Brooks and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the hallway of the church, waving and smiling in sympathy at Isabel as she’s rolled out on a stretcher. Curious eyes peer from the sanctuary. Once the EMTs reach the door to the parking lot, bodies filter into the hall.
“I hope she doesn’t need surgery,” I say with sincerity. I do feel terrible. If I hadn’t squirted the soap on the floor, it wouldn’t have broken her arm. “Should we go with her?”
“Nah, she’ll be fine. She’s tough. And her boyfriend is meeting her. Her sister, too.” His phone rings. He feels around for it inside his pocket. Silences it. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Though it doesn’t matter his response. I’d go anywhere in the world with him.
“My place.”
Stealth-like, he pulls me through a back door, clutching the food he’d brought me in his other hand. His head peeks over his shoulder three, maybe four, times on the way to his car. We get in, but he doesn’t open the door for me this time.
“Sorry to rush you out like that,” he says, once the engine purrs. “I don’t particularly feel like dealing with questions.”
“Questions...?” Routinely, I open the visor mirror. Discreetly, I blot my face with the back of my hand before closing it again.
He stops at the edge of the parking lot. Turns onto the road in the opposite direction of the ambulance. “Surely my parents could have realized who you were, so I would rather avoid any questions about why you are going home with me.”
My nostrils flare as I process his words, but I relax them back into place. Don’t act bothered. Remember the bitch book. As hard as it may be, remember the bitch book. “I’m actually wondering that, too. Why am I going home with you?” I hold my breath, bracing for his reaction. The book has great reviews, but there were two to three people who claimed it ruined their relationships. Apparently not all men like alpha women.
Stunned, his head jerks as his eyes cut to mine. “Well, you don’t have to. I just figured you probably shouldn’t be alone after passing out.”
I shrug. “Fair enough, I guess.” Now, remember, Emily. Don’t be too available. “But I can’t stay long.”
“Easter plans?”
“Something like that.”
“I had Easter plans until you and Isabel both decided to have disasters.”
His phone rings again, vibrating from the center console—his mother popping up on the screen. He declines the call with a press of his finger.
“Are you really that scared of them knowing I’m with you?”
“Of course not.” The car rolls to a stop at a light. “It’s just that with me not having dated anyone since Eliza, everyone would jump to conclusions.”
There it is. The truth. “Which would be?”
“I am sure they would think there’s something between us.” His eyes turn back to the road as he shifts and pulls left onto his street, Dogwoods blowing in the gentle wind.
If my invisible frown could demonstrate the depths of my disappointment, it would swallow me. But I can’t show weakness. “Which would be completely ridiculous.”
I’m not sure what I expect. For him to disagree in some small way, perhaps. But he just laughs. “Yeah, it would. I mean, you dated Deacon. He might as well be my brother.”
Will Brooks bring it up whenever it’s time to take another step—Deacon, a manufactured barrier, keeping us from what we both need? How hard will it be to make Brooks forget?
Once we pull into his driveway and enter the house, he tells me to have a seat. Asks if I want anything to drink, as the soda he got me is watered down.
“Just water.” I curl my legs beneath me, and my eyes fall on the panda drawing. A smile threatens my lips. How surreal it is to be here, alone with him, knowing he’s kept a piece of us.
He returns from the kitchen, icy glass held out for me. To my dismay, he sits in the chair next to the couch instead of next to me.
“Still feeling all right?”
“Fine.”
“What brought you to church today?”
“Jesus.” I take a sip of water. “What about you?”
“Ya know, family stuff. I don’t go often, mainly on holidays.”
I change the subject, not yet married to the principles in the book, because I ask a pathetic question. “So, who’s Isabel?”
“Oh, she’s my cousin.”
I smile, my hand brushing across my mouth.
His brows raise. “What?”
“I thought she was your girlfriend.”
He grimaces. “God, no. No ‘keeping it in the family’ for this guy.”
