12. Chapter 12

"How the hell can you eat so much and still be so damn skinny?" I chuckle, watching Brynn shovel french fries dipped in cheese sauce into her mouth.

After we left the high school, she decided she wasn't ready to head home yet, so instead, she instructed our driver to take us to the closest Steak ‘N Shake. The drive to the 24-hour diner is quiet. Both of us are lost in our own thoughts from the ceremony. We've been friends, hell, best friends for two years. Never, not once, has she let on that she lost more than just her brother in that accident.

Blindsided. That's how I feel. And I've actually been blindsided by a two-hundred-fifty-pound defensive end.

Tonight's revelation hurt worse.

"Are you judging me, Quinton Alexander?" She looks up at me with her textbook smirk.

Grabbing her strawberry milkshake, she wraps her luscious lips around the straw, sucking up the creamy, thick drink. Something swirls in my body, rushing straight to my dick. Subtly, I reach down to adjust the chub forming in my pants.

"Hell no, I'm not judgin'. I'm just wondering which one of my teammates I should have you compete against in an eating contest?"

Picking up my double steak burger, I take another bite. The team nutritionist would have a fit if she could see my meal, but it's a bye week, and I'll work it off, no worries. There was no way I was passing up a delicious Steakburger, fries, and a cookie dough milkshake. Especially since it's what Brynn needed after the emotional whiplash she just endured. Watching her stuff bite after bite into her mouth brings a smile to my face.

I'm not mad at her. I'm bothered that she couldn't trust me with the whole story. A part of me wants to question our entire friendship. Was it all surface level for her? What else hasn't she told me?

Hell, she knows everything about my struggles with going pro, with my parents, and the lackluster relationships I have with my brothers thanks to my parents. The weight of the world is resting on me. Yeah, it might be a bit dramatic, but I'm constantly having conversations with the devil and angel on my shoulders. Constantly trying to unscramble what my hopes and dreams are, not the dreams that were planted like little seeds in my brain since birth.

"Hmm, if I were to have an eating competition with anyone on the team, who would I choose?" She ponders, bringing her hand up, as her skinny finger taps against her chin. The chin I love to grip between my fingers. "Harris. Yeah, definitely Harris."

I bust out laughing, garnering looks from the handful of other customers. Harris is our quarterback, and he's an animal when it comes to food. I don't know how the hell he can stay as fit as he does while consuming the amount of food he does. I once watched him eat a large pizza, twenty-five wings, and an order of breadsticks by himself.

"All right, after we win the Natty, I'm setting up some kind of eating competition between you and Harris."

"Deal," Brynn replies, reaching across the table to pluck a couple of my fries from my plate. She dips them in her cheese sauce before bringing them to her mouth.

Her fingers slide between her lips before she sucks them clean. For fuck's sake.

Our waitress appears back at our table. She slides the check onto the table while giving me another long perusal, a seductive smile spreading across her face.

"I hope everything was to your satisfaction," she says, talking to only me, not sparing Brynn a glance. "They'll separate your orders at the counter. I hope you'll come again."

Before she has a chance to walk away, Brynn chimes in. "Honey, here's a tip for you." The waitress pauses, turning back to our table excitedly. "Oh, I don't mean a monetary tip. I mean a life tip. Next time you serve a table with two people, don't flirt with the man. Believe me, that will not get you a bigger tip. It'll end up biting you in the ass one of these days."

"Excuse me," the waitress retorts, walking even closer to our table.

Which just spurs Brynn on. My girl doesn't hold back.

My girl? Where'd that come from?

Brynn reaches into her purse and pulls out two pennies. I know where this is going and Bitch Brynn is about to come out. Leaning back, I cross my arms waiting for the show to start. She places the two pennies on the table, sliding them toward our waitress.

"Here's my two cents for you. Next time a guy and girl are sitting at a table together, try to keep it in your pants and pay attention to the girl, not ogle her boyfriend. Believe me, the woman will control your tip. Oh, if you want a good tip, don't leave your phone number on the bill. That's definitely a ho move."

"You've got a lot of nerve—" our waitress starts before she's interrupted by Brynn again.

Brynn stands up, waving her pointer finger back and forth.

