“I agree with West.” I flop back into my chair with a sigh. “As much as I hate to admit it, waiting it out is my best option.”
I close my eyes and picture Tate?hair darker than an oil slick, huge cornflower-blue eyes, dimpled smile?and my heart fucking hurts.
“Tate trusts me.” I fight to keep my voice steady as I blink my eyes open. “And as much as it kills me, I can’t fuck with her happiness. Not now. Not when she’s been waiting for this?for a chance at love?for so long,” I say, nearly choking over the words.
West nods, offering me a soft smile. “And when she finally sees he’s not the one, you’ll be there to catch her when she falls.”
Each one of the guys falls silent with the heavy weight of their eyes on me, probably wondering how long it will be until I jump off the proverbial bridge.
“Um, just for the record,” Chris raises a hand, “I think this is a terrible idea.”
Chapter 4
TATUM
“Oh my gosh.” I spring up from my spot on the bed, and Brandon’s hand falls away from where it had been absently playing with my hair.
“What?” He lifts his gaze from the notes he’s reading.
“One of the Koch sisters just commented on my latest BookTok,” I say, turning to face him. “The one about my plans to open a romance only, special edition book shop.” My heart pounds in my chest as I quickly tap out a reply. “She says if I have any questions or need any advice, to hit her up once I graduate.”
A crease forms between his brows. “Remind me who the Koch sisters are again? Are they authors?”
I roll my eyes and reach out, smoothing the crease with my finger, and ignoring the way my heart thumps in my chest as his expression softens with my touch. “No. They’re the women who own the Ripped Bodice.”
“Oh, that dope bookstore in New York City we went to?”
“That’s the one.” I grin because I love that he remembers, but I love how cool he thought the place was even more, considering it’s one of the inspirations for my own future boutique shop.
“Well, that’s big, right?” he asks, setting his notes down.
I nod, not even bothering to hide my excitement. “Huge. Could you imagine having access to whatever brilliant ideas they might have, let alone all the wisdom and experience they’ve accumulated from having been there and opened their own store?”
Brandon’s smile widens. “I wanna see,” he says as he reaches for my phone, then whistles. “Not only is that incredible, but—holy shit, Tate—you’re at over sixty thousand followers now. How?” He glances back up at me and the awe in his expression tugs on my heart.
I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug. “My videos have been all popping off lately.”
“Yeah. I’ve seen, but . . .” He shakes his head and hands back my phone. “Still, I mustn’t have been paying attention. Incredible.”
I sit a little taller, back a little straighter.
Brandon has been my number one fan, my largest supporter since I started my book username on social media a few years ago, and he hasn’t wavered since. When I get nasty comments, he’s the first to silence the trolls. When I have an amazing idea for a video, he’s the one who helps me film it. And when I need encouragement because the reel I spent hours creating only getsa couple hundred views, he’s the one to push me—to stop me from giving up.
It pains me to think of what I’ll do when he’s no longer at my disposal, when we’re miles apart and he can’t drop everything to be at my side. Ethan is amazing, but he doesn’t understand my love of romance or my dream of owning my own romance book boutique, not like Brandon does. Then again, no guy has stacked up to Brandon. Sometimes, I wonder if anyone ever will.
I reach out, nudging him in the shoulder. “You’ve been really quiet today,” I say. Ever since he showed up at my dorm room, he hasn’t been himself. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
He shakes his head, dropping his gaze back to his notebook. “Nah, I’m good.”
My stomach sinks, because I know what this is about. It’s been three days since I told him I’m thinking of transferring schools to be with Ethan, and I hate the fact that he’s still upset over it. Not that I blame him. Ethan came out of nowhere and our relationship evolved so quickly, even my head is still spinning. If the roles were reversed, I’m sure I’d be freaking out, too.
“Are you still mad at me for wanting to transfer?” I ask.
Brandon’s shoulders tense. He sets his notebook aside completely, then meets my gaze. “I’m not mad at you, Tate.”
“Then what’s with the brooding silence?” I press. “Until, I saw my post and squealed, you barely said ten words to me all evening.”
He runs a hand through his sandy locks, making them stand up in that adorably messy way I’ve always loved. “I’m just . . . processing.”
