Unsuitable Men Read Online Free Page B

bedroom. She could hear the activity downstairs; it sounded like the party was breaking up after all. Turning off all the lights in the suite, she crawled under the covers of the immense bed and hugged one of the pillows. She was tired, but unable to sleep, thinking about Brendan’s words: fifty percent of why you care is competition , he’d said.
    It was true that she felt competitive toward Meghan, but that wasn’t because she didn’t value him, it was because she did. But that didn’t change the fact that Brendan was the walking, talking epitome of what her mother had always told her could end in her ruin: a good-looking, fast-talking, fast-living, charming rascal; a man who seemed so easy and affable that he reeled you in, stole your heart and eventually, finally left you in shreds because he never had, and never could see you as anything more than a playmate.
    Not that Brendan would ever be at all mean about it; in fact, he was probably quite the opposite. He was the guy who would treat women like queens, whispered sweet nothings in their ear, all the while leading them out the front door, never to call again. He hadn’t done that to her because she’d avoided letting it get that far. There had only been the one time. And the only thing that complicated it was that she’d had to go on seeing him after that, and that they were friends. And that he was so damn sweet to her.
    Tracy shook her head as though hoping to shake out all thoughts of him and turned over, pulling the pillow closer. But he’d looked so good tonight. Smelled so good. And that smile.
    Who was he to smi le at her like that? Asshole.
     
     
    It was the Grammys . How could anyone avoid getting excited about the Grammys? When Riley mentioned it, Tracy had jumped at the chance. Not because she was a music fan necessarily, but she did enjoy glitz, glamour and any excuse to get dressed to the nines and hang out. The ceremony was only part of it. Shawn and Riley got A- lister seats and would be visible during the primetime broadcast, while Tracy sat with Brendan a couple of rows back. She didn’t care. She was within reach of the guys from OutKast , and could smell Keri Hilson’s perfume from where she sat. All through the show, Brendan had leaned in, telling her funny inside stories about some of the performers: like who had terrible B.O. after each performance, who kept vodka in their water bottle as he danced and sang his way his way half-intoxicated through every performance, and who made it a habit of sleeping with her dancers while banning her husband from her tour.
    Halfway through the show—which was way longer than one might think if they’d only ever watched it on television—Brendan had leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs in front of him, resting an arm across the back of Tracy’s chair as he stretched. And suddenly she was hyper-aware of him; his scent, his masculinity, the size of his hand resting on his thigh.
    During the second half of the show, it was obvious he was growing restless, as was she. The speeches had all begun to blend one into the other, and soon she didn’t care who won. She couldn’t even have said if Shawn’s category had gone by. Brendan seemed to sense this and without warning, he’d gripped her hand and pulled her up from her seat, leading her out through the back of the auditorium. Outside it had only just begun to get dark and they weren’t the only ones making a break for it. Some of the performers were getting into their cars, waving at fans as they did, probably off to prepare for the much more important post-Grammy parties.
    Tracy was surprised how many times Brendan got stopped, how many high-profile artists knew him by name and seemed to want to talk to him. He laughed and joked with them, carried on relaxed conversations and introduced her to everyone. With each person who stopped him, he’d leaned somewhat away from them and in her direction, signaling with his body language that