Mostly because she was one hundred percent correct.
Brody Murphy would be seeing me in my underwear at the soonest possible opportunity.
16
"Why am I nervous?" I asked Sierra.
I dug into the bottom drawer of the desk for my purse and hauled it over to the mirror hanging on the wall. I had five minutes to touch up my minimal make-up, pee, and leave the shop.
I fished the make-up bag out of the bottomless pit I called a purse and swept powder over my forehead, nose, and chin. Then I took a peach-flavored balm stick and rubbed it over my lips. The final result wasn't exactly daisy fresh, but definitely an improvement over the shiny, haggard visage from moments ago.
I didn't realize until I put the make-up bag away that Sierra had never answered me.
"Hey," I said as I turned to face her. "You never answered my question. Why am I so nervous?"
She glanced up from her computer and shrugged. "I don't know. You shouldn't be. It's going to be a PG rated event since Brody comes with his own little cockblocker and you've known the man for twenty years. I mean it's silly to be so unnerved by the guy. He's just a guy. Nothing that special." She smacked her palms on the desk on either side of her laptop. "I mean, so what if he has gorgeous hazel eyes and dimples? And so what if he's kind to little old ladies and small children? That doesn't necessarily mean he should make your brain turn to mush every time he looks at you. You're a grown ass woman. You've had boyfriends before. Lots of boyfriends. Some of them were even pretty serious. He's a poor woman's Zac Efron!"
By the time Sierra wound down, I understood that her impassioned speech had nothing to do with me or Brody and a lot more to do with his younger brother, Ben. Especially since Brody's eyes were bright, jade green rather than hazel, like Ben's.
"Speaking of hazel eyes, how is Ben?" I asked as I hefted my purse-slash-tote bag over my shoulder.
"How should I know?" she grumbled. As she spoke, she scooted down in the chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at me. Her body language screamed she knew exactly what I was asking.
I crossed my own arms over my chest and glared back at her. "Why are you so determined to hate Ben?"
"I don't hate him. We're actually friends. I, uh, actually think he's really cool and I like spending time with him. I just haven't had a male friend before."
My lip curled. "I don't think that's the problem at all. I think you like him a lot. And I think he likes you, too. I'd bet ten bucks he's already asked you out. Why haven't you said yes?" Her cheeks turned red and I knew I was on to something, but she spoke before I could dig deeper.
"That was before," she mumbled, her eyes dropping from mine.
"Before what?"
"Before I knew you were serious about Brody."
"What?" I asked. "How does that have anything to do with whether or not you go out with Ben?"
She looked at me again. "Look at my track record, Cam. I've never fallen in love. And when a man gets serious about me, I can't figure out a way to get out of there fast enough. How awkward do you think it would be if the same thing happened with Ben?"
"I think you're just looking for an excuse to keep him at arm's length. And you'd do the same even if he wasn't Brody's brother."
When she just looked at me, I threw my hands in the air. "Sierra, if you and Ben go out a few times and things fizzle, it's not going to mean that Brody and I break up. This isn't high school. Brody and I don't have to pick sides. If you like Ben, and it seems to me you like him more than anyone you've ever dated, you should go out with him."
She shook her head. "You know what? It doesn't matter right now. I haven't decided if I want to risk it or not, so it's a moot point." She glanced pointedly at her smart watch. "You're going to be late for dinner if you don't leave in the next thirty seconds."
I pointed a finger at her. "I'm letting you off the hook for right now, but we are going to talk about this later. Even if I have to duct tape you to the couch."
Sierra waved a hand at me. "Don't threaten me, little girl. I still have in my possession a certain video of you the week after finals our junior year. I believe it contains quite a few interesting clips, such as you stripping off all your clothes and jumping into the fountain outside one of the fraternity houses just before dawn."
"That was seven years ago. Why should I care now?"
Sierra merely arched a brow at me. She looked entirely too smug. Probably because she knew I would absolutely back down as soon as that video came up. Talk about humiliating college moments.
"Fine!" I pointed a much different finger in her direction. "You suck."
"Go to dinner. Flirt in that subtle way you have. And bring me back something."
I didn't deign to reply. I was still stung by her veiled threat to post that video. I had no doubt she would do it, but it also told me quite clearly how she felt about Ben Murphy. And it wasn't a casual attraction. Not if she was pulling out the big guns in her blackmail arsenal.
I winced when I saw the clock on the kitchen wall. Shit, I was definitely going to be late. I hurried out the back door before anyone could delay me further.
I was starving, for food and for Brody's presence.
The door to Brody's new house swung open and revealed a grinning Jacks.
"Hey, Cam!"
"Hi, Jacks. How are you today?"
She pulled the door open wide, leaning over and sweeping her arm out wide in an old-fashioned bow. "I'm wonderful. Please come in."
I choked back a laugh and stepped inside. A mouthwatering scent wafted through the house as soon as she shut the door behind me.
Jacks threw herself against my legs and hugged my waist. "Dad's cooking cream cheese chicken enchilada casserole." She made a face. "And salad. He said you might judge him if he doesn't feed us vegetables."
I couldn't hold back my laugh this time. I even snorted a little. Jacks laughed with me but I could tell she wasn't sure why we were laughing.
"I wouldn't judge him, sweetie," I told her. "I run an ice cream shop with not a piece of fruit or a vegetable in sight. Unless you count candied cherries."
"Now, you've ruined my excuse for forcing her to eat salad tonight," Brody groused as he came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.
Good Lord, the sight of him did things to me. Crazy, uncontrollable things. He wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of threadbare jeans that clung to his hips and thighs. And he was barefoot. I don't know why, but the sight of him in his element made my heart twist. He looked like home.
"Hey," I greeted him, unable to think of anything else to say.
Brody's eyes were hot and I knew that his mind had gone to the same place mine had and he liked it. Crap. Shit. Damn. There was a six-year-old present. Even she wouldn't be oblivious to the sexual tension for much longer.
Relief flooded me when the child in question piped in, "Do we still have to eat salad?"
Brody came closer and ruffled her long hair. "Yep. You still have to eat it."