Catch But Don't Release

Chapter 3

Brody wasn’t ready to leave.

He told himself it was the whiskey—smooth, slow‑burning, the kind meant to be savored rather than rushed—but he knew better. From his seat at the corner of the bar, half‑shadowed and unobtrusive, he had a clear, uninterrupted view of Emily.

She sat angled toward her friends, one arm resting casually on the table, her body loose in a way it clearly hadn’t been at the office. Her laughter rose easily now, free of restraint, and every time she smiled Brody felt something tighten in his chest. It wasn’t loud or theatrical—just honest. Real. The kind of laughter that made people lean in without realizing they were doing it.

He lifted his glass and took a slow sip of whiskey, eyes never leaving her. The amber liquid burned just enough to ground him, though it did nothing to dull the pull he felt toward her. He watched the way she listened as much as she spoke, the way her hand brushed Lola’s arm when she laughed, the way her hair fell over one shoulder and stayed there, as if it belonged.

This is dangerous, he thought distantly.

Emily shifted in her seat and leaned toward her friends, murmuring something Brody couldn’t hear. Then she pushed back her chair.

“Bathroom break,” she said, already standing.

Brody straightened slightly without meaning to.

Emily turned, weaving carefully through the crowd, and for a few steps she was lost to him—until she wasn’t. As she pivoted to head toward the back hallway, her gaze lifted.

Their eyes met.

The connection was immediate and electric, a clean strike of awareness that sent a ripple through them both. Emily slowed without realizing it, her steps faltering just a fraction. There he was—the man from the door. The one she hadn’t stopped thinking about, despite telling herself it was nothing.

Brody felt the moment land like a physical force. Up close or far away, it didn’t matter—something about her demanded his attention. He stood abruptly, chair legs scraping softly against the floor, instinct overriding caution.

Emily’s path to the restroom took her directly past him.

As she drew closer, Brody stepped forward, heart beating far too fast for a man who negotiated billion‑dollar deals without blinking.

“Hi,” he said, offering a hand. “I’m Brody.”

Emily stopped. Really stopped this time. She smiled, warm and curious, and placed her hand in his.

“Emily.”

The contact was brief but charged—her hand smaller than his, her grip confident. Brody felt a surge of satisfaction that surprised him.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, the question easy but deliberate.

Emily hesitated, glancing back toward her table. “Well… I’m here with some friends.”

Brody nodded as if he’d expected that, unwilling to let the moment slip through his fingers. “Then how about I buy your friends a round? On me.”

She laughed, a soft, incredulous sound. “That’s really nice, but I couldn’t possibly let you buy everyone drinks.”

“I’m sure your friends won’t mind,” he said lightly, his smile deepening.

Emily studied him for a beat, something playful sparking in her eyes. “Okay, big spender. If that’s what you want.”

Brody felt absurdly triumphant.

He signaled the bartender and ordered another round, gesturing discreetly toward Emily’s table. As the bartender moved off, Emily tilted her head.

“I should actually use the bathroom before they think I abandoned them,” she said.

“Of course,” Brody replied, already watching her walk away.

While she disappeared down the hallway, Brody crossed the room to the table. Lola noticed him first, her eyes widening with interest. Janet followed, then Kimberly. Eric leaned back slightly, appraising him.

“Evening,” Brody said smoothly. “I’m the reason drinks are about to appear.”

Eric blinked, then grinned. “Well, okay then. Want to join us?”

“If I may.”

Lola scooted over immediately. “Sit here. And I have to say—it’s not every day a handsome stranger walks up and buys a group of women drinks.”

Brody smiled, effortless. “Not every day strangers let a guy sit with them.”

Laughter followed, the tension breaking just enough.

Moments later, Emily emerged from the hallway—and stopped short.

Her friends were sitting with him.

Her heart flipped, then stumbled, then picked up speed. She watched as Brody laughed at something Lola said, his posture relaxed, his presence somehow commanding the table without trying. Then he looked up.

Their eyes met again.

This time, Brody stopped talking altogether.

Every person at the table noticed—the way his attention narrowed, the way the rest of the room seemed to fade as Emily approached. She felt it, too, that invisible pull drawing her back into his orbit.

Whatever this was, it was no longer accidental.

And neither of them wanted it to be.

Eric cleared his throat, the sound deliberate, cutting neatly through the laughter at the table.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair and fixing Brody with a measured look, “what do you do, Brody?”

The question hung there longer than necessary. Emily felt it immediately—the shift in tone, the subtle tightening of the air. Brody did too.

He didn’t rush to answer. He took a slow sip of his drink first, eyes still drifting back to Emily before returning to Eric.

“I work at a corporation,” Brody said evenly. “Strategy. Investments.”

