The Tight End (Red's Tavern 6)

I’d really just said that. To Brody, of all people. And I hadn’t even had a sip of alcohol yet.

I didn’t know what had come over me. For a moment, all I could hear in my head were the pieces of advice Sam had been giving me all summer, and the advice Dani had slowly started to give me ever since she’d gotten a boyfriend.

Go for it, Logan.

Stop being so afraid.

If you see something you like, say so.

And so I’d done it. Something about Brody opening up to me had put me in a state of comfortable affection—I didn’t feel sorry for him, really, but I definitely wanted to show him how special he really was.

I felt like somebody else entirely. I couldn’t believe it myself. And when Brody looked at me like he wanted to lift me up, drag me off to some dark corner, and have his way with me, I was pretty sure I was going to explode.

I’d been bold. I’d flirted. I’d made it known just how much I liked looking at Brody. But now, of course, I had no clue what to do in the aftermath.

Now I really needed a drink.

Danielle and Sam were right. I didn’t usually drink, but I also hadn’t thought my tolerance would be so low that two beers would get me well on the way to tipsy.

Over the past hour, I had tossed back the two beers, probably way too fast. And then when Mike and Vance ordered themselves tequila shots, I joined in for one.

…And then another. And another, half an hour later.

Probably a mistake, and definitely tasted like shit, but I was having too much fun to care.

I knew I was looking at Brody a little bit too much. Lingering on him. I couldn’t look away. Even under the mostly dim bar lights and the pendant light at the center of our table, he looked like he’d just stepped out of an underwear ad. He was practically glowing all night after his win, and seeing him so relaxed made me realize how out-of-sorts he’d been at the house over the past week. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Tonight, I felt like I was finally living life instead of just reading about it. For once, it was nice to be in the action. Even if that action was just sharing some beers and shots with some people I never thought would even speak to me.

I was reaching over to grab the pitcher of beer when Brody leaned over toward me, the side of his shoulder pressing up against mine.

“You ready for our date tomorrow?” he said softly. His body was so close to me. His mouth so close to my ear. He smelled shower-fresh, no doubt from rinsing off in the locker room after his game. I wanted to lean in closer, to fall into his arms, to melt into him.

“It’s not a date,” I said.

“A study date,” he said, cocking his head to one side and giving me a small, lopsided smile.

“Do you have to be so sexy all of the time?” I murmured, my words coming out faster than my brain could stop them.

My heart rate ratcheted up immediately. My grip faltered, and with the condensation on the pitcher’s handle, it slipped right out of my hand.

Cold, fizzy liquid instantly spilled out onto the table in front of me, splashing over my shirt. My cheeks went hot and I let out a groan.

“Fuck,” I mumbled as the beer soaked into my shirt.

I was starting to realize why people liked drinking so much. I was definitely starting to get drunk, but I also knew deep down that I liked the excuse to tell Brody the things I normally filtered out. The things I normally shoved somewhere far away and locked in the box.

Now, I was saying whatever came to mind.

But also making a goddamn mess and spilling beer. That part wasn’t great.

“Cleanup on aisle three,” Mike said, laughing as he got up and grabbed a bunch of napkins to help out.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, groaning. “I’m not usually like this—”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Brody said, grabbing his own fistful of napkins and reaching over to pat down the front of my shirt. “At least this pitcher was almost empty. Vance spilled a full one last time we were here.”

“We don’t have to talk about that,” Vance said.

“Everything all right over here?” Sam said, appearing at the side of the table again and helping out with his bar rag.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I said. “I mean, not good, exactly, because the front of my shirt is soaked, but I’m not really that drunk. Maybe a little bit drunk.”

Sam giggled. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned in a moment with a fresh new Red’s Tavern t-shirt from the back of the store.