"Ah ah ah," she starts. "The customer is always right. Next time, drink a glass of water instead of looking so thirsty."

I can't help it, I laugh a deep hearty chuckle. Reaching down, I grab the check and place my hand on Brynn's lower back—where I notice her shiver—and gently, but firmly, move her toward the counter before there are more words. Bitch Brynn is feisty, and she's entertaining, but I'm not looking to get into any fights tonight. We leave our waitress standing there with her mouth floundering like a fish.

"Thirsty ho," Brynn murmurs under her breath.

After paying our bill, we climb into the car and head back to her house, much to Brynn's dismay. The ride home feels normal, a lot more normal than the drive to the diner. But I can't help but replay the conversation Brynn exchanged with our waitress. She called me her boyfriend. Never has she called me her boyfriend. We've had many encounters where girls flock to the two of us, it comes with the territory of being a star player at a D1 university. But she's never acted territorial before, and I kind of like it.

Shit, what's happening to me.

Brynn has always been the wild, easygoing, "never take things too serious" girl, but seeing her so vulnerable is doing something to me. Those feelings I've worked so hard to drown out are floating back up to the surface.

Get it together, Q. She's your best friend, that's all. You're here to be her emotional support friend, that's all.

Our driver pulls in front of the Wilders' home, and, after putting the car in park, he makes his way to Brynn's door and opens it for her. She thanks him before turning to walk up the front steps. I follow her inside, taking in the large expanse of the home. When we first arrived, time was not our friend so I didn"t get a chance to check out the estate. This place is insane. A two-story foyer greets us with a large chandelier in the center. There's a grand staircase leading to the upstairs with an open railed runway across the foyer, connecting the two wings. Board and batten accent the walls, making the home feel lavish.

"C'mon," she says, nudging me along. "There's a room I know you'll like." My mind goes straight to her bedroom. If Grant were here and he could hear my thoughts, I have no doubt he'd smack me or force me to tell her my feelings.

"Yeah, it's nice," she says, not stopping to watch me check out her home. "C'mon, there's a room I think you'll like even more."

Following her into the kitchen, I watch her remove her coat, and my eyes immediately drop to her ass. I can't help but appreciate the way it looks in her tight black jeans. Brynn's hot, I'm not blind. There've been many opportunities for me to notice her body, and oh have I. Hell, I am a guy after all. When a girl who looks like Brynn is in your eyesight, you appreciate her. Brynn is the type of girl who's blessed with good genetics. She's not one to work out, but somehow manages to keep her body toned.

Snapping back to reality and following her lead, I take off my coat and drape it across the back of the same barstool where Brynn placed hers. The kitchen is just as luxurious as I'd imagined. A French country design with creamy white cabinets, large black-paned windows, champagne hardware, and Sub-Zero appliances, it's a true chef's kitchen. The stove sits in a concave space with arched woodworking and a brick backsplash and there"s an oversized island with a smaller sink in the center.

It's incredible. I'm used to fancy houses, but there's just something about this house that makes it special. It's the difference between old money and new money. Nothing in our home has character. It's all modern and cold.

Brynn leads us through another doorway, which I discover leads to the butler's pantry. Not as elaborate as the main kitchen but still huge. She reaches into the fridge and pulls out two Stella Artois and two bottles of water.

Handing me the beer and water she finally speaks. "Stella is all we have, but I figured beer is beer." She pauses, sucking in a breath before slowly looking up at me, vulnerability and exhaustion are etched in her features. "I know there's a lot we need to talk about. A lot was thrown at you tonight, stuff I should've told you about a long time ago, but for tonight, can we just pretend?"

"Pretend what?" I ask, holding her eye contact.

It's there that I see the pain, the darkness she tries so desperately to hide under her mask. This is the real Brinley. The happy-go-lucky girl is just a facade that she uses as a disguise. Only I'm not everyone, and I want to see the real her. The Brinley Wilder that has warmed her way into my heart and my soul.

"Pretend that I haven't just kept a huge secret from you for the past two years. Pretend that I'm not as fucked up as I really am."

