“Wow, really? That makes my football thing seem a little tame,” I say.
“But is it true? Your football story?” he asks.
“Of course.” I frown.
“Then your story is better than mine.” He grins. “Because mine isn’t technically true. I did go backpacking and I did plan to climb Kilimanjaro, but I twisted my ankle getting off the coach before we started to climb it.”
“No way!” I laugh.
“Yes way,” he says laughing with me. “My buddies went ahead and climbed the mountain, while I was taken to a local hospital just to make sure I hadn’t broken any bones.”
“At least, I made it onto the pitch.” I laugh. I’m dying to ask him about France, but I’m afraid if I do, he’ll think I’m trying to steer the conversation back to work and so instead, I ask him about his time back packing.
“We went across Europe and then we went through Russia and across most of Asia,” he says. “What about you? Have you travelled much?”
“Not really. I’ve been on a few girly vacations to Spain and I’ve done city breaks here and there, but I never did the gap year thing. I’d like to travel more one day though. Where would you recommend?”
“It depends on what you’re looking for,” Brett says. “I really enjoyed India, but I know it’s not for everyone. Vietnam was great for culture and history and you can’t beat Italy for a good touristy spot mixed in with culture too.”
“I’ve always fancied Rome,” I say.
“It’s a beautiful city. I’d like to go back there one day. Especially now, since I’m a bit older and I might appreciate the sights a little more rather than spending most of my time in bars.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself just in time before I blurt out that we should go there together one day. Hell, what am I thinking? I’m letting my guard down way too far. I am losing it.
6
I’m glad for the interruption when the wait staff comes back again and clears away the remains of the main course, replacing it with a watermelon and kiwi fruit flavored mousse, decorated with an intricate sugar basket. “I can make these,” I say, nodding to the sugar basket.
“You should have led with that instead of the football story. Everyone loves someone who can make a mean dessert.” Brett laughs.
“If you think that’s impressive, you should try my chocolate chip cookies,” I joke.
“Don’t make jokes like that Opal. It’s just mean unless you plan on bringing a batch to the office one day.” Brett smiles.
“Oh, you never know, I just might do that,” I respond with a grin, glad we’ve moved on to a slightly less dangerous subject.
“I’m holding you to that,” Brett says.
Nodding, I smile again. It’s nice to chat to Brett in a more relaxed setting. I’m still totally enthralled by him and I still find my mind wandering to a place where he’s holding me in his arms, kissing me passionately, but it’s nice to see a less formal side to him. He’s smiling, laughing and sharing little things about his life with me. It’s nothing particularly meaningful, but still, it’s nice to see the man behind the corporate face a little bit.
As I listen to him telling me a story about a time at college when he and some of his friends where the victims of a rather embarrassing prank, I realize something. When Brett isn’t focused on work so much, not only is he smoking hot, but he’s also much more likeable as a person. When he’s smiling, laughing and talking to me this way, I don’t feel like he’s so much of an enigma. I feel like I could actually get past the cold corporate face and get to know him a bit.
Or maybe a lot.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. While I am most definitely enjoying his company, it’s dangerous, because finding out he’s funny and charming beneath the cool veneer he presents at work is only making me like him even more. And that’s bound to lead to me getting hurt.
“So basically, the night ended with me and three other guys stark naked and locked out of the dorms,” Brett says.
I realize I have missed most of his story as my mind wandered, but just that line alone is enough to give me the gist of it…I laugh and shake my head.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“We spent a very cold and uncomfortable night hiding out in a nearby shed.” Brett snickers. “And the next morning, we waited for someone to leave the dorms so we could slip inside. It must have been quite a sight for that poor guy. There he is, minding his own business, going for a run, when four naked guys rush past him and dart up the stairs.”
I giggle, picturing the scene. “I hope you got your own back.”
“Oh, we did,” Brett says. “Believe me, we did. We basically spent the rest of the year goofing around and pranking each other. As I’m sure you can imagine, my parents weren’t in the least bit impressed with my grades that year. But in the end, I buckled down and got my degree. Not because I wanted my father’s approval, but because I started to think seriously about what I would do after college. I knew my father wanted me to go and work for him, and I didn’t want to. I guess I realized that if I failed at school, I wouldn’t have many other options.”
“So your father paid for a fancy degree, so you’d go work for him and instead, that motivated you to not work for him?”
“Yup. Ironic huh?” Brett nodded.
“Indeed.” I smile. “But I have to ask. Why was the thought of working for your father so unbearable?”
“I guess because all of my life, it had just been assumed that’s what I
