The Proposal, page 2
“Hey, cutie,” he says, the words reaching me moments before the smooth, warm notes of his cologne toy with my senses. He slides his Aviators off, his lips twisting into a smirk.
A flurry of goose bumps rushes over my skin, intensified by the slight Australian accent he picked up while playing rugby there for the last few years. Somehow, it makes him more attractive, more desirable—an absolute dream.
Before I can reply, I’m bumped by Ella’s hand going to her hip.
“What are you doing here?” she asks Brock.
My brother doesn’t break his stride. Without missing a beat, he wraps one arm around her waist and hauls her into his chest. She starts to protest, but the words are quieted with a long, deep kiss.
I shake my head. “That didn’t take long.”
“I’m still mad,” Ella says through the corner of her mouth. The words are garbled, making us all laugh.
Renn removes his hat, stopping beside me. It’s as if he woke up, grabbed a shower, and tucked the strands under the cap without a second thought. The unruliness makes my fingers itch to comb through the tangled mess, digging my nails into his scalp until he moans.
He watches me intently as he tugs the brim over his head again.
Despite knowing him for nearly ten years, adjusting to his presence always takes a moment. I’ve wondered if being around him regularly, not just by chance when he’s with Brock, would make it easier. Could you ever get used to a man like this?
Everything about Renn is overwhelming. His stature, coming in at over six feet and two hundred thirty pounds. His body, which is nothing short of muscled, primed perfection. His confidence—a magnetic, main-character energy that makes you feel like a part of a larger story when he notices you.
I’m not sure this could ever get old, but I’d give it a try.
As if he reads my mind, he winks at me.
“I’m feeling left out,” I say, pretending to pout.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s my birthday, but Ella gets all the attention.” I grin. “How is that fair?”
His eyes brighten, and he closes the distance between us. “Say less.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Brock says, pulling away from a giggling Ella.
Renn holds my gaze but stops in his tracks. “You’re such a buzzkill, Brock.”
“Better than killing you, isn’t it?” Brock asks.
The playfulness of his words is cut with a sharp warning—to tread carefully. It’s a message heard loud and clear.
Brock is a bit overprotective. He was only nineteen when our mother died, and the court system made him my guardian. He left his rugby scholarship, moved into our childhood home, and ensured I graduated from high school the following year. Made sure I had dinner. Helped me grieve. Kept me out of trouble. And then somehow managed to settle Mom’s estate, get me into college, and himself back on the rugby pitch.
We’re close—more like friends than siblings. But there’s one murky, muddy line that we haven’t cleared. That line is Renn Brewer.
I blow out a breath and gather my wits. “What are you guys doing here, anyway? Just a happy coincidence?”
“Because he,” Renn says, rolling his eyes, “couldn’t manage to get his—”
“I didn’t want to be away from my baby sister on her thirtieth birthday,” Brock says, smiling facetiously.
Ella smacks his shoulder. “Oh, that’s why? Good to know because apparently, I was under the wrong impression.”
Brock sits on the chaise, pulling Ella down on his lap. “That’s not the only thing you’ll be under when we get to our room.”
Our room? “I—”
“I’m not getting under you, on you, or around you until you tell me why you’re here.” Ella shifts until she’s looking at Brock. “And you better come up with the right answer this time and enunciate it clearly.”
Brock sighs. “El—”
“Wait a minute,” I say, setting my bag on my chair. Sweat drips down my spine. “Let’s back up. There is no our room. We have one queen bed, Brock. You know that. You made the reservation.”
My brother looks at me warily.
“What?” I ask, unsure where this is going.
Renn’s hand slides across the small of my back. He slips behind me, lightly brushing his body against mine, before sitting beside my pool bag.
I force a swallow before chuckling, shaking my head at him.
His lips press together as if to hide a smile. Bastard.
“No need to worry. I took care of it,” Renn says.
“Took care of it?” I ask. “What’s that mean?”
