I look over to Brody, not realizing she worked here. “Um, maybe we should—”

“Leave?” He looks at Lindsay, his eyes hard. “Nope. This place has the best pizza in town, and Lindsay was telling me just today how much she was hoping to talk to you.”

“She was?” My gaze returns to Lindsay, confused.

Lindsay clears her throat, notepad and pen poised in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she says through gritted teeth. “About your ankle.”

Brody arches a brow. “And?” he prompts.

Her pretty green eyes shoot sparks. “And it won’t happen again.”

My mouth falls open, speech escaping me. Brody knew? He reaches across the table and takes both my hands in his. “My girlfriend appreciates the apology, Lindsay. You can bring us two cokes now, please.”

She makes a rapid escape and Brody lets go of me and sits back in his seat, amusement flashing across his face.

“How did you know?”

He shrugs. “I have my sources.”

My eyes narrow. Leah. “You’ve probably just riled her even more, you know. She won’t let this go now.”

“Oh she will. I told her if she didn’t leave you alone I’d have her kicked off the cheerleading team.”

“You can do that?”

Brody cocks his head and drawls, “I have a bit of power to wield around these here parts.”

It seems he does. “So now what?”

His eyes dance. “Do I get to tutor you on how a date works?”

I’m interested in hearing how it works for him, since he’s told me he doesn’t date. Leaning forward, I place my elbows on the table and give him my undivided attention. “Please. I’m all ears.”

Brody shrugs. “We share life stories while we eat dinner. Then I get to take you home and you let me kiss you.”

My brow arches. “Kiss me?”

Brody’s voice lowers and his eyes darken. I’m pulled in like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. “Everywhere.”

I cross my legs, clamping my thighs together. Holy hell, I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Thankfully a different waitress arrives with our drinks. She sets them down and I’m tempted to ask for the check so Brody can take me home and do it right now. Instead, I take a sip of coke. The icy drink pools in my belly, doing nothing to cool me off.

After placing an order for a pizza to share, the waitress disappears and I give Brody my attention. “So you start.”

His brows pull together, his answer short but not sweet. “Born and raised in Austin. My father’s a politician and my mother a society wife. Both can’t stand that I play football.”

“Why not?”

Brody huffs and picks up his drink. “It’s a barbarian’s sport.”

I don’t miss the hint of bitterness in his voice. “They don’t want you to play?”

“Of course not, but they allow it because …”

“Because why?” I prompt when he trails off.

Brody shrugs like he doesn’t care but the light in his eyes dims a little. Something inside him is hurting and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

“Because it’s all I’m good for.”

The matter-of-fact tone tells me it’s not a pity party he’s having. He believes it with all his heart. “Is that what they tell you, Brody?”

“They do. But they don’t need to, because it’s the truth.”

God help me. I swallow the ache in my throat. It slides down slowly, a painful lump that settles in the pit of my belly and makes my eyes burn.

How could they do that? And how do I tell him otherwise so he believes me? I don’t understand American football, but I know it requires more than just physical talent. It requires a smart, analytical mind. One Brody has. I’ve seen him use it on the field and it’s brilliant.

“What, you’re not going to sit there and tell me I’m wrong?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“No?” he echoes, leaning back in his seat when the waitress delivers our pizza. Spicy Italian scents the air between us but Brody barely notices. His eyes hold mine while she sets down a plate each in front of us along with napkins and cutlery. Her face colors when Brody eventually gives her his attention, asking her to bring another round of drinks.

“Why not?” he asks when she leaves.

“Because telling you you’re wrong isn’t going to make you believe it,” I say as we slide a piece each onto our plates.

Taking a huge bite, he chews and swallows before replying. “What will?”

“Showing you.”

“And how do you plan on showing me, Jordan Matilda Elliott?”

Swallowing my own mouthful of pizza, I set it on my plate and wipe my hands before picking up my drink. “I don’t plan on showing you, Brody Abraham Madden.” My lips curve impishly as I eye him over the rim of my glass. “You’re going to do that all by yourself.”

“So much faith.” Brody gestures with his glass like he’s toasting me. “This date should come with a disclaimer.”

“Oh?”

“No expectations.”

“Expectation is the root of all heartache,” I quote.

“Yes. That.” He points at me with the hand holding his glass before he takes a sip. We work our way through the pizza and when I’m comfortably full, Brody looks at me from across the table and says, “So it’s your turn now.”

“Born and raised in Sydney with a soccer ball at my feet. My father was a mechanic. My mother an accountant.”

The hand holding his pizza is halfway to his mouth when he pauses. Setting it back on his plate, he cocks his head and pins me with his eyes. I know what’s coming and my heart sinks. His voice is soft, yet I hear it over boisterous laughter and loud conversation. “Was?”

Are all dates supposed to be so deep and meaningful? This one makes me want to run and hide. I try to keep my tone light when my heart feels anything but. “They both died. Car accident.”

He’s silent for a moment. When he eventually reacts, he doesn’t speak. He simply reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. Tossing a bunch of notes on the table, he slides out and gets to his feet. Even the way he moves off the field is poetic. Biceps ripple powerfully and thigh muscles flex. People around us stop simply to watch.

On his feet beside me, he holds out his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” I echo, a quick glance taking in the leftover food and unfinished drinks sitting on the table.

“Yes. Go. Now.”

I take Brody’s hand and we head back to the car. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he says, looking over at me.

“I’m sorry about yours.”

Brody shrugs my comment away. “How long ago?”

I swallow. “Five years.”

“And here you are.”

“It’s what I’d always planned for. They wouldn’t want me giving up just because they aren’t around to see it.”

I’m so close to blubbering. I hate talking about them being gone. Brody must feel it because he changes the subject, his tone lighter. “So dating isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Perhaps it takes practice.”

“What are you saying?” Beeping the locks on the car, Brody grins and the somber mood we had going earlier lightens further. “We can call that our warm-up?”

“Maybe we can.”

He opens the passenger door for me to climb in. “I like your thinking, Elliott.”

Brody drives us beyond the city outskirts. We start passing open fields of tall grass. A light breeze is bending it all sideways in a silent symphony. It’s pretty and peaceful. “Where are we going?”

“Here,” he says, jerking his chin toward an empty paddock that he turns onto. The road isn’t smooth and we bounce in our seats as he turns off it and directly on the field. We reach the crest of a hill where he parks and turns off the ignition.

I stare out the front windscreen. There’s nothing out there. Just a rolling valley covered in grass and trees that stretch as far as the eye can see.

Shutting the door, I walk up the slight incline behind Brody. He sits down at the top of the crest and pats the grassy spot beside him.

“You didn’t mention this part when you explained our date.”

“I can’t give away all my secrets now, can I?”

The grass is a thick blanket on the ground and when I stretch out flat, the rich, earthy scent of soil sweeps over me. My eyes lift to the sky and that’s when I get it. It’s perfectly clear and millions of stars are scattered diamonds twinkling above us—bright and magical.