t really?”

“I used to. Since I found fitness, I don’t like to put that stuff in my body. It has so many toxins.”

“Jesus, Izzy. People tell me to let my hair down. Compared to you, I feel like I have long curly locks blowing in the wind on the back of a Harley.”

“Hmm. Nice imagery. I can see you with long hair.”

“Drink it or don’t, but tonight, I need a beer.”

She nudges the beer away from her on the coffee table and I’m reminded of Cady as a four-year-old when I told her to eat her green beans.

Izzy hands me a pad of paper and a pen. “Shall we get started?”

“Sure. What’s your height?”

“Five six.”

“Weight?”

Her eyes narrow. “One sixteen.”

“One hundred and sixteen pounds? What are you, a child?”

“That’s within a healthy weight range. Do you treat all your clients like this?”

“Good point, well made. I’m just saying, you could do with adding a few pounds.”

She stares at me as she scoops up the beer bottle and drinks. “And you have far too much bulky-bulkersome going on.”

“Bulky-bulkersome?”

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