He rests his elbows on his knees and looks at me through his long, thick lashes. “A suite has been secured, birthday girl.”
A suite? He booked us a suite? Us? As in the four of us?
“Brock is going to be making up with Ella since he pissed her off. Her ass will be in his bed all weekend, and you know it. So either stay with us too or sleep alone.” Renn smirks. “Or I can give them the suite and sleep with you in your room. Your call.”
I suck in a breath, the heat of his gaze melting me quicker than the desert sun.
“You two better knock it off—” Brock starts, but Ella springs to her feet.
“Since he pissed me off?” Her hands go to her hips again, her eyes narrowing at Renn.
I groan. Here we go.
Brock tugs on Ella’s arm, but she shrugs him away.
“Choose your words wisely because I’m already pissed at you,” she says to Renn.
“Oh no,” he deadpans. “You’re pissed? How will I survive?”
I cover my mouth and try not to laugh.
“You won’t if you keep it up,” Ella says. “I know you talked him into going with you to Miami. He went, so it’s his fault. But you’re the freaking Pied Piper of bad decisions.”
Renn sighs, turning on his playful smile. “Look, El, I’m sorry. I should’ve consulted you first. Of course. But my brother Tate scored tickets to a Beau McCrae concert, and they’re impossible to get. Can you really blame us?” He bats his lashes. “Please forgive me.”
Ella growls at him as Brock pulls her back onto his lap.
“Tickets to Beau McCrae? Sounds like I need to meet Tate,” I say.
Renn turns slowly toward me and lifts a brow. “Tate’s boring.”
The sentence sounds harmless, a vague description of a sibling being altogether uninteresting. But it isn’t. There’s a challenge embedded into the casualness of those two words—and I’m not sure why it’s so damn hot. But the fire he lit inside me earlier has been doused with a bucket of gasoline.
“Really?” I ask, smiling sweetly. “Because Tate sounds super interesting to me. And impressive. Beau McCrae tickets? Wow.”
Renn’s jaw sets into a hard line. That’s the real wow here.
“Oh, he’s impressive, Blakely,” Ella says, goading Renn. “You should follow Tate on Social. It’s a good, shirtless time.”
Brock buries his head in her neck, making her squeal.
“Ooh, will do,” I say.
“Do you even follow me?” Renn turns his palms to face the sky, annoyed.
“I don’t know.” Absolutely, I do. “Do you follow me?”
He drops his hands to his thighs. “I follow three people, and two of them pay me to.”
“Okay, so the short answer is no, you don’t.”
“Let’s get back to the suite subject,” Brock says. “It’s hot as hell out here.”
I drag my eyes from Renn’s and face my brother. “I don’t know why you think you can just barge in and take over my birthday party. It’s rude.”
“Because I’m me.”
“This was a girls’ weekend.” And my last chance to be wild and free. “You weren’t invited.”
Renn stands, stretching his arms over his head. It takes everything in me not to watch the hem of his shirt slip up his abdomen. “I invited him.”
What? “Um, you weren’t invited either.”
“I saw your face light up when you saw me coming,” he says, his smile smug. “Don’t pretend you want me to leave.”
I’ll ignore that. “We have plans tonight. Don’t we, Ella?”
She snickers at the memory of our earlier conversation—when she was adamant that Brock could kick rocks. “Yeah. That’s true. We do. Or we did.”
“We do.”
“So incorporate us into your plans.” Renn takes a step closer. “I’m a good time. Promise.”
I bet you are. Not that I’ll ever find out.
“Careful,” I say, tilting my chin to look up at him towering over me. “You’ve promised me that before and never followed through.”
His eyes blaze. “Tell me when, cutie.”
Our gazes slam together. The air between us crackles.
And this is where the ambiguity begins.
Our attraction is undeniable. It’s no secret. We flirt ruthlessly, fill conversations with sexual innuendo, and unnecessarily touch whenever we’re together.