Pulling her into my arms, I hold her, feeling her body slump against me. It has to be exhausting to keep this inside, and then have everything unravel at your feet years later. Seeing her interact with her parents—which her dad didn't even acknowledge her tonight—it all makes sense on why she avoids Chicago.

"Yeah, we can pretend."

Seeing her so broken would have me agreeing to anything she wants. If pretending is what she needs, I'll agree. I'd do whatever I need to to get my Wilder back.

"Thank you," she whispers, squeezing me tighter before letting me go.

"Wilder," I say, before she has a chance to walk away. She doesn't turn around, just glances over her shoulder. "You're not fucked up. And I don't want to hear you call my best friend that again." My comment leaves her speechless.

Walking toward her, I run my thumb over her cheek. A breath catches in her chest. I see her pulse quicken.

Sliding past her, the two of us make our way out of the butler's pantry and into another room. It's the only room on this side of the house, and I can see why. It's a large media room with an oversized black sectional, a movie theater-sized projector, a table with a popcorn maker and snacks, and movie theater posters lining the wall.

"If it's alright with you, I thought we could just watch a movie tonight."

"Hell yeah! This room is sick."

Brinley grins before walking to the back of the room where a computer is set up.

"How about Get Out?"

"Fuck no! I'm already in the white one percent, I don't need that shit jinxing me." I shudder.

I hear her laugh, knowing that she's fucking with me.

Brynn's face is lit up by the screen, and it's the only light except for a couple of dimmed canned lights in the ceiling. I wander over to the snack cart where I discover fresh popcorn and a variety of movie theater boxed candy.

When did she have the time to get the popcorn made?

I fill a bucket with popcorn and pour melted butter on top. Once the bucket is full, I grab a few boxes of candy—Twizzlers for Brynn and Reese's Pieces for myself.

Making my way to the couch, I find a very comfortable Brynn curled up in the middle of the sectional, a fort of pillows nestled under her head and a fuzzy blanket covering her body. She looks spent—physically, mentally, and emotionally. I hand her the bag of Twizzlers before settling the bucket of popcorn down next to her. I take my spot on the other side of the couch. Toeing off my shoes, I make myself comfortable.

The opening credits of Cabin in the Woods start playing. Of course, she picks a scary movie. I've never met a girl as obsessed with scary movies as Brynn is.

Tonight, I'll let her have her way, but tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow, I'm breaking down the walls I didn't know were still standing. Tomorrow I'm getting answers.

A heavy weight is across my chest. My nose fills with the scent of vanilla and citrus as I inhale.

What the fuck?

Blinking open my eyes, I take in the semi-dark room. Light, almost white, strands of hair tickle my chin. That's when I realize that Brynn is sprawled out across my body, my arms wrapped around her body. And that's also when I realize that my morning wood is tenting my pants right next to her stomach.

Reaching my hand down, I tuck my boner in my waistband, willing him to go away.

I try to think of something, anything, besides the fact that Brynn is sleeping soundly curled up with me in only a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a sports bra. I swear she had a baggie sweatshirt on earlier. She must've gotten hot and decided to strip. Brynn stripping. Now that's something to imagine.

No, dammit Q, get it together. Thinking of Brynn stripping is not going to get rid of your current predicament.

Grams stripping.

Gag.

JP's gym bag.

Double gag.

Now that did it.

Do I wake her or let her sleep?

Shit, maybe I should close my eyes for a little bit longer. I can't remember the last time I actually got to sleep in and not wake up to a five o'clock alarm. Early morning strength training is kicking my ass, and we're only halfway through the season. I love weightlifting. There's nothing better than pushing my body to its limits, but there's also nothing better than getting to rest. During the season, my body screams for sleep. Between workouts, practices, meetings, classes, and maintaining somewhat of a social life, sleep always falls to the back burner.

Deciding to shut my eyes for a few more minutes of rest, I've just about dozed off when someone comes into the movie theater room. After last night"s awkward encounter with Brynn's parents, I decided to pretend I'm sleeping. Footsteps get closer, and I hear a long sigh along with a woman muttering.

"Seriously, Brinley," her mother snaps, nudging Brynn's shoulder.

Brynn starts to stir under my arms and, again, I think it's best to pretend I'm still sleeping. Slowly, Brynn lifts her head from my chest before darting into an upright position.

