Page 106 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Brody.”

“I had a nanny who used to say my name that way.” And when I keep staring him down, unamused, Brody eventually nods. “I’ve acted illogically and immaturely every time Jesse’s been around, and I don’t even want to guess how it’s going to be once he’s moved back full-time. And . . .” He reddens just a little and looks down.

“Yes?” It’s a curious reversal of our normal relationship dynamic, where Brody—despite his experience—is the uncertain one.

“People here generally like me more than they like Jesse. They’re worried I might not stay, which they’ve said pretty frequently and freely when they stop by the diner, but as far as they’re concerned, Jesse’s already proven he wanted to leave. So . . . most of the town-not-town is Team Brody.”

“And you figured you’d, what? Recruit Lake Arrowhead to persuade me?”

He nods, and I’m so exasperated I don’t even know what to do with myself.

“Given enough time, I’m sure I can convert you too.”

I could disabuse him of his misconceptions, tell him I’ve been falling, may have already fallen, but Brody would surely use that to his advantage. More than that . . . I’m too angry to reassure him.

“Also, I’m not positive you’re over Jesse.”

“Fascinating.” Forget angry, which I thought I was a moment ago. Never mind furious. Those descriptors are far too tame to encompass the multitudinous rage I feel toward this dipshit.

A dipshit I’m almost certainly in love with.

“Do please tell me more about how you think I feel.”

Brody brushes past this warning sign, too engrossed in his arguments. “You’re always more anxious around him. I’ve seen the wistful look you get when you’re watching Jesse with Sebastian.” He swallows and looks down again, as if the mere words are painful. “And while I know I can never replace that, I realized maybe it doesn’t matter. You can use me. Even if I never go back to law, I’ll never be poor, meaning that between my network and my wallet, there are endless doors I can open for Seba. Honestly, I’ll do it even if you don’t marry me, I’d just vastly prefer a life where you committed to me. Even if you never fall in love with me the way you might have with Jesse, I’m a good . . . distraction.”

Yup.

It’s official.

I’m in love with a dipshit.

A moronic, sexy, dim-witted dipshit who has apparently never been in love before and never had to conduct himself as a functioning human in an adult relationship.

“You were engaged, right?”

“Yes.” A pause where it’s clear he wants to say more, the barest hint of self-derision as he continues. “My grand unwedding.”

“And during that relationship did you ever . . . have to act as a normal adult?”

“Vi and I . . .” Brody’s cheeks redden. “It was a bit complicated and not completely my place to say.”

“Cool.” It sounds sarcastic and bitter, and knowing how much I would have hated it if the tables were turned, if Brody had given me this type of nothing answer, I try again. “I’m going to need a moment.”

In typical Brody fashion, his answer is almost immediate. “How long of a moment? You said twelve months at the poker party, but ten months just now . . .”

This, finally, draws a small laugh out of me. Even when he’s being a moron, he’s an observant one. “Some amount of time where you’re not seducing me around every corner, not bartering for backrubs⁠—”

“Which you still owe me.”

“—and letting me think and process. One week.” It’s the first unit of time that pops into my mind.

It’s completely arbitrary, and I don’t think anything of it until Brody asks, “Is that when Jesse starts at the hospital?”

“I don’t know, and also, it doesn’t matter. If you’d allowed me a moment to process, I would have told you that Jesse already made his move, suggested we considering rekindling our relationship. And, utilizing your astronomy metaphor, I let Jesse know he’s a beautiful part of my past.” Because it’s difficult to see the hope shining out of Brody’s eyes, I hold up a hand. “That does not, however, ameliorate the shit show that was tonight and your proposal.”

“Does this mean shit show is the new upper limit of vulgarity?” At my look, Brody holds both hands up in surrender.

“It means you have to give me a second. You have to take your stupid dimples, sexy tattoos and backstories, your charisma and inability to take things seriously and let me breathe.”