He wrapped a towel about his waist, and smacking his scrub brush against his thigh, he lumbered down the hall, headed for the communal bathroom. He hated sharing the facility with six other residents.
He had no other choice until he moved.
A large claw-foot tub had originally stood as proud as a lion on the cracked tile floor, only to be replaced by a bright new shower. Duffy had modernized, but hadn’t gotten a larger water tank. Only one person an hour could shower.
Someone was in that shower now.
Son of a bitch. He could hear the water streaming down. Loud and fast. The hot water going down the drain.
Brody stood in the hallway, simmering at a low boil. He tapped his bare foot loudly outside the door as if that would hurry along whoever was taking his sweet time. Who the hell was taking a shower this late at night?
He needed to get to Haunt and take part in the media coverage, both print and televised. An interview would turn his day around.
Afterward, he was dead certain a sexy vamp with bite-me red lips would be hunting for the Incredible Hulk.
Him.
He ignored the cleaning lady admiring his bare chest as he knocked loudly on the outer door leading to the bathroom and shower area. The woman crinkled her nose when she passed him, then fanned her face.
He sniffed his armpit. Damn, he was ripe. He’d sweated bullets after being pulled off the field in Miami. He hadn’t stopped sweating since.
No one answered his knock, so he pummeled the door.
The wood shook on its hinges.
Damn, he couldn’t wait any longer for that shower. He barged in to the community bath, which consisted of a toilet, closed shower, and dressing area.
He shrugged off the realization that he was going to surprise whoever was in the shower with his half-nude appearance. Brody never thought twice about wandering around the upstairs public area wearing only a towel wrapped around him.
The other tenants were used to his getting the carpet wet after taking a shower. He went so far as to do push-ups and squats in the hallway.
A ballplayer has to be in top shape, he liked to say, both in and out of the bedroom.
But what he now found hanging on the back of the bathroom door had him scratching his jaw. What the hell?
He checked out the short yellow mini and longer red gauze underskirt. He fingered the red satin top, cut to show cleavage. His brows raised over the thigh-high white stockings with perky red bows. A pair of black patent-leather heels were so high they made him dizzy.
Who the hell would wear that kind of getup?
The sound of shower spray filled his ears and steam rolled over him in gauzy waves. He sucked the warm mist into his lungs, then breathed out long and slow.
Mary.
Who else could it be? The other tenants were not the party type. The only person on the floor to go out at night was the retired librarian in 2C. She got off on bingo.
He had to be wrong about Mary. She went to church, had morals. She had no business hanging out at a club where costumes came off at the end of the night and sex was expected.
He could imagine her lost in the crowd, dressed to tease. A werewolf would sniff out her innocence, go on to nibble her neck, paw her—
No fuckin’ way. He was going to put a stop to this right now.
“I know you’re in there, Mary.” His voice echoed in the empty dressing room. “I want to see you. Now.”
The shower stopped. Immediately. Then silence.
Nothing.
Long minutes passed. What the hell was she doing? Shaving her legs, then her—
Brody cleared his throat. No, Mary wasn’t that kind of girl. Was she?
The sexy costume made him wonder. Had she changed? Maybe he didn’t know her anymore.
“Hi, Brody.” Mary Blanchard opened the door, a fluffy white chenille robe wrapped around her slim body. A pink bunny rabbit with buck teeth was sewn on the side pocket. She stood barefoot, her hair plastered to her skull.
The scent of her shower gel swelled between them, the fragrance fresh and clean, while he smelled like a skunk.
He eased the breath he’d been holding. Then let her have it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Prancing around in your bathrobe—”
“It’s more than you’re wearing.”
Her gaze was riveted to his bare chest. Was her face flushed from the hot water or his tight abs?
“Get dressed,” he ground out.
“As soon as I dry off.” She fluffed her hair with a second towel.
“You’re wasting my time.”
“You’re welcome to hop in the shower.”
“You’d look.”
“There’d be no surprises. I’ve seen you naked.”
He ignored that. Didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think about those days hanging out on Jasper Bridge in Plain, hugging and kissing. Touching each other with a hunger that made him ache.
He cut a look at her outfit. “What’s with the costume?”
“It’s Snow White. I plan to wear it to Haunt.”
Brody shook his head. “You’re not going to the opening tonight. Is that clear? It’s late, way past your bedtime.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she snapped back.
“We’re no longer officially engaged. I can do as I please.”
He glanced at her left hand. The ring was gone.
He hadn’t expected that.
“This life is not for you, Mary,” he said to her. “You’re not that kind of girl.”
“And what kind of girl is that?”
“A girl who would wear a costume that barely covers her ass.”
She reached for the white stockings with red bows, and her robe fell open. Brody got a great view of her legs, all bronzed and smooth.
His eyes shot up to her crotch.
Had she also shaved her—
He locked his jaw. What was wrong with him? This was his Mary, his high school sweetheart, not a baseball groupie he wanted to fuck to make him feel important.
He was a professional athlete.
A future Gold Glover and star of the Rogues.
Until that game in Miami.
When he took a nosedive.
And Mary had survived. She’d somehow stuck it out at the diner and Duffy hadn’t fired her ass.
He moved toward her until they were nose to nose. He was breathing fast, struggling to control himself so he could talk some sense into her—
While she remained defiant, strong. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, her hair tousled.