Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

“Feel free to take a shower!” Bristol called out.

If I hadn’t been frozen to the bone from that fucking wind machine, I wouldn’t have taken her up on the offer, but I was, so into the shower I went. After a few minutes, I was clean and warm, though I did smell like a vanilla bean. The shower gel explained why Bristol often did, too.

How often does she shower here? I’d taken calls, texts, and emails from her just about every hour and day of the week since signing the contract, which told me she was putting in the hours.

I shut off the shower and wrapped a navy blue, soft terry towel around my waist as someone knocked on the door.

“Cormac?”

“Yep,” I answered, opening the door. Steam billowed out into the room.

Bristol’s eyes widened as her gaze worked its way down my body, hot enough to feel like a caress. When she reached the towel, she blinked a couple of times, then thrust a pile of clothes in my direction. “Here.”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” I teased, taking the clothes from her. “Pretty sure you know my measurements better than I do. And thanks.”

“Right. Of course.” She nodded, then backed away, bumping into the clear glass of her desk.

“Be right out.” I was still smiling as I shut the door and worked my legs into a pair of boxer briefs that had the Lusso logo on the band and a pair of slacks with the same. Barefoot, I opened the bathroom door to find her staring at the skyline, her arms crossed in front of her. “So, we’re doing underwear, now?”

Bristol’s cheeks pinkened slightly. “We already do underwear. I just grabbed those from the back. They’re not in my line or anything.” Her gaze went straight to the tat that crossed my collarbone.

“At least I won’t have to stand in front of a rain machine in my underwear,” I said with a grin, leaning back into the bathroom to grab the shirt she’d left for me. It was a soft, long-sleeved Henley, and the pattern inked across the collar startled me. It was a variation on my tattoo.

It was too close not to be intentional. My chest tightened up. It was…fuck, it was kind of, well, humbling to be the inspiration for something like that.

“These just came in,” I heard Angela mutter as I tugged the shirt over my head. “And Mr. Edwards is here.”

“Thank you,” Bristol muttered. “Cormac, are you ready for the interview?”

“Yep.” I hung the towel up—I wasn’t a Neanderthal—and walked out into the office barefoot, running a hand through my hair.

“Go ahead and show…him…in,” Bristol said, her words slowing as she saw me. “Damn, that looks even better on you than I imagined.” She pushed off her desk and closed the distance between us. “Fits like a dream,” she muttered, running her hands from the collar to the edges of my shoulders.

Her tone was clinical, but her touch felt…personal.

“It’s my—” I started.

“Here you go,” Angela said, opening the door.

“Thank you so much for making time for me,” Edwards said as he walked in, his gaze sweeping the room and lingering on the details.

“Absolutely. Would you like me to step out?” Bristol gestured to the sitting area, and Edwards took one of the wingback chairs.

“No, please stay.” He took the seat.

I sank into the other chair, and Bristol took the couch, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on the arm. I sent her a look that said our conversation about the shirt wasn’t over. She nodded once, then reached for a folder on the glass-topped coffee table as Angela handed us bottles of water.

“That was some shoot,” Edwards said, crossing his ankle over his knee and settling back into the chair as he took his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Do you mind if we record? It’s so much cleaner than taking notes.”

I shot Bristol a look with raised eyebrows.

“I’m good with it,” she answered, flipping through the contents of the folder.

“Go ahead,” I twisted open the top on my bottle as Edwards started in with the questions. About twenty minutes in, he got around to asking how I felt about endorsement deals, and where I felt a player’s branding came into play.

“I’m not really sure about being a brand,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “But I can tell you that I’m not going to put my face on a product I don’t believe in.”

“And you believe in Lusso?” he asked, his gaze darting toward Bristol.

“Absolutely. I’ve been wearing their tuxes for years. I consider it an honor to be the face of the new line.” I meant every word.

“And we’re honored to have you.” Bristol smiled, but there was something tight in the line of her mouth.

“And it’s probably not a hardship to fit in a couple commercials between games, huh?” Edwards grinned, his eyebrows rising. “I mean, especially not with those models.”