But that’s where it ends.
That’s where it has to end.
Renn is the epitome of mistake. He’s the personification of the type of man I’m drawn to—the same type that is wrong for me.
Gorgeous. Charismatic. Skilled. And a bad-boy reputation.
He’s even taken it further than most by getting kicked out of rugby in Australia for excessive suspensions, disorderly conduct, and a social media error that will live in infamy.
Besides that—or because of it—Brock would lose his shit if anything happened between his friend and me.
And I promised myself I would make better decisions going forward anyway. My best decision is to keep a barrier between me and the sexy, chiseled, I can only imagine what he’s like in bed athlete.
I know that. I’m determined to stay safe in my self-care era. But damn, it’s hard.
He bites his lip.
I bet it’s really hard.
“We have a three-bedroom suite,” Brock says, side-eyeing his friend. “It’ll be safer up there, too.”
“No one paid any attention to Ella and me until you two arrived.”
Renn looks me up and down. “Doubt that.”
I ignore him. “If you wanted us to relax in peace this weekend, you shouldn’t have come.”
My heart squeezes as my brother pleads with me to acquiesce.
I appreciate that he wants to be here even though some of that has more to do with Ella than me. But even if she weren’t here, he would be.
Brock goes out of his way to ensure I don’t feel alone. We’re together every holiday, and he calls or texts me daily. I think my seventeen-year-old emotions when Mom died haunt him—my fear that we had only ourselves—because he does his best to make me feel safe and loved.
And that’s part of why he puts up with Renn’s and my antics.
Renn might be many things, but he’s loyal. Brock knows if I needed anything, I could call Renn, and he would come with no questions asked. I know that too. So if we keep things transparent, Brock gives our flirty behavior a pass.
Barely.
Brock sighs. “I want to spend the weekend celebrating you, and the fact that I get to use that time making up with Ella is a bonus. But if I’m here, we gotta take some precautions, B. You know how it is. I’m sorry.”
I frown.
“If you don’t want to hang out with them, we won’t,” Ella says. “I’m here for you, Blakely.”
“She wants to.” Renn picks up my bag and tries to slip it on his shoulder, but his tattooed arm won’t fit through the loop. Instead, he dangles it at his side. “Come on. We’ll let you have the biggest bedroom with the tub that overlooks the Strip.”
“That does sound nice …”
He touches my side, sending a bolt of energy through me. “Then let’s go.”
“If I agree to this, I want a birthday cake. A big one,” I say, shivering as Renn’s fingers press gently through my cover-up and into my bare skin.
“You got it,” Brock says, standing.
“A chocolate one.” I look up at Renn. “With ice cream.”
“Anything else?” Renn asks. An ornery grin settles on his kissable lips.
His fingertips press a touch harder, searing my body with his gentle yet purposeful touch.
I turn my back to my brother and settle my gaze on Renn’s. His jaw flexes, his eyes trained on my mouth. This is one of those moments where the line between playing and foreplay blurs.
Anything else? Such a broad question, Mr. Brewer.
Our eyes lock as I run through a litany of things that qualify as anything else.
His tongue caressing every part of my body. His hand wrapped around my ponytail, pulling my head back while he slams into me from behind. The taste of him as he comes in my mouth.
I grin. “That’ll be all.”
A low, throaty chuckle is his response.
I enjoy the mischief in his eyes before turning and following Ella toward the hotel.
CHAPTER 3
Blakely
“We need fifteen minutes,” Brock says, waiting for me to open the door.
Ella is tucked under his arm, her pool bag in his other hand. She gives me a look of victory, saying my brother is about to apologize to her in ways I’d rather not envision.
I touch the key card to the pad above the handle. They give me a headache.
“What do you want us to do?” I ask. “Stand in the hallway?”
“Fuck that. Take your fifteen in the suite, and I’ll help Blakely get their luggage,” Renn says.
Brock stares at him, unblinking.