“And you?” he added, polite but pointed.

Eric let out a short laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I do fine,” he said. “Nothing fancy.”

The way he said it—quick, dismissive—made it clear he didn’t want to elaborate. His gaze flicked to Emily for half a second, then back to Brody, as if silently marking territory.

Lola noticed.

“Oh my God, Eric, relax,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Maybe Brody just wants a night where he doesn’t have to talk about work. People are allowed to exist outside their jobs.”

Janet nodded in agreement. “Exactly. It’s Friday.”

Eric shrugged, lifting his glass, but the tension didn’t fully dissipate. He drank anyway, watching Brody over the rim.

Brody didn’t react outwardly. He simply smiled faintly, accepting Lola’s defense without comment. But his attention had already shifted again—back to Emily, who had finally made her way to the table.

She stopped beside him, her smile soft but unmistakably directed his way.

“So,” she said lightly, “you found my friends.”

Brody turned toward her fully now. “I did.”

There was something in the way he said it—like he’d been waiting for that exact moment.

Everyone at the table looked between them.

Eric frowned. “Wait,” he said slowly. “You two know each other?”

Emily laughed. “Not really. We met at the bar right before I went to the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Janet said, grinning. “So that’s why you came back glowing.”

Emily shot her a look. “I was not glowing.”

Brody smiled into his glass.

The night blurred after that—in the best way. Drinks kept coming. Stories got louder. Lola retold the same joke twice and laughed harder the second time. Janet danced in her seat when a favorite song came on. Kimberly leaned into Emily, whispering observations and giggling like they were back in college.

Eric drank more than he usually did, his initial sharpness dulling but never disappearing entirely. He watched Brody closely—how he listened more than he spoke, how he never interrupted Emily, how his attention seemed magnetically fixed on her even when others were talking.

And Brody noticed everything.

He noticed the way Emily’s laugh changed when she was truly relaxed. The way she touched his arm once, absentmindedly, while telling a story—and then seemed surprised by her own boldness. He noticed Eric’s glances, the subtle tension, the unspoken challenge.

Hours passed.

By the time last call was announced, everyone except Brody was somewhere between buzzed and outright drunk.

Lola slung an arm around Emily’s shoulders. “I love you,” she declared. “You’re my favorite human.”

“You say that every time you drink,” Emily laughed.

“And I mean it every time.”

Brody stood as the group began gathering coats, his mind already working through logistics. He pulled out his phone.

“Let me get everyone an Uber,” he said calmly.

Eric frowned. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Brody replied, not unkindly, but firm.

Emily looked up at him. “That’s really generous, but—”

“It’s fine,” he said softly, his eyes holding hers. “Let me.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

Brody ordered the rides quickly, efficiently. Two cars. Enough space. No arguments.

One by one, her friends were herded toward the door—laughing, stumbling, leaning into each other. Eric lingered the longest, keys dangling uselessly from his hand.

“You good?” Eric asked Emily, his voice lower now, more serious.

She smiled. “Yeah. I am.”

Eric’s eyes flicked to Brody. Something unreadable passed between them.

“Good,” Eric said finally. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

The door closed behind the others, the noise of the bar replaced by a sudden, ringing quiet.

Emily and Brody stood alone under the dim lights.

For the first time all night, there was no buffer. No audience. No distraction.

Brody turned to her. “I don’t really want to leave yet,” he admitted.

Neither do I, she thought—but didn’t say.

Instead, she smiled. “Me neither.”

Outside, the Uber headlights pulled up to the curb.

“I’ll walk you out,” Brody said.

She nodded.

The night air was cool, sobering after the warmth of the bar. Brody stayed close as they stepped onto the sidewalk, his presence steady at her side. He opened the car door for her, then hesitated, clearly not ready for the night to end.

“Emily,” he said, just before she climbed in.

She turned back to him.

“Can I get your number?”

Her smile came easily, without hesitation. “Yeah,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “I’d like that.”

She handed it to him, watching as he typed, his focus intent, almost reverent. When he passed it back, their fingers brushed again—just enough to make her breath catch.

“Text me,” she said.

“I will,” he replied, meaning soon.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The city hummed around them, distant laughter and traffic filling the silence.

Then Brody leaned in—not rushed, not forceful—and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. It was brief, restrained, but it sent a spark straight through her.

Emily smiled, stunned and glowing all at once.

“Goodnight, Brody.”

“Goodnight, Emily.”

She slid into the car and closed the door. The Uber pulled away, disappearing down the street.

Brody stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, watching long after the car was gone.

And for the first time that night, he realized something with absolute clarity—

Emily lit a fire in his heart and he will stop at nothing to have her love him back.