Free Whatever Life Throws at You by Julie Cross Page B

instant his deflated shoulders rise and he’s Mr. Charming all over again.
    I shake my head and turn my attention back to the party. But less than twenty minutes later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I remove it, glancing quickly at the text I just got.
    BRODY: Have you seen the pool yet?
    I haven’t but obviously I’m about to because my legs have decided to stand up on their own and I’m already heading for the guesthouse door, leading out to the pool.
    The sky is clear outside and moonlight is bouncing off the water in the pool. Brody is now seated by the edge, his jeans rolled up and his feet dangling in. For barely a second, I debate going out there. He’s bound to piss me off and ruin my fun. That seems to be our norm. But then I remember the way he looked at me in the tunnel to the dugout right before the game and that feeling I got, that maybe I’d been the only one to tell him he belonged here.
    Be polite, Annie. But also cool. “How’s the water? Any icebergs in there?”
    Brody looks up at me and grins. “It’s warm. They probably spent a shit-ton of money heating this giant mass.”
    I nod toward the house. “Looks like one hell of a bash. Wouldn’t you have more fun inside than out here?”
    “They tried to feed me mushrooms and fish eggs. I had no choice but to bail.”
    I slip off my shoes and roll up the bottom of my jeans, taking a seat next to Brody. The water is warm. Probably eighty-something degrees. “Then you should be out celebrating. Finding some groupie girls that work at Hooters to hook up with.”
    “Hooters, huh? Chicken wings do sound good right now.” He laughs. “How’s your party?”
    Wow. Civil conversation with Jason Brody. Alert the media. And the Guinness Book of World Records . We need an official timer for this event.
    “It’s fine.” Through the tall living room windows, I spot two blondes in short black dresses with their noses practically pressed to the glass, eyeing Brody. They look like models. Like they should be lying across the hood of a sports car. Maybe a blue convertible that they’re willing to drive Brody around in. I tear my gaze from the house and swing my feet back and forth in the water, watching it ripple outward. “Lenny’s brother is an ass and Lenny’s IQ drops about a hundred points when she’s drunk.”
    “Doesn’t everyone’s?”
    “I guess.”
    We sit for a few minutes in a comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of two very different parties meshing together until Brody speaks up again. “Jim seems pretty excited about sticking around here for a while longer. How about you?”
    “Totally,” I say, feeling that relief all over again. But I’m waiting for him to bring up the fact that he’d been right about our position. And maybe he wasn’t just thinking of himself when he gave me that warning about Johnson. Polite small talk, Annie . “I bet your family’s pretty stoked. Did anyone come to the game?” He’s from Chicago, which isn’t that far away, so maybe his family came to watch.
    Brody’s face clouds over. “No one came.”
    “Well, did you at least talk to them after it was over?”
    He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything more.
    And then I remember what Dad said a few weeks ago: “Not everyone is lucky enough to have a parent who forces them to go to school and actually do well. Some kids get into trouble and have no one to help them out of it.”
    Shit . My stomach flutters with nerves and regret, my mouth falling open to utter an apology, but Brody quickly moves on to something else.
    “Thanks for what you said earlier…before the game.”
    His eyes meet mine and my heart quickens. Guess they were magic words after all. “You were amazing. Seriously,” I blurt out despite all my previous harassments regarding Brody’s questionable pitching talent.
    “I was a wreck.” His eyebrows lift, a silent reminder of his time spent in the bathroom stall before the game.
    “I barfed like three times