“What? I’m being helpful. Do you want to fuck Ella in private or not?”
“Just announce it to the world, Renn,” Ella mumbles as a couple walks behind us. Unfortunately, her attempt at discretion fails.
“Uh, excuse me,” the man says, lightly tapping my brother on the shoulder. “Are you Renn Brewer and Brock Evans, by any chance?”
Ella slips away from Brock and follows me into our room because we know the drill. Fanboying, pictures, and a rehashing of the guys’ stats. An inquiry into the proposed expansion of the American Rugby League will follow this. A handshake so long that it’s painfully awkward will close the encounter—if they manage not to draw a crowd. If they do, it’s rinse and repeat.
“All of our unpacking for nothing,” I say, surveying the space.
“This room is a mess.” Ella sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ll tell Brock I’m helping you, and then we’ll go up together. I’m not leaving you to deal with this crap.”
“No. Go with him. It’ll be fine.”
“I can’t, with a clear conscience, leave you to do the work on your birthday trip, Blakely. Come on.”
I snort, swiping my Kindle by the lamp and tossing it into my carry-on. “Oh yes. Poor me. Leave me with Renn all alone. Boo-hoo.”
She laughs.
“I’m kidding.” Glancing up, I spot her lifted brow. “Okay, I’m not totally kidding. Things could be worse.”
“May I make an observation?”
“Sure.”
“That man is so into you, Blake.”
I fight a smile. “That man is into everyone, El.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You know it’s true,” I say, venturing to the window.
“Okay, he’s a bit of a playboy. I’ll give you that. But I highly doubt he looks at every woman like he looks at you.”
“It’s just his vibe, Ella. It’s a part of his charm.”
“He doesn’t look at me like that.”
I laugh. “Because Brock would kill him.”
“And he wouldn’t kill him over you?”
Point taken. I don’t look at her, or else she’ll see the dopey grin on my face.
It’s an ego boost to pretend that Renn is seriously into me. Who wouldn’t want to think that the man who could have any woman he wants chose them? His face sells magazines. His body sells apparel. He carries such confidence, such swagger, that the idea of him sells cologne. But pretending is a trap—one I can’t fall into.
Even if I was his type and Brock somehow got on board with it, Renn can’t give me the things I need in this stage of life. Love. Stability. A family.
And I deserve those things. I’m determined for my thirties to be my self-care era. Screwing around with Renn Brewer would certainly be self-sabotage.
The door creaks open.
“Come on, Ella. Let’s get the fuck out of here before we’re pinned down,” Brock says as Renn strides past him.
She gets up and dashes for the door. It slams behind her.
“Are we going to have a fan club out there when we leave?” I ask Renn.
“We mentioned that we aren’t staying on this floor. So I hope not.”
“The downfalls of fame.”
He grins. “It can’t be as bad as over the weekend.”
“How was Miami, anyway?” I ask.
“Aside from getting a police escort to leave the concert, we had a good time. Met up with Tate and Ripley—my other boring brother.”
I look at him and laugh. “How many brothers do you have again?”
“Too fucking many.”
“Are they all boring?”
“They’re all overrated.” He shoves off the wall and takes his phone out of his pocket. “Can you excuse me for a second? Or I can take it in the hall?”
I shrug. “Take it here. It’s fine.”
“Thanks.” He puts the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad,” he says, then pauses. “No, I did not say that. Ask Tate.” His forehead wrinkles as he listens. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information—wait. I do. Gannon told you that, and he can fuck right off.”
Yikes. I go into the bathroom to give him some privacy.
I try not to eavesdrop as I repack Ella’s and my toiletries. It takes a lot of effort to block out the richness of Renn’s tone and focus on the cream bottles and hair ties instead. His voice raises, then softens. It’s gruff, then smooth. I can only gather that someone, presumably his father, isn’t too happy.
As I zip the last cosmetics bag, I hear him end the call.
