Page 188 of Rush
I heave a heavy sigh. The rhythm of scoop–nod–smile helps.
“That bad?”
“Mortimer asked if it was really over with Alex,” I mutter. “Like I’m stupid enough to force something with Alex when he doesn’t want me anymore.”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t say anything.
“I can’t control what he posts, and I don’t know why he’s doing it.”
Broderick listens as he works, giving me the space to get if off my chest.
“He says he’s worried about my future. My name. Wants me to pursue legal action or whatever. But really, he’s just projecting his own insecurities about blowing up our family with his indiscretions.”
Broderick nods once, eyes fixed on the line.
“Warned me not to be like my mother.”
He shakes his head. “Sheesh, low blow Mr. Montgomery, I hope you slapped him with a dinner roll.”
A laugh almost escapes me. “It was tempting.” It comes out resigned. “I’m not trying to play stepmom at twenty-three to my ex-boyfriend’s maybe-baby.”
Broderick bumps my elbow. “You’d be terrible at it.”
I nudge him back. “Thanks.” Already feeling a little lighter.
“Anytime.”
A little girl runs up, braids bouncing, three more trailing behind her like ducklings.
“Hello, Miss Keisha. Ladies,” Broderick says, tipping his head like a gentleman.
“Mr. Brody.” Keisha beams, pointing straight at me. “Issheyour girlfriend?”
“She’s so pretty,” one of the others whispers.
They all giggle.
Everything in me seizes.
My hand freezes mid-scoop. Heat shoots up my chest, floods my face. My ears ring.
Girlfriend.
The word knocks me off balance—sharp and small and stupid—pressing at a wound that hasn’t quite healed.
Broderick doesn’t miss a beat. “Girlfriend?” he repeats, scrunching his nose in mock disgust. “Eww. Cooties.”
The girls shriek, laughing like he’s a stand-up comic instead of the man I’ve come to know biblically.
I stand there, trying to remember how to breathe. My fingers tighten around the spoon. My mouth goes dry. My stomach flips.
He’s right there. Close enough that I can smell the mix of soap and sweat clinging to his shirt.
When I look up at him, he gives me a wink—and it shoots straight through me, but not between my thighs.
It hits my chest.
Hard.