"Shit. Mother?" she says.

That's when I decided to open my eyes.

"Yes, it's your mother. What the hell are you doing?" she retorts, eyes bouncing from Brynn's half-naked body to me.

Knowing exactly what Mrs. Wilder must be thinking, I move to sit up as well.

"We fell asleep watching a movie. What's the big deal? You've walked in on me doing far worse."

"I definitely don't need a reminder of that, Brinley," her mother snaps again.

This is getting awkward. Clearing my throat, I run my hand over the back of my neck.

"Sorry Mrs. Wilder, we did fall asleep. Nothing suspect is going on under your roof," I speak up.

She glances over at me before her eyes dart back over to her daughter.

"I just wanted to remind you that you are to be at the Bellaire at six for cocktail hour. Hair and makeup will arrive at three. Be ready for them," Mrs. Wilder says in an exasperated voice before turning to leave.

My eyes track her hurried movements, making sure that Mrs. Wilder has left the room before turning back to Brynn. She's sitting upright with her legs folded in front of her, the blanket abandoned on the floor, her perfect handful-sized tits are on full display. I will my dick not to focus on how perfect they look in her tight bra. Her hands are folded in her lap. I watch her take lots of deep breaths and wonder what's going through her mind. I want so badly for her to let me in. All the way in. What I would give for a few minutes to deep dive in that beautiful mind of hers.

"Wilder, what does the receptionist at a sperm bank say as clients leave?"

She just looks at me, squinting her eyes with a dumbfounded expression painted on her face. I love when I stump her.

"Thanks for coming!"

She laughs. Like full deep laughter. Seeing that smile stretch across her face is like seeing the sun after a storm.

"I'm sure glad you decided to break the ice with a joke instead of me asking you about your camping trip this morning." She smirks.

"My camping trip?" I ask, puzzled. What the hell is she talking about? "Are you high?"

Another laugh. "No, I'm not high…I'm talking about that impressive tent you pitched this morning. No wonder the ladies keep throwing themselves at you."

I groan, dropping back against the couch. "Oh god, sorry about that. It's morning."

"I'm well aware you men can't control yourself in the mornings. Enough about your dick, we've got a big morning ahead of us."

"We do?"

"Yep," she says, popping the p. "Go get ready in something casual. I"ll meet you in forty-five minutes?"

Forty-five minutes later, I'm dressed in a pair of gray joggers, a navy hoodie, white sneakers, and a flat bill CTU Eagles hat, waiting on Brynn. One of the best things about Brynn is that she's far from high maintenance. Again, another reason why the two of us hit it off so easily. She's as down-to-earth as I am. I'm chilling in the front sitting room when she emerges dressed in a cropped gray hoodie, leggings that hug her delicious ass, a bag slung across her body, and her camel-colored coat. She's dressed casually, but damn, does she look hot.

Hell, here I go again, ogling her body.

"Ready?" she asks, dangling a set of car keys in her hand.

She doesn't wait for my answer as she slips out of the front door, skipping down the front steps toward a detached garage. She hits a button on the fob, and one of the four garage doors rises. Inside is a new cherry red Tesla S-APEX. Brynn hits the fob again, unlocking the car. Looking over at me, she gives a shit-eating grin.

"Climb in. We are heading into the city."

Holy. Fuck. This is one badass car. I mean, I drive a damn Tesla, but this is like the mother of all Teslas. I thought I overheard her dad talking about it to someone last night, but I didn't believe it. Now I'm seeing it with my own eyes. She's a beauty. And now I'm wondering if her dad has any clue that she has the keys to his car.

Hesitating to get in, I look over at Brynn, but she's already climbing into the car. She stops, sensing my pause.

"Q, get in the car." I do as she says and get in the car. Adjusting her seat, I watch her get comfortable behind the wheel. Wilder would make a fine model for cars. She looks sexy as hell behind the wheel.

As hesitant as I was about making this trip, I'm glad I told Brynn I'd be her emotional support date. There's not much I wouldn't do for this girl.

Now it's time for the truth; I've let her stall long enough.

But first, I'm going to enjoy this ride.