My dress is tight and uncomfortable, so I pull my legs from under me. Lifting the top piece of bread, I peek at the sandwich. Looks like turkey and cheese. It’ll do. I take a bite. Decide I’ll be visiting the place soon.
As I chew, I can’t stop looking at the damn panda drawing. I know it’s a reckless question, but I ask it anyway. “Did you draw that? The pandas?”
His head drags in its direction. “Oh, no. I can’t draw for shit. It was a gift.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“It was forever ago. You remember when—” His head cocks a little, like he’s heard something.
I set down my half-eaten sandwich as he stands from the couch and rushes into the foyer. “What?”
“Shit!” He rushes back into the room as I stand. “We gotta hide!”
“Hide?”
“Yes, hide,” he growls. “Get up!”
He yanks my hand. Pulls me into his bedroom. He opens his closet door, and pushes me inside. His phone lights the area as he shoves me behind some clothing in the corner. He scoots in next to me, our bodies pressed against each other as a voice yells from within the house.
“Yo!” Deacon. “Dude, you home?”
“Did you leave the door unlocked?” I whisper.
“He has a key.”
“Where are you?” Deacon shouts, his voice closer now.
Brooks steps closer to me in the dark, his finger finding my lips to keep me from talking.
Footsteps extremely close now, likely in the bedroom. “What animal takes one bite of a sandwich and just leaves it? You taking a shit, dude?”
A jiggle and creak of the closet door startle me. Brooks presses even harder into me, the firmness of his chest against my tits, pinning me to the wall. I want to push his finger away. Pull him to my mouth. Devour him in this tiny, dark space.
“Hey. He’s not here, but his car is. Must have gone for a walk or something.” More door creaking, like he’s leaning against it.
We stay frozen until his footsteps are gone—until the sound of the front door is followed by the hum of a car and closing of the front gate. Finally, we let out our breath, and Brooks pulls away from me. Opens the closet.
He turns to me, clearly distressed. Sweat beads on his forehead, and the top of his shirt is soaked. He wipes his face with his forearm, then walks to his dresser and yanks off his shirt, the harsh light of the late morning highlighting every flexing muscle on his body. When he turns back to me, new shirt in hand, my eyes are involuntarily trailing over him, fucking him with my pupils. He looks at me as if he knows my needs, and for a fleeting moment I think he knows that his are just as great, but his morally-concerned self would never do anything about it.
“I’m kind of nauseous. Do you have any Pepto or anything?”
He pulls on his shirt. “Actually, I think I do.” He walks to his medicine cabinet before coming back with it.
Such an ugly, hideous pink. Just like the pink shirt I practically lived in when I was in third grade. Gross, disgusting shade of fish guts. It was the worst color on me then, and it’ll be the worst color on me now. As he’s pouring it, measuring with precision, I say, “Oh, you don’t have to measure,” and I pull it from his hand, intentionally spilling it all over myself.
I gasp, a drawn-out shriek of horror. “Fuck. What’s wrong with me? I’m so clumsy, I swear.”
When I look at him, his eyes are lingering on my breasts as if he wants to lick the Pepto from them. He grabs a box of tissues from his nightstand, a bottle of lotion next to it. I know that isn’t for moisturizing his skin. Mmm, the thought of him playing with himself, thinking of me … God. He needs to be teased, teased so badly that he comes all over himself with that lotion, wishing it were my wet pussy.
“This feels so gross,” I say. “Do you think I could take a quick shower?”
His mouth drops a little, but a twinkle shines in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s cool. I’d like you to stay another hour, anyway, to be safe. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Oh, never mind. I don’t have any clothes. Unless you could wash them. I guess I could hang out in a towel.” Hehehe.
“There are some things of Eliza’s in the closet … if that isn’t weird. I haven’t gotten around to throwing them out yet.”
Yuck. I like the towel idea better. The last thing I want to do is wear that cunt’s clothes. But if it means I can tempt him by being naked in his house, body wet in the setting he most loves to fuck in?